I fought the thoughts of not being able to breathe and allowing myself to have a panic attack. I have never been very religious, but it got to a point where counting didn’t help and the moment that destroyed my health replayed over and over. It was the few seconds prior to blacking out, to when I looked up at my rearview mirror and saw a truck coming right for me because he fell asleep. These thirty minutes of darkness symbolized the endless emotional and physical pain I had endured and my return to the darkness, which I cannot explain. So I prayed, hoping that even though I couldn’t remember all the verses, it would end the spinning and the torture. These moments of fear were more than claustrophobia; it was also a concoction of sadness. Sadness, that uncovered my weak and fragile human being self to the world because I had still not healed. As these thoughts deepened, the bed of the MRI machine began to move outward and I knew it was over. I hadn’t realized that my body was trembling until they took the thick white sheet off me. It revealed my shaking legs covered in Goosebumps and so, I pulled my fuzzy green socks up and with their help got off the bed. I wondered if that’s what it was like to live through a traumatic event or was it me being dramatic? Either way, I shut the door leaving the loud and terrible noises behind me. As I walked out, I could never see myself laying in that room again, unable to escape the endless
They (my family and doctors), for the first night, weren’t sure if I would make it or not. I was touch and go, because my oxygen level couldn’t be stabilized. I would be on oxygen and my level would be normal, but as soon as they took me off, my level would fall again. However, they had to stabilize me before they could do any kind of surgery. During this time, I think my dad as well as everyone involved got a taste of what it means that any moment, any day could be anyone’s final moment. My dad stayed every night with me. The first night, my heart quit beating twice. The first time, my dad said, “She’s a fighter, she can get through this.”. Then it happened again and my dad fell on his knees saying, “God, please don’t take her now!”. I ended up practically living in SICU for 3½ weeks, just trying to become stable enough, so I could make it somewhere else. Both my mom and dad had to become durable power of attorneys, so they could decide what my treatments would
Five days had passed this time since anyone had heard from my mother. I remember praying to God to protect her from harm and for me to find her. The next day she showed up, but not in the way we had hoped. One morning as I was getting ready for school my sophomore year in high school, my phone rang to the voice of my stepfather. My stepfather had told me he heard a call come over the dispatch scanner at his work and my mother’s name was mentioned. The sheriff had informed my stepfather that my mother had been involved in an accident. My stepfather asked me to go to the emergency room and see what condition my mother was in because he lived a half hour away from the hospital. When I arrived at the hospital I found my mother cut out of her clothes, covered in her own urine, massive amounts of blood all over her body, and lying lifeless on life support on the table. At this point, no one knew whether my mother would be okay. My mother had bleeding on the brain as well as a tear in her shoulder, a shattered face, and a chest tube draining fluid from her lung which had collapsed. All I could do was pray! My mother’s life was in God’s hands now. Three days later she woke
Silence is often my best weapon when we are faced with critical conditions. Once again, I hung on to the promises of God and expected a miracle. God is so very faithful to His word, but at times I have to drawback to keep my faith ablaze. I pray as you read our story, it infuses you with faith and confidence in Christ. Regardless of the outcome, I know we are loved by God and He is in control.
A Memoir of Grace is a biography/autobiography hybrid about the life and ministry of Pastor Chuck Smith. The book is written in the first person as told by Chuck Smith to his son Chuck Smith Jr. Most people might find it a quick and easy read, and this makes the book accessible to readers. I read it as a mental break from heavier texts. Nevertheless, the truth and the message of this book is rich and does not seem too oversimplified. On the other hand, the only trade-off is a lack of depth. One can only skim the surface in a book of this style.
My mom is one of the housekeeping who work at Loma Linda Medical Center. Last year on July 2014, my mom injured herself at her workplace. She fell from a ladder while she was trying to clean one of the curtain. When i heard the news that my mom was injured and admitted to the Emergency, i was panicked and shocked. I went to the ER right away to visit her and she was in a terrible condition at that time. She was in so much pain and kept on crying due the pain that she has to deal with at that moment. I decided to be by her side and comfort her until she feel better. I was really worried and did not know what to do to lessen her pain. I decided to pray and ask for God's grace to help lessen her pain. She never experienced this type of injury
I had an article in the Tulsa World, my family and I got to share my story on the radio, and I’ve been able to share it with people and groups. I’ve learned through this experience that God has a plan for everything. The things that happen to us may not be part of our plan, but they are a part of God’s plan. God sometimes uses our experiences to bless other people, or to help us learn something. The reason I believe God had me go through that was to show me that people really did love and care for me. My mom stayed in the hospital the whole time with me and I didn’t even know some of the people who visited me. Sometimes I’ll be with my parents somewhere and they’ll start to talk to someone that I’ve never seen before, and the person goes, “Hey, you’re Lauren! I prayed for you while you were in the
At the end of a busy day, my father calls and says that my mother is very sick. She had been in the hospital for intravenous fluids. I could tell by his tone of voice that something was gravely wrong. I rushed to the hospital to find my mother barely able to breathe. Her nurse was racing to control her breathing while giving her a diuretic. My mother is a very small person and the nurse had ascertained the fact that she was given too much fluid. She was in fluid overload. Her nurse had just saved my mother’s life. All the while, he was able to comfort my father and reassure me. He
A few synonyms of the word revelation include- discovery, eye opener, epiphany, expose and betrayal. All of these words can successfully be applied to Flannery O’Conner’s tale, “Revelation”. The story “Revelation”, published in 1964, reveals the inner demons of a god loving, southern, woman with a hellish habit for judging others by their appearance and social status. Revelation is the perfect word to title Flannery O’Conner’s, “Revelation”, as it flawlessly foreshadows the story and predicts its main theme.
I remember the moment my uncle came to pick me up in class. My family wanted me to visit my father. I knew he was in the hospital for an allergic reaction. Many days had passed since I saw him last. Seeing him in the intensive care unit was terrifying. Large blisters covered his body from head to toe. Several had broken down to purple-black sores that looked like his body had burned. Skin swelled up and was oozing all over. Doctors had connected him with machines with tubes all over on his body. I felt he wasn’t coming back home. However, as the days elapsed, he improved, doctors removed the tubes and in fifteen days he returned to baseline. The fact he survived from such a severe reaction astonished me. This incident had a
When I saw my aunt and uncle walk into the waiting room, fresh tear stains streaked upon their cheeks, I knew. When my uncle opened his mouth to say something and nothing came out but a child like squeal, my heart was torn in half. When someone finally said the words ‘she’s gone’ to the family members that had just arrived, getting my extremities cut off of my body one by one would have most certainly hurt less. I shut down and sat in that too clean smelling hospital room, little by little people began to say their good-byes to each other and leave, while I just sat. My grandpa walked in and I looked up at the red neon clock on the wall to see that a hour had passed. Without saying a word, he motioned and walked with me out of the room to the end of the hallway where my sister and cousin were sitting. The corner where the four of us sat, you could look out the windows into a sea of city
Last December, I came home from practice to find my mother on the floor of the living room, hardly breathing. I dropped to her side, begging her to tell me what was wrong, and she whispered that she was having a heart attack. Upon hearing that, my actions became erratic; I was hyper-aware of my heart, of time, of the phone I could not keep still in my shaking hands as I called for help. After waiting in painful apprehension, two paramedics would walk in, put my mother on a stretcher, and carry her out. I would give them her prescription medicine and wrote down the name of the hospital she would be going to. Then, they would take her away, and I would be alone in a house of utter silence. Something about the silence allowed me to ruminate over
Rushing to the hospital on a Friday night, I saw a blurred vision, felt dizziness as I saw a shot of IV in my forearm. I saw my mother tears rolling down her cheeks but I told her I will be okay. I was in the emergency room and the doctor asked me various of questions about my health, “Do you smoke? Do drugs? Any sexual activity?” I answered, “No.” The doctors informed to see my family physician for further test. I was not ready for the tests because they could read my future health and change my life.
The doctors could not save him. My heart ached, and I wanted to run away instead of facing the cruel reality that my dad was not going to walk out of this hospital today or ever again. I cried hopeless tears as my mom slowly carried me to the far corner of the hospital where my dad had been placed by doctors hours before. When we reached the doorway to his room, I froze with hatred and anger. I could not comprehend why the doctors had no power or ability to fix the situation. I felt helpless and did not want to go inside the room where my dad was being held captive by countless wires and machines. However, I crawled onto the foot of the bed and held my dad’s legs as he continued taking shallow breaths. Ultimately, that is where I remained until a nurse came in several hours later to confirm he had passed
“Anthony!” My mother beckoned for me to come downstairs “what?” i replied “i have some bad news.” she said back. Intrigued by this i quickly stood up and rushed to the first floor of our house. When i got to the bottom of the stairs i looked at her and asked “what was wrong? Was someone hurt?” my mind raced with questions and i tried to start rifling them off when i was interrupted by her saying “Your father is in the ICU.” my heart sank at those words, as if i was hit by a car. I had known something was wrong with my father for a long time now. Even with how young i was at the time i still had a firm grip on death and how closely it is associated with the ICU. my thoughts were then interrupted by her continuing to speak “he went to go