Personal Narrative: My Cattle Collapse

When I was in the second grade of school, my grandmother made fried chicken. I got so sick that my stomach was in prodigious amounts of pain and I was vomiting. My grandmother called my mother to let her know I was being taken to the hospital and why. My mom and I informed her she was over reacting; also, the pain and vomiting was probably just the stomach flu or food poisoning. My grandmother, having lost a son four months before I was born, didn’t take risk when it came to health. She knew how something major could appear so minor.
We got to the hospital around eleven at night; the doctor had me jumping off the bed, when he started feeling my abdomen. I couldn’t remember anything past that, until I woke up to my mom crying out “Dakota wake up, you're okay,” then my grandmother saying “Stacy, he will be okay. Let god handle this and he will be

My mom mad frequent stops to see me but couldn’t stay long because she had my sister to take care as well as work. I went home on the sixth day and had to return to the hospital the next day. My stomach was in more pain then what I had before I went the first time. I can’t remember anything past arriving at the emergency room, until the point that I woke up to my grandmother singing with the gospel channel on the hospital TV (she had the most beautiful voice. It was also the first time I ever heard her sing). I couldn’t talk, my throat was scratchy and I was scared. I tried to reach for the remote to get the nurse. My grandmother saw me awake and put her hand on mine and said “I’m here Dakota, don’t try to speak, God is here with us and everything will be okay. Thanks to God I haven’t lost another son. What is it that you need Dakota?” At that moment I realized that she didn’t just treat me like her grandchild, but she treated me like her son. Then my next thought was how I was supposed to tell her what I wanted if I couldn’t