Personal Narrative: Physical Traumas

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Picture this: five people in one twenty-five foot Sunbeam camper. For twelve months. Twelve months full of bickering, cramped hallways, broken air conditioners, and hospital visits. It all began in 2005, now at the time I was only five years old. As a five year old witnessing this chaos that we call a family, it did not seem all that bad; after all it was like a year long camping trip! But as I would soon come to realize this time would come to be one of the biggest physical traumas I have ever faced.

Now I am getting ahead of myself, we need to rewind a couple months to where it all began. In May of 2005 my mom and dad came into our living room and turned off the television. Now in my house you don’t ever turn off the TV during an episode
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Upon arrival I was met by a team of nurses and doctors with a stretcher ready. My dad quickly parked...in the middle of the entrance and carried me to them. I was rolled through a corridor to be met by a room where pain medicine and some other drugs were administered and my wounds were dressed. The next thing I remember is waking up to my parents telling me that I will have to be transported to Shriner’s Childrens Hospital in Houston, Texas. The level of care I needed was not available anywhere else so we made the trip. The ambulance ride consisted of lots of drugs for the pain and watching Bambi three times on the tiny television in the back of the ambulance. Once we arrived to shriners I was given a large room more spacious than our camper. The rest of my trip to Shriner’s consisted of pain, tears, prayers, phone calls, monitors beeping, and torture. Torture of the worst kind. I thought that the pain I underwent during the accident was as bad as it could get… but I was wrong. It started about a week into my visit. My nurse came in and lifted me to a wheelchair.She wheeled me to a side of the hospital I had never seen. Through the hallways we passed by kids of all ages that looked like wax figurines that got too close to the fire place. All I remember is thinking that I did not want to end up looking like that. As I entered into my destination I was met by a muffled scream of a man in the next room over. I would come to experience the same torture to which he endured within minutes. As fear crept in my tiny five year old figure, I couldn’t help but feel alone and afraid. I eventually was wheeled into a small room which was essentially a giant shower, I was stripped of my hospital gown and placed in what looked like a dentist chair in the middle of the room. The nurse explained to me that she would have to put cuffs on my ankles and wrists to restrain me to the chair. I
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