Mom leans past the nurse and hugs me, and that makes it hurt worse. I yelp, and she jumps back and starts crying.

“Oh, not you, too.” The nurse turns to Mom. “Let’s get you something to eat. I’ll stay with Miss Lily here until you come back.”

Mom shakes her head. She’s grabbing on to the bed rail like they’re going to have to drag her out.

“Now, Mom, we need you to keep your strength up so you can take care of your girl,” the nurse says. “We’re all trying to get her out of here as soon as possible, but it’s not going to be tonight, so you might as well make your way down to the cafeteria.”

The nurse’s arms wobble over my head as she pushes some buttons on the monitor.

Mom doesn’t move. The nurse pats her hand, the one still holding the rail.

“I’ll have them bring you up a tray, all right?”

Mom nods.

I fall back asleep.

It’s day again, but I’m not sure what day. The tube’s gone from my nose and they’ve propped me up a bit. Mom is asleep in a chair next to the window. Her hair’s flat on one side and straight up on the other. She used to have hair as long as Mema’s. I remember when she first cut it off. I was six and in the hospital after this one seizure they couldn’t stop. I just kept shaking and shaking. Once I was a little better, Dad came to visit and Mom left for a while. When she came back, all her hair was gone, up above her ears and everything. She looked like an elf.

She hears me moving and jumps up. The blanket wrapped around her falls in a puddle on the floor.

“Ellie, you’re up!”

I try to rub my eyes, but there’s an IV in my hand and it pinches to move it.

“You’ll be able to get that out as soon as you finish the last of your antibiotics.” She points to the baggie of liquid hanging near my head. “They say if your oxygen levels stay stable, we’ll be able to leave in a few days.”

“Seizure?” It feels like I’m talking around rocks. Please, God, don’t let it have been a seizure. Don’t let me have to go back on those meds, with everyone treating me like I’m a bomb about to go off any second. Please don’t let the count start again, X many days since the last episode. Please.

She hands me a big pink jug with a bendy straw and makes me take a sip of water before she says anything. I forgot about the ice, like little pellets of sleet. Hospitals always have the best ice.

“You got an infection, baby. It turned into pneumonia.”