Dr. Narrow Bedroom Observation

Presented to: WGU Assessment Code: RWT1 Student Name: Carol Wilson Student ID: 000219654 Date: February 22, 2013 Mentor Name: Christina Williams

Mrs. Shepard had an excellent rapport with the faculty and the students in the biology department. Her mastery of biology, her personal integrity and her interpersonal communication skills were the reasons why she was selected to participate in our pilot program for student laboratory instructors.

At Katherine Elementary School Dr Vandaveer has her own portable where she can test students. Her desk is in one corner and there was a kidney-shaped table with a few chairs on the side of the room. Other than a couple filing cabinets the room was fairly sparse. There was nothing on the walls.

I shadowed medical professionals as they treated their patients, one of whom was a forty-something year-old man with Stage II lung cancer. I didn’t know his name or how long he'd been sick, but it was clear that he was desperate and emotionally worn. In the doorway between the scanning room and the observation room, I watched him prepare for tests. On my right, the patient stepped onto the “couch”, or the CT scan bed. I entered the observation room and was instructed to flick on a switch, alerting personnel to vacate the room so as not be exposed to the radiation. A red light flashed and the loud rumbling of the gantry startled me, a seemingly normal procedure to everyone else. Four doctors surrounded a control panel and a set of displays, shooting each other uncertain looks and mumbling what I assumed must have been bad news. Perhaps the tumor had spread. I followed the lead doctor into another room, never to hear of that patient again, never to learn what had become of

As I completed my work in Kumon,a math and reading educational center that helps children with standardized testing; all I could focus on was the prize drawers. Kumon’s one large gray room with seven or eight long tables. The owners of Kumon are an Asian couple, Mr. and Mrs. Chang. When I completed my work and hastily checked it over I rushed to turn it into Mr. Chang. He quickly and happily reviewed it, I received a hundred. My best friend Muskaan stood next to one of their helpers Mr. Jordan, she managed to pull out a hundred too. Muskaan, my fifth grade friend and I (a fourth grader)carpool to Kumon after school every Monday and Wednesday. Since both of us managed to pull out hundreds so each of us were awarded five Kumon dollars. A Kumon dollars allows students to “buy” prizes. “Kailey what are will you get from the store?” Muskaan questioned. “I’m buying the glorious highlighter,” I exclaimed excitedly. The highlighter is truly astonishing it’s a triple sided highlighter with my three favorite colors. A vibrant pink, a neon yellow and a light green.

In the walls of the cubicle there were three orifices. To the right of the speak write, a small pneumatic tube for written messages, to the left, a larger one for newspapers; and in the side wall, within easy reach of Winston's arm, a large oblong slit protected by a wire grating. This last was for the disposal of waste paper. Similar slits existed in thousands or tens of thousands throughout the building, not only in every room but at short intervals in every corridor. For some reason they were nicknamed memory holes. When one knew that any document was due for destruction, or even when one saw a scrap of waste paper lying about, it was an automatic action to lift the flap of the nearest memory hole and drop it in, whereupon it would be whirled away on a current of warm air to the enormous furnaces which were hidden somewhere in the recesses of the building.

Volunteering in the Visick Lab was my first exposure to the field of research where I faced numerous challenges learning material and techniques that were foreign to me. Under the direct mentorship of Dr. Visick, I absorbed many important characteristics required to be a successful scientist: maintaining a sterile environment, providing very detailed and thorough observations, thinking outside of the box, and the ability to analyze and interpret scientific data. Maturing as a scientist led me to become increasingly more independent. My ability to write, speak, and understand scientific language advanced exponentially as I participated in numerous seminars and lab meetings. I concluded the summer session knowing I had acquired a brand new skill

I found myself in another room too small for the amount of people in it. The stale smell that clung to the latex of medical equipment offered a resurfacing of bitter inconclusive memories. White coats with clipboards shined lights in my eyes and prodded at my body. They rattled off the questions that had become all too familiar to me and I recited the same lines I have been for the past 13 years...

The moment arrived. When I opened the doors, I scanned the architectural design of the room. The classroom looked like a mid-size basketball gym. The concrete blocked walls were painted white. The hard-wooded floors complimented two black pianos scattered in different locations of the vicinity.

Some people do not prefer hospital care because they deem it as untrustworthy or fear the expensive bills that follow. To battle this problem, many result to caring for the individual in a dedicated room at home. This dedicated room, or sick-room, is essentially a bedroom that has been converted into an area to care for the ill. This particular sick-room is assumed to exist between the mid 1800’s to the early 1900’s. At this period time, a typical room for hospitalization would not contain the current technologies that monitor the patient’s vitals. Instead, it would look much like a simple bedroom. “The aunts and the culprit were moving toward the sick-chamber.” (Twain 3).

The aroma of disinfectants fill my nostrils as I take a seat in the center of the room in a cushy yet uncomfortable chairs. Occasional coughs and wheezes break up the silence. Everyone looks sick as a tuberculosis patient, pallid faces and feeble bodies. This room is stale and lifeless, so it’s so hard to just sit and do not a thing. In the corner is a rack full children’s books, One Fish Two Fish, The Little Engine That Could, and many other beloved stories. There is a Culligan water cooler that creates a blub blub sound whenever someone draws water to the other corner. I check the typical round analog clock. I’ve only been waiting five whole minutes but it feels like it has been hours. A few informational posters about disease hang on the

On Friday, August 15, 2016 at approximately 1010 hours, I responded to Econo Lodge, 1350 Dogwood Drive in reference to a physical altercation. The complainant/victim Kaiesha Winston stated she beaten up and her belonging were taken in room 108.

1.) I was walking down the street that I live on and saw that. There was a broken window out of the yellow Cadillac. Inside was a poisoned drink with and purse with $100 in it. I called the cops immediately and reported the window and everything else. I was asked a few questions then sent home by a investigator.

Staring into each other’s eyes as an opening activity was noticeably an interesting and unfamiliar experience for many in the room. Even when just explaining the activity created some reactions of confusion and hesitation. Like, “are we really going to do this?”. When some of the inside students had to pair up with each other, one could sense even more hesitation. Many of the Inside students expressed that they felt vulnerable and in a sense violated, like something was taken from them. I think this shows how such a system effects emotional and social well-being along with relationships. During the activity, I was partnered with Damen and I noticed that his mouth was shaking. Now, I can’t say what was making his mouth shake, could have been

The department itself just recently found out about its presence, apparently distraught at the idea of a chair being moved without their knowing, though it may have been there for decades without anyone’s knowledge. A chair that even the most senior faculty cannot remembers, one that matches none of the current desks at the school, one that is rarely ever seen and even less used. But a chair that, to those few who know of it, is enjoyed for the silence it offers, the view from the window, and the timeless equations. A peace rarely found in the hectic day to day of college life, this desk offers a brief few moments to enjoy the process of the work, rather than focusing on completion.