I awoke to bright lights, making it difficult to see my surroundings. I could feel the soft bed beneath me forming to the shape of my body. The faint sound of a beeping heart rate monitor replaced the silence of the room. As my vision cleared, I glanced upward to see a group of concerned doctors conferring with one another. I tried to sit up, only to realize that I didn’t have the strength to. I became more confused and began to desperately ask the doctors questions.
That was the phrase that had been assaulting my ears for the last half an hour. Although it wasn’t odd that someone was telling me that specific phrase, this time it was different. My grandmother, whom I thought had understood my problems, had just proven to me that she actually didn’t. At the age of 12, I was heartbroken.
My dad shot blame at me like bullets at a target. The first time I was the victim of these shots was the day he got the news from my high school that I needed to be taken to the hospital. They found out that I attempted suicide. His anger is all he could remember that day. He accused me of only doing this because I hated my culture and I never wanted to be Mexican.
Managing Pain Of Unknown Origin: How To Find Relief When You Don't Know What's Wrong
The effect of music on postoperative pain and anxiety was studied on an orthopedic unit in a central Florida hospital (Allred, Byers, & Sole, 2010). The authors clearly identified the problem many total knee arthroplasty patients experience after surgery is moderate to severe postoperative pain and increased anxiety. Throughout the introduction of the study, it was stressed the importance and need for this research to be conducted. The authors discussed the effects of inadequately treated pain and how health care professionals, including nursing, should make it a priority in a patient’s treatment plan (Allred et al., 2010). Several references were provided supporting the issue
For this I interviewed an individual who has cancer. He is older than me, different race, cultural background, ethnicity, religious beliefs and socioeconomic status. Un-fortunality, an integral part of his pain experience is the fact he also has a long history narcotics and drug abuse. He spoke with me about his experience, once he is diagnosed with cancer and started to have severe pain. Sadly, a major barrier he has been facing is being labeled with “a drug addict”. He states “ ..doctors, pharmacists, nurses along common people hold this past against me and always are suspicious..”. Moreover, he adds “..I am smart enough to play everyone – like I did in the past - if I want, but believe me I am not trying to I am clean now and just want to have no pain”.
"You must be quite confused my friend", said the man, "waking up in a strange room that is filled with strange people". I was unable to find my voice at the time so I answered him with a simple nod. "My granddaughter found you lying in a street not too far from here; you're quite luck that she did, otherwise you would have died there and then if it wasn't for her". My mind was slowly piecing together how I had collapsed in an ally and woken up in a house, but with the mystery solved I smiled and stretched out my hand to thank him for his help. "Thank you", I said with some effort and the old man smiled as I shook his hand. When I looked down at my status I saw that he had done a very good job of healing me, the state of my health bar had greatly improved and all of my other needs had been tended to as well. But as we talked I suddenly felt a sharp pain rip across my abdomen and I removed the bedsheets to see that my torso had been wrapped tight with bandages. At first I was more surprised than in pain, I began to question how it was even possible to be in this state after being supposedly healed. In fact the in-game pain filter should have
On our way up the stairs to our unit, a girl named Jada came up behind me. “So why are you here?” I was thrown off by the personal question she asked so casually. Only an hour prior I had arrived at the facility and was introduced to the other eleven teenagers.
Unexpectedly, my father called and with an unsteady voice explained, “I had to take your mother to the emergency room, and she is now being admitted to the hospital.” At age 13, this phone call began the most dreadful time of my life. Prior to this event, I was exceedingly dependent on my parents and even struggled with separating from them. In the beginning of my mother’s hospital stay, my familymy parents and two, younger sisters were constantly divided. My father stayed in the hospital with my mother, while my sisters and I would switch between caring family members and friends. Eventually I grew tired of different environments and decided that staying home alone was the far better option. As a result, I appreciate independence and know how to solely maintain a home.
This feeling was unusual because as a youngster, I spent most of my childhood going on acting auditions and
I opened my eyes to see nurses and doctors around my bedside. The bliss and serenity I had felt in the moments before... seemed to be the contentment they felt at the moment I opened my eyes. I had just survived a "Code
All my life, I have suffered from generalized anxiety disorder, which can make it difficult to do mundane tasks and educational requirements. For example, giving speeches, taking exams and quizzes, and having to communicate with other students that I do not know. I have been sheltered most of my life, which causes things that would be considered basic to other people to scare me. After analyzing my anxious tendencies, I came to the conclusion that the root of my anxiety comes from having seperation anxiety from my Mother after my Father passed away, which made me scared to talk to people, resulting in speech anxiety. My main fear with my speech anxiety is that I will receive a bad grade on my speech or not do well enough academically. I strive
Under the rising sun in Grant Park, I bent down into a calf stretch, reminding me once again I’d forgotten to put underwear on. I’d gotten to bed just a few hours earlier after spending a night out with Mia at a new club, Z’s, only to wake up after falling from my bed onto the floor, terror seizing my breath while blood rushed through my ears and my heart galloped out of my chest. It’d taken a few heart-stopping minutes to realize it’d only been a nightmare. I couldn’t remember much other than the primal fear of being chased by a beast with a desire to rip out my throat as I screamed for my life, and then relief at being saved by a man in black. It’d left me unsettled enough I couldn’t go back to sleep, so here I was. At six in the morning. Apparently trying to run off my dream.
When I was in my freshman year of high school, I remember my friend, Maddie, have an anxiety attack. She was frantic, couldn’t catch her breath, and dizzy. I didn’t know how to help her. I didn’t know what was wrong. I tried to calm her down the best I could. She eventually calmed down, and went home. A few days, she told me that she had bipolar disorder and one of her symptoms was that she suffered from anxiety. I thought it was a joke, I have some rough days and issues being decisive, that doesn’t mean I’m bipolar or that I have anxiety. I thought she was being overdramatic, as I knew Maddie to be sometimes.
When I was little, I was suffering with illness anxiety disorder. A minor symptom or body sensation would easily make me think that I have some kind of serious illnesses. It was all started back when was six, when my grandpa was diagnosed with cancer. He died after a year battle with cancer. However, everything changed when I was in the summer of third grade, when I noticed that one of my breasts was unusually bigger than the other. I didn’t tell my parent after a while because I did not like the idea of going to the hospital. I hated hospitals, I hated the smell and the feelings of being there; the last time I was there was when I was visiting my grandpa.