Nonfiction | December 01, 2001
Merced
Danielle Ofri
This essay is not currently available online.
Mercedes had been to two other Ers before showing up at Bellevue three weeks ago. I’d only been doing sick call that day because one of the other residents had twisted his knee playing volleyball. She was a classic aseptic meningitis, the kind that you’d sent home with asprin and some chicken soup, but the ER had decided to admit her to the hospital.
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