As I strode into my bedroom, clothed in fleece pjs (my favorite), I pulled off my amber framed glasses and listened to the metallic clang as they hit my nightstand. Peeling back the ocean-themed comforter, I crawled into the space between two fuzzy blankets (my favorite spot). Hitting the light switch with a clumsy throw of my hand, I settled into my warm nest of cotton and polyester. Sitting there in the reddish glow of my night light gave me time to think as I waited for sleep to overcome. At first, I found myself staring into space, my mind in limbo. I scratched my head, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude as I ran my fingers through the locks of just-past-the-shoulder-length chocolate brown hair. And I felt my hand reach over to my right forearm, caressing a dip in my skin and feeling all the tiny bumps around it as well. All remains of my ordeal.

It was a year ago, a chilly October month with pile of leaves already beneath the trees, cloaking the roots with the skins of orange, yellow, and red. It had been a Saturday, I recalled, when I discovered bright, cherry-red dots all over my legs.

At first, we dismissed it as a simple rash of no harm whatsoever. But what could explain my bruises? I had not bumped anything nor fallen for quite some time. Now was the time for worry. All was vague, blurred by exhaustion of a long Sunday routine and time as it passed. I have a recollection of tears streaming from my eyes as I trudged back to my room to change from sleepwear to something more presentable. It was 10:45 PM when we reached the hospital as a family.

I endured the blood tests with many tears and a whispering verse on the tip of my tongue, growing louder with each turn.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort..."

I felt a pinch.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort."

Release. I was tear-stained and shaking by the time the kindly man left with multiple samples of blood. By this time, I was covered head to toe with the unsightly purplish marks and bruises. My brother, tired as he was as well, flipped through a nearby magazine, grinning as he held out a particular page that sparked humor in his blue eyes. It was a picture of a goat, with the page torn so that the picture of a pig showed just the ear, or was it the other way around? It was almost a perfect match. I smiled at him and curled up under my jacket, suddenly feeling very cold...

(That's as far as I'll get tonight. I'm kinda crying as I type this...)