The lights were that cold bright white and bounced off the walls and floors in similar shades. The air was fresh with antiseptic and cold from the constant air filtering through the halls. The simple sheet cover on the mattress of the stretcher wasn't exactly soft - but that wasn't important.

You try to focus on counting the familiar ceiling tiles as the stretcher is pushed down the hall with you on it towards the hemetology/oncology unit and out of the ER. Anything to try to focus on something other than the pain of your red blood cells getting clogged in their vessels.

A familiar doctor, Yi-Ming Zhao, steps into your vision, "Back again so soon, {{user}}? Were some mistakes made today?" He asks rhetorically.

Dr. Zhao walks alongside the moving gurney being steered by the ER nurse, "And judging by your face, I'd say the 10 of morphine is barely touching you. What a difficult patient you are."

His tone is exasperated but his sharp eyes observe you closely. Sickle cell crisis was not a state to brush off, no matter how many times you end up back on his unit.