Creative Writing: Kidney Failure

Have you seen my husband? Is all my mom was shouting as she held my hand tightly, running back and forth through the hospital? A receptionist sent us to a room, which felt like coming into an isolated mausoleum. The cold air enveloped my entire body, ice has replaced my spine and numbness is all my fingers felt. The room was somber dark, dead silence; the only sound heard was the heart machine ... Beep … Beep. There wasn’t anything more traumatizing then seeing my father lain on the bed, unresponsive, tubes coming from out mouth and nose. The sadness and desperation in his eyes broke my heart. All of sudden the heart monitor went off with a loud buzzing sound. A nurse jumped out of nowhere “Code Blue”, in matter of seconds 4 nurses and a doctor surrounded my father, my mom and I mindset was at a shock, like were able to see what was happening but couldn’t do anything our body was some glued to the floor. The doctors and nurses tired to help my father but it was too late,

At some point during the night Jenn was transferred from the emergency department and admitted to Butterworth’s cardiac intensive care unit in the Fred & Lena Meijer Heart Center. My dad refused to leave my sister’s side, staying with her night and day throughout her hospital stay. He fought with the doctors and nurses when they tried to tell him to go home and get some rest, stating that he felt he needed to be there. Overnight guests were strictly forbidden in the ICU, so they wouldn’t allow him a bed or a reclining chair. My dad slept on the cold hard floor next to Jenn’s bed, waking up for every person that came in the room. Having a conversation with the doctors or nurses every hour checking for status updates reporting any changes in Jenn’s condition that he had

That first day, we drove him to the community medical centre despite it being less than a five minute walk away. At just 52 years old he could barely walk. His shuffled slowly from the car on shaking legs. A dull silence fell as we sat in the waiting room, I placed a reassuring hand on my fathers withered knee while he stared into the near distance, barely acknowledging my touch, mute and withdrawn. He smelled of urine and booze, of unclean clothes, the toll that comes from

I vividly remember that chilly night in March as I walked out of Fifer, the building my father now calls home, for the first time. I had goosebumps, but they were not from the cold I felt hit my skin. Instead, they were from the sickness in my stomach. As I got in the car, I began to cry and had to stop myself from running back inside. My entire world had turned upside-down. How could I go home without my father? How could I leave him in a nursing home, a place where he was too young and mentally fit to be confined? I had to fight the feeling that he didn’t belong. I had to remind myself of why he chose to be there, and I hated it.

It was the year 1996 in the month of June, I will never forget that month and year because it

More than a week has passed since his death yet fierce tears refuse to stop their unending journey down my face. The vivid image of my father lying on that hospital bed. The prolonged degeneration in both mind and body, his ramblings showing truly how far he had fallen, still plague me. The initial confusion that appeared when he first entered the hospital is still fresh in my mind.

We approached the dark brown desk, holding anxiety that it had waiting for us, we told the lady what our names were and why we were there, she walked us to his room in the ICU where 2 of our other family members were waiting. The first person I saw was my uncle’s girlfriend, Cathy, her long, jet black usually smooth hair was tousled as if she had been pulling at it for hours, which looking back now.. She probably was. Across the cold, dark, and depressing hospital room that had a strong odar of sadness and clorox, I saw my sister, Karen who had a flushed face and mascara down her face which held a sad smile towards us. Finally, I directed my attention towards the cold, uncomfortable, bleached bed that held my bruised, and struggling uncle.

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

Death and dying is a normal part of life; however, in the recent past it has become a remote process and is often viewed as something unnatural that should be feared; it is “an unwelcome visitor” (Callanan & Kelly, 2012, p. 37). John is an eight-year-old who is terminal due to an inoperable liver tumor. His parents are having a difficult time accepting that John’s illness is incurable. John’s grandmother died two years ago, but John tries to tell his parents that he will see her soon. John’s parents do not take his conversation seriously. Furthermore, they do not allow any discussions regarding John’s prognosis and have limited the amount of staff that is allowed into his room.

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

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

Collapsed. 3rd January 2015, I was awoken by the hysteric screams of my mother coming from her bedroom. I rushed in just to see the sight in front which overwhelmed me with waves of anguish. My father collapsed on the floor. foaming. My tearing mother by his side screaming out "995!". The following crucial hours felt like days as I followed my dad who was rushed to the A&E department - my world just took a 360 Degrees change. The A&E department diagnosed that my father was struck down by an Acute Ischemic Stroke, killing off his entire Cerebellum, severely reducing his cognitive abilities. My father was bed-ridden, unable to speak and control his movements properly. Reality struck me, my beloved father will never to be like normal as he was

With a doubtful look my mother asked me if I was ok, I couldn’t resist anymore and I had to tell her what I was going through, the pain was oblivious at a point that I couldn’t even stand by myself. Thus, my father lifted me up and the diabolic journey to the hospital had just

My head full of questions, my thoughts raced, time slowed to that of the last day of school before Christmas break. At last, my mother came through those awful doors and I burst into tears. She grabbed me into her soft beautiful arms and held me until I could finally manage to ask if my brother was alive. She stroked my hair and replied “yes honey, he is going to be ok”. My next question and completely logical for an 8-year-old was, “Did they cut off his leg?”. Mom softly responded, “No, honey, his leg is still attached and he will be coming home tonight”. I cried again at the thought of him being alive and coming

They said my grandpa and Aunt Nikki are at the hospital with grandma and then, when I heard that some of my family from Tennessee was on their way down right now to the hospital, I knew it was serious. It was exactly 6:23 PM when I called grandpa’s phone. He answered and I could tell he had been crying. I was demanding to know what was wrong with grandma, but he started crying again and passed the phone to my Aunt Nikki. She was crying as I repeated my demand to know what was going on. Sobbing through the phone, Nikki told me how my grandparents were out to eat at the Oyster Reef Club celebrating New Year’s Eve, when my grandma suddenly choked on her food. Apparently, there were three doctors at the restaurant that night, but no one could get the food out of her throat. “She went nearly forty-five minutes without oxygen and was already gone before she got to the hospital,” said Nikki. She was in the ICU on life support at the Memorial Hospital on the fourth floor. I was numb as I listened to the truth. I rode the rest of the way to the hospital with my parents in silence.