Dionne
The release forms were on a clipboard and my hand would not stop shaking as I signed them.
I pressed my elbow hard against the nurses' station counter to brace it and signed where the nurse pointed, three places, an initial on the fourth. The pen scratched too loudly in the quiet of the early morning ward and I looked around subtly hoping Doran was still occupied at the pharmacy.
The nurse was young, barely into her shift, with the slightly glazed look of someone running on too little sleep and too much coffee.
"She'll need to complete the full antibiotic course," the nurse said, sliding a printed sheet across the counter without looking up.
"Even when she seems completely better. Especially then, actually — that's when most parents stop, and that's when it comes back."
"I understand."
