I studied the floor, following the pattern of white and brown tiles. A bald man sat next to me, sporting a pair of large round glasses and a long white jacket. He sat on a tall swivel stool, speaking to my parents, who sat across from the examination table, where I sat. I glanced at my mother and saw tears streaming down her face as she stared at me.
Why is she crying?
The bad man turned to me and began speaking. Was he even speaking English?
“It’s called Post-infectious Glomerulonephritis.” I blinked at him, wondering what he was saying. “You need to go to the hospital to be treated immediately.” I snapped to attention at that word. Hospital.
My vision blurred. “I’m not sick.” I argued. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.” The bald man shook his head. “Yes, you do.” He stood up, shaking my parents’ hands. He waved to me as he closed the door behind him, and we were left alone in the examination room.
“I’m not going to the hospital,” I turned to my mother. She didn’t respond.
“Mom, I’m not going!” I shouted. She buried her face in her hands. What did I do to make her cry? I wiped my eyes, which had filled with tears.

I woke up on a stiff bed, covered in papery blankets, surrounded by white walls, white floors, and white light pouring through the tall windows. A tray of food rested on a small table next to me. As I looked around, a woman entered the room, carrying a black tray that contained a cup and some needles. She picked up a syringe and told me to hold still. Before I could protest, she stabbed my arm with the needle, and I yelped in pain.
The woman handed me the soft plastic cup and told me to drink. A muddy brown liquid sloshed inside. I swallowed a bit and turned away in disgust. The bitter flavor lingered on my tongue. The woman shook her head and held the cup to my lips again, but I refused to drink. Frustrated, she grabbed my jaw and forced my lips to part, then tipped the contents of the cup down my throat. Then, the woman picked up the tray and exited the room.
A few minutes later, my mother entered the room with a tray of food. She smiled and sat at a chair to the left of the bed.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, nodding her head toward the tray beside my bed. I shook my head.
“I want to go home,” I whispered.
“You will soon, when you’re feeling better,” she responded. I didn’t want to go home soon, I wanted to leave now. Why was I even here? I felt completely fine. I laid down, with my back to my mom, and closed my eyes, wishing I could fast forward time.

There was a small TV hanging from the ceiling. After several days of living in this small room, I grew tired of watching the same channels every day, but it was my only source of entertainment.
I was flipping between channels in search of something interesting to watch when the doctor entered the room. After several minutes of examination and another dose of the bitter liquid in the plastic cup, she told me I could go home.
“The medicine is working great. As long as you keep taking it, I don’t see any reason for you to stay.” I couldn't believe it. I could finally go home and see my friends and family. For the first time in my life, I actually missed going to school, and now I could go back.

Several weeks passed, and every day since I was released from the hospital was spent on the couch, watching TV or reading books. Many relatives and friends had come to visit, even my teacher, who brought cards and gifts from other students. I missed going to school and seeing my friends, and I missed being able to do normal things. I never left the house, except for trips to the hospital several times a week. I didn’t know what was wrong, and why I couldn’t return to school. It had been so long, why wasn’t I getting better?

I felt nervous the first day I walked back into school, and I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t seen my classmates in so long, what would they say to me? As I walked down the hallway, people turned and stared. I walked into my classroom and everything stopped, silence swept the room as people turned to look at me. I avoided their gaze and walked to my seat, pretending that everything was normal.  When my teacher saw me, she rushed over, handing me a stack of homework and lessons that I had missed.
“We’re so glad you’re back!” she beamed. “Let me know if you need anything.” As she walked away, I was swarmed with questions by the kids around me.