My mom at this time was already freaking out and in tears. We rushed my sister to the hospital and found out that, the influenza she had for about a week now, was strongly attacking her immune system, causing her muscles to weaken. That night was the first time I slept at a hospital; my mom and I were by my sister’s side as she was flat on a hospital bed, plugged
My eyes were closed. I could not move, but I could hear everything. Doctors were yelling and frantically scurrying all around me. I could hear the shouting of medicines and dosages as doctors pushed fluids into my IV. Suddenly, everything went blank, and that 's all I remember from my first hospitalization.
Nothing there could comfort me. I was surrounded by white walls, and medical supplies in a room barely large enough for the bed and two chairs. This was before they built a new Children’s Hospital, though, which is filled with bright colors, beautiful murals with images of butterflies and flowers, and overall a more comfortable atmosphere. I remember lying in the hospital bed, under a thin sheet,
Everything began when my mother was diagnosed with colon cancer. As her condition deteriorated, the task of caring for my younger brother and niece fell on my shoulders while my older sister worked to support us. I also had to help my mostly bedridden mom care for herself. Consequently, I was extremely busy at home and therefore, often missed school.
I was only attending half days to begin with due to my brain still healing and not handling stimuli very well. I was given a room where I could eat lunch with my friends. My friends were glad to see I made it back okay but I knew they could tell I was different. I was definitely more quiet and in a depressed sort of state.
Sometimes, we would have people come to our home for treatments as well. Our home had become a place of healing for the broken, both literally and metaphorically. Our home had being set apart from many others. I learnt the importance of love, care, and support. My first opportunity personally interacting with patients was after I became a certified nursing assistant (CNA); I took a job at a Skilled Nursing Home called York land Park.
I really missed my mom like really bad but eventually we got to see her we went to that building again and they put us in a small room and she walked in we jumped on her and yelled “Mommy” I was so happy the first time i had seen her in three weeks. We told her about everything that had happened so far she sounded mad when she said “I 'm going to get you back i promise.”
As the day passed my fevers started, they were bad. The best thing that had happened was that they finally brought my Scarlett in the room with me to let her stay with me. My sickness started when my incision opened back up, they took me to the ER. Tests were getting done, they were taking me all over the place all I could do was cry. My family was going through a tough time, all they wanted were answers.
Blood was everywhere, mom was screaming, sister was crying it was a disaster. After we left the hospital, nighttime approached, and we went home and everything was fine, except the giant cut in my mouth. Since I was a stubborn young kid, I did not listen to my parents, which made me almost have a speech issue. From this experience I learned to respect my parent, and that they are only trying to help. I had now viewed the world differently, respecting what my parents said, from then on out.
I needed to go to the emergency room, so I did. I was wheeled into one of the open rooms to be seen by the nurse and doctor. The nurse came in right away to take my temperature. Then she left and we waited ten minutes for the doctor to check my ankle out. I was shivering in pain.
It was a couple hours before we could see you again. They had taken you to the ICU and had gotten you set up before we saw you. When we finally got to see you, you were so swollen and bruised that we hardly recognized you. Every couple hours or so a nurse would come in and give you more sedatives and allergy medicine and every single time you woke up and fought us because the allergy
One November evening of eighth grade, I came home to learn that my older sister, Julia, had gone to a hospital to be treated for depression and anxiety. I was told that she would only be there for a week. After this one week, Julia was transferred to a different hospital where she remained for two months. During these two months, we never knew when Julia was going to come home. It sometimes took weeks to see if a certain medicine was working for Julia and so her recovery process was very ambiguous.