When I was three years old I got very sick. Mum told me that I sat under the table when she was making dinner and suddenly just fainted. She rushed to the hospital and after some tests the doctor told her that I had meningitis. I have a few memories of this, but strangely they are all good ones. I remember how cool it felt to have a IV-needle in my hand. The red balloons mum bought me, the colorful playroom with all the fun toys and the kind doctors.
Mum says I almost died and that she was terrified.
10 years later I was at the hospital again. This time because they tought I had anorexia. Maby I did. I still don't know.
I loved hospitals. The kind doctors with their worried eyes and the smell of clean people. I loved the attention, that they cared for me. That I made them so angry.