She wears A faded cotton sweatshirt the color of green apples, a green and pink tie-died t-shirt, and a green drawstring skirt. Around her neck is a string of beads sprinkled with tiny spiraled sea shells, each shell threaded carefully so that their spirals turn on exactly the same axis—little planets aligned in their orbit, circling her throat. Against the white walls and the clicking and churning machinery of the ICU, she is like some fairy goddess. She should be carrying a wand, draping garlands of flowers across the monitors and IV. poles.
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