Hospitals have always been a place to hate,
The white bleaching lights, the pale faces of patients, so many sounds, and mostly the memories.
The first time walking in to wake my sister from her bed my heart felt still.
My stomach jumped off a cliff and my tongue turned into the Sahara desert.
When her eyes met mine it felt as if I was hit with a wave of confusion,
I felt clueless seeing her so weak,
Making it hard to spit out anything to speak.
She looked drained and drowsy in the crowded room.
The first thing she asked was if I wanted fruit snacks.
I smiled and said yes,
I was removed from the frozen zone and was instantly reminded that she was still my sister,
Sure she looked a lot sicker,
but I had realized that the sick girl laying in that hospital bed was a fighter.
She continues to change her life to fighting the challenges that are thrown her way,
Although her disorder puts a toll on our family it has taught us to have hope,
To this day she goes in for her treatments
Students and doctors take their notes, study her like an animal.
Pretending to be more interested in her than the paycheck they are earning for helping her.
And yet I sit back to watch her battle,
whether to give up,
or push through this life long disorder.