An Inspector Calls: A Short Story

The parents came out of Grandma’s room by one by one, bags under their eyes, makeup running down their face, and bright red noses. By that time, I could almost predict what happened. As my mom and dad approached us with their heads down, I prepared myself to hear exactly what I never wanted to hear. “The doctors are turning off the life support machine. She isn’t suffering anymore, and she will be looking over every one of you guys. She said she loves you all so much,” Mom told us while my dad didn’t hide his tears back.

It seemed as if nothing could faze her. She was “the rock” of our family. She never told anyone about her illness because she did not want anyone to worry. However, we all had a feeling that she was sick. As time passed, my grandmother’s condition grew progressively worse. She lost her ability to walk, and she could no longer feed herself. The doctor expressed to my mother, “I regret to inform you, but your mom has stage four lung cancer. She does not have much time to live.”Madea refused to undergo chemotherapy because she did not want to lose her long, silver hair. She was unaware of the fact that not every treatment causes alopecia. Madea also believed it would make her more sick than she already was. As an alternative, the doctors agreed to provide her with morphine to help manage her pain during the days leading up to her final hours. She did not want to suffer. Madea passed away on a cold, December night. It was a week from

In my opinion, the play, “An Inspector Calls”, is full of secrets and lies. Each character in the play believes that they do not have a relation with Eva smith’s death, however the deeper into the play that you read, you begin to see how the truth slowly unravels and that the death of the girl is part of a chain connection. Each character had an input in the reason for the girl’s suicide and they slowly become aware of it as they are each being interrogated by the inspector. This proves what society and status has turned society into.

command at the end of Act I and the start of Act 2, and the end of Act

Five years ago, my mother was rushed to the hospital for an aneurysm. For the next two weeks, my family and I sat huddled around her bed in the intensive-care unit, oscillating between panic, fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion.

Mia, a widow of the age of thirty-eight, knew something was wrong when her doctor, not the nurse practitioner, called her to set up an appointment for later in the week. The day of her appointment had arrived and she walked into the room that smelt of cleaner and sadness. The mere minutes she was alone her mind began to race with fear and anticipation. Once her the doctor closed the door behind him, her world froze. He was holding a clipboard that could hold one of two things, a death certificate or the greatest news she has ever heard. When the doctor began to apologize with a voice laced with pity she discovered which it was… The cat scan results had returned and it was not good, the cat scan showed that she has stage four pancreatic cancer

I received the news, that my mother had no chance to live and one doctor, placed his hand on my shoulder and sighed loudly with discomfort. He said,” she is not a candidate for any treatment.” I stormed into the ICU room, and held my mother’s hand; she glared at me, unconsciously. I couldn't help but hold back my emotions, so I could be strong for our family. As my eyes were helplessly filling up with tears, I couldn't help but to look around at the doctors and nurses working diligently, and doing the best they could for my mother. At the moment, I remembered the sacrifices that were made to help my mother and how saving lives was my calling from God. Thankfully, my mother survives but only at a twenty percent ejection

My heart beats with ferocity as I nervously wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I quickly take in my surroundings and think to myself, “I hate the doctor’s office.” I know my face is covered with a look of worry; it is impossible to conceal. My mother attempts to silently console me, glancing in my direction with a half smile. She is acting as if everything is perfectly fine. Her anxious eyes give away her true feelings, but I make an effort to smile back and mask my emotions. I know she is being positive and praying for the best. I am preparing myself for the worst.

Oliver looks out the window - the bus revs up - then off it goes; starting his journey to Los Angeles.

While driving home one day, I had the urge to go to my mailbox and check to see if there was anything there for me. Now, I never get the mail, so when I suddenly decided to go get the mail, it struck me as odd. When I finally got the mail, there was a postcard assigned directly to me. Not to my mom or dad, but me. Attached to this postcard was some sort of golden ticket, so I decided to wait till I was in the privacy of my room to open this and look at it. So when I was able to race up to my room to open this mysterious postcard, the ticket glowed, and not just a light glow like the kind you get from a glow stick, but more of a glow you get from a fire - a fierce and powerful glow. Not only did it give off this glow, but it also came with instructions,

"The novel begins when the knockout Miss Wonderly walks into Spade's office. It turns out she's a knockout with money. And she wants to hire the services of a private detective to find her missing sister, who supposedly ran off with a crook named Thursby.

For me, knowing that Morrie was not going to be able to live the life he had come accustomed to as easily as he once did was the hardest part. Having to watch made it all the harder. Nonetheless, throughout the process, and as the disease began to consume what was remaining of my dearest love I noticed something oddly weird in how Morrie was handling things. A man whom I was once able to predict down to the shows he wanted to watch and the food he wanted to eat had done it again. In fact, this heroic, wise and ever so brave man had thrown quite the curveball at all of our family. We weren't overly sure of how he would react and we did worry that this would change who he was as a man, but contrary to that prediction we soon found that Morrie had only been made more wise. Seeing him progress mentally, and watching him acquire knowledge and intuition far beyond my greatest comprehension was more than enough to make the loss of his life as easy as it could be. Rather than sulk, our family provided support in

An Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley Priestly uses the inspector to represent morality, and how us as a society should be more moral towards each other .I believe the inspector is primarily used to influence the conscience of those watching the play. Through employing the inspector as a dramatic device, Priestly exposes the segregation of the rich and the poor, and the manipulative behaviour that the rich perform upon the poor regarding the prejudice and abusive exploitation the rich deliver on those who are less economically fortunate. Priestly also uses the inspector to keep the play moving and to retain a constant air of suspense throughout the duration. This essay seeks to highlight how the

At the age of seventy-eight, Mom developed Fibroids; non-cancerous tumors that grew in and around her womb, causing pelvic pain. Three months after undergoing a hysterectomy, on Mother’s Day morning, our mother suffered a stroke. Terrified, when I found her, at home alone, unable to speak to me, I was nervous and distraught, although Mom’s facial expression was peaceful and calm, as if she was consoling me, trying to tell me not to worry. While Vince and I followed the ambulance to the hospital, I phoned Ellen to notify her of Mom’s dire condition. She rushed home immediately and by nightfall, Evie had her two daughters by her bedside.

“Beth Anne, look! Your mom can’t.” Removing her hat, I saw the last tufts of hair barely holding onto my aunt’s head. It was only hair, yet the startling image of what medical mistakes can do to someone still haunts me. In 2001, doctors dismissed her sudden cough as asthma. Six months later, they regrettably informed her she now had terminal, stage four cancer, missed by the medical team. Despite aggressive chemotherapy, she collapsed in her home in October 2003. Shocked, her husband suffered a fatal heart attack while calling for help. Her misdiagnosis left two families grieving.