𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 | billie eilish

025

thursday - february 25, 2021

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟔, 𝟑:𝟓𝟎𝐩𝐦
𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬

"I'm about to pick her up from the hospital," I mumble as my phone is clamped between my ear and shoulder, informing Ayron, my dad, about my forthcoming plans.

After twelve unbearably lengthy days, Savanna is ultimately being discharged from the hospital in ten minutes.

I last visited her yesterday, and she appeared to be in a moderately stable condition. However, that doesn't promise that the days ahead will progress in similar ways.

The tumor could conceivably embark on spreading more uncontrollably any second. And even though it's never been neither of our mottos for life, we'll hopefully manage to look at it all from more sanguine point of view and stay on the bright side of things during these nerve-wrecking days, weeks, and months.

"I'll call you back later, I still gotta get changed before I go," I ask for his forgiveness due to my unanticipated ending of our telephone call prior to muttering a quick 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

I don on a more comfortable pair of pants briskly and clothe myself with a hoodie as a replacement for my short-sleeved shirt.

Merely a few minutes later, I started my brief journey. By now I have memorized the route to the medical center, even though I wish that wasn't the case.

The traffic on the roads of Los Angeles delays my arrival at the clinic by a considerable number of minutes. Despite that, that minimally belated appearance of mine doesn't cause any disruption in the hospital's timed system.

Instead of deciding to go the easy way with the elevator, I choose to increase my heart rate by jumping up several stairways. Leaping up the last few stairs, I reach the floor my mom's room is on.

A nurse greets me wholeheartedly as she passes me by, and I do likewise, surprisingly.

Previous to being able to cross the threshold of Savanna's room, I am held back by a male voice all at once.

"Ms. Ella Grayson, right?" he utters hesitantly, able to recall my full name.

My reply is brief, yet efficacious enough for him to question me if I desire a succinct talk before seeing my mom.

A positive reaction to his question soon leads to the scenario of being seated across from him in a colorless room and listening attentively to his words.

"Something she perhaps won't fully recover from anytime soon is her weakness, dizziness and loss of balance," he informs me. "But these are common symptoms that stroke victims often experience for a long time after the incident."

"Okay," I murmur, a heartfelt feeling of uneasiness striking me mercilessly forthwith.

"We also took notice of her drug and alcohol problems," he continues. "However, we cannot prescribe her any medication due to her growing tumors."

An unfamiliar heaviness on my chest unexpectedly restricts my intake of fresh oxygen by a minimum, thus I silently gasp for air.

"You need to be there for her as much as you possibly can," he adds and presses his lips together shortly after, raising an eyebrow.