A wave of panic rushed through my body as my co-worker handed me his cell phone. My mind raced through all sorts of possibilities of what I was about to hear.
It was five years ago on a Saturday night in Saratoga Springs. I was settling into the cocktail hour at our annual New York State Press Association convention before the final dinner and round of awards. The weekend festivities were drawing to an end and I was relaxing with a glass of wine, mingling with my fellow writers.