"You shouldn't have moved him. You shouldn't have picked him up. You should have called an ambulance. The paramedics know what to do better than you do. You could have hurt him."

My mom was with us now. She'd arrived a couple of hours ago, soon after my papa had called her. She'd woken up to an empty house, panic filling her. The front door had still been wide open, my mistake. Now she was berating my papa for how he'd handled the situation, her nurse instincts kicking in. 

"How could I have waited?" My papa continued what he'd been saying to her, his voice slightly raised. "Could you have waited? Was I expected to wait, watch him die? Watch our son suffer? The doctor said his blood glucose was dangerously low. He could have gone into a coma and died. He was glad we got him here so quickly."

My mom nodded slowly, thinking. "The paramedics would have tested his blood sugar when told he has diabetes. They would have known much sooner. There wouldn't have been such confusion when he got here. He could have been treated sooner. You are really so irresponsible. You should have woken me up."

"I wanted to get him seen as soon as I could. By a doctor. He could have died! I had no choice!"

"What is your medical training? Do you have medical training? You don't. You should have woken me up!"

A slight sound in front of me snapped me away from watching my parents argue on the other side of Sana's bed. A small whimper. My eyebrows creased. My grip tightened a little on Sana's hand. Another whimper. Oh no. 

"Sana?" I called gently. "Sana, are you awake?"

He took a big breath, curling into himself. No, no. Not again!

But instead...

"It's my fault," I heard him say in a tiny whisper. "It's my fault. They're arguing. My fault." His eyes were still closed. 

Tears leapt to my eyes. His small voice. Blaming himself. Had he been awake? Listening? 

Before I could speak, my mom did. "Did he just say...? No. No-o, Sana, that's not the reason. That's not the reason. It's not your fault. We'll stop. We're sorry. Don't worry."

"My parents fight sometimes. They're an old married couple. It's what they do. It's okay," I tried to assure him. Tried to make it funny, for him. 

My dad caught on to this. "Yeah, we're just two old farts, that's what we are. Right?" He said, nudging my mom. She smiled and nodded, even though Sana couldn't see this. 

"That's right, honey. It's okay, Sana. Go back to sleep. You need your rest. You had a big event today. Your body needs its rest." My mom was trying to comfort him. It warmed my heart.

Sana sniffled. His eyes never opened. "I don't want them to fight, because of me," he whispered, so quiet. I noticed he slurred some of his words, at the end. It worried me. My eyes flicked up to my mom, in alarm. She mouthed words to me, so he couldn't hear. It's okay, she mouthed.

My hand went to his hair. It was messy. He'd be so upset if he saw that. He liked it to look neat all the time, even going so far as to use a straightener on it every day. It was almost like his religion, how he took care of his appearance. My heart dropped, realizing. His messy hair right now made him look so ill. This disheveled look. It caused me to see the dark spots under his eyes more. Made me notice the pale color of his skin. Just because of his imperfect hair. I felt shame at myself. I began smoothing his hair, really paying attention to what I was doing. Trying to make it look nice, for him.

I heard a small snort come from him. Long breaths. In a moment, I realized he was snoring a little bit. He was asleep. My eyebrows peaked at this. Why was he snoring? He'd never snored before.

"Mom, he's snoring. He doesn't snore. Could he be struggling to breathe? I'm scared," I said, finding my voice choking a little bit at this. 

"I wanted to tell you before when I heard him slur his words," she responded, trying to sound as calm as she could. I appreciated this tone deep in my soul. It was soothing. "After a bad hypoglycemia attack, a person might slur their words. They might be confused, or have sluggish thinking. They might sound like they have gravel in their throat, or breathe differently. He's okay. He's just having after effects. He needs his rest. See his O2 reading? It's hovering around ninety-eight to one-hundred. His breathing is okay. His body is just acting differently right now. He's alright."

I nodded. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I noticed this now. I sniffed hard, and wiped my face with the back of my hand. I was so worried. More tears were falling. No control. My mom got up, and came over to me. She hugged me in my chair. I embraced her, holding on to her. 

"I'm scared," I said into her body. The only thing I could think to say. A repeat of what I'd said before.

"It's okay to be scared," she responded. 

I just sniffled. She began rubbing my back. I was like a child in her arms.