2 p.m. Wednesday: I load Microsoft Word, ready to write a column congratulating the Supreme Court on its expansion of Title IX (holla!). My sister’s boyfriend hurtles through my door. I have a wary sense of d‚j… vu, because he rushed into my room in a similar manner when my sister fainted two days earlier. The breaking news this time is that my sister has grown too dizzy to stand. I follow my sister’s boyfriend to her room. She is in bed, very pale and sort of dazed. We call Dial-A-Nurse, and the nurse suggests a visit to the emergency room.

3:30 p.m.: I call my own boyfriend, who has a car, and he leaves class to come pick us up. My boyfriend, my sister’s boyfriend and I usher my sister into the car and speed off to Carle. Once registered in the emergency room, we wait. And wait. We have time to discuss whether or not our visit to the emergency room constitutes a double date. We have time to watch the end of The Mummy and the beginning of JAG.

5 p.m.: The hospital admits my sister, but allows only one of us to accompany her into the emergency room. My boyfriend and I remain in the waiting room. He watches the end of JAG and I sort of bounce around nervously in my chair. We get yelled at for wandering into an apparently off-limits section of the waiting room. My boyfriend approaches the receptionist and asks if we can check on my sister.

6 p.m.: We find my sister’s hospital room and learn that the doctor has been in and out, taking blood samples and such. My sister’s boyfriend has kept my sister entertained by humming in harmony with the constant (obnoxious) humming of a vent in the room.

6:30 p.m.: The doctor comes back and connects my sister to an intravenous tube. As we watch the IV pump saline solution into my sister, our conversation grows increasingly bizarre. We speculate what would happen if the saline solution bag was a mislabeled bag of testosterone and nickname my sister “Larry.” We debate whether or not we would continue to date our significant other if he or she got a sex change. My boyfriend offends the doctor by asking how many more “experiments” she plans to run on my sister.

8 p.m.: After her saline solution fix, my sister feels less dizzy. We are overjoyed to leave the hospital despite the pouring rain outside. Soaking wet and starving, we climb into my boyfriend’s car. A block away from the hospital, the car dies.

9 p.m.: We eventually make it back to my dorm, thanks to the help of cell phones and Safe Rides. We order and eat enough pizza for a small army.

3 p.m. Thursday: I realize I never did write that column about Title IX. My deadline is in two hours, but I am only thinking about how grateful I am for my sister and for the boys willing to spend all day at the emergency room with us.

Despite chronic headaches that lead to sleeping and fainting spells, my sister is the strongest woman I know. She is beautiful, confident, opinionated, spiritual – and my best friend. Her health continues to provide a source of anxiety for me because I don’t know what I would do without her.

I remain saddened that Terri Schiavo’s illness, a family affair, turned into a media and political circus. Upon Terri’s death and in light of my sister’s visit to the hospital, I resolve to make sure my sister knows that her ill health cannot tear our family apart. Instead, the reminder not to take her companionship for granted brings me even closer to my sister.

I propose that anyone reading this take some time today to let loved ones know they are loved. Just in case.