Jaundice Analysis

In 1997, my brother was four years old and my parents started to notice he was not physically capable of doing what other kids his age could do, so they decided to ask a doctor what could be wrong. Many blood tests and muscle biopsies later, my parents were told that my brother has mild autism and Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy means that his muscles will progressively degenerate and weaken over time. This news made my parents upset for a long time. Halloween of 1997, my mom found out she was going to have me

The struggle was not just the pain in my leg and vacuums in my skin. The struggle was being thirsty for hours, and not finding anyone to bring the water to me. What mom?, what dad?, what brothers?, and what sisters?. There all were in their different worlds. The struggle is seeing my mom is crying on Face-time, because she can’t come and help. The struggle was hearing the nurses asking me “Don’t you have anyone in your family to come and visit?”.. The struggle is not knowing when I’m getting out

Twenty-one years ago, my parents received the devastating news that my lungs were not developing properly and as a result my mom had an induced labor. I was born as a premature baby, weighing only 3 lbs. and was placed in the care of neonatal nurses in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for 18 days. While my mom came to visit me, she would notice how well the nurses would care for me. Though their jobs were tough, the nurses would often carry me while I was crying and would often talk me to sleep, sometimes singing lullabies.

The day Luther was supposed to come home was like the past two days: after the dismissal of school, I would go to cross country practice. Grandma would then pick me up and take me home. When I got in the car after practice, Grandma’s facial expression told me that something was wrong, causing the air to strip from my lungs, dropping my stomach to my toes. She informed me that Luther had been taken by ambulance to St. Mary’s in Rochester. Instead of going home, we drove to see him and Mom. The ride to Rochester was a slow blur. Trying to work on homework was useless as constant thoughts about Luther flowed into my mind. When we arrived at St. Mary’s, we went straight to the NICU, where Luther was admitted. Tears filled my eyes when I saw the many chords that were connected to his little body that led to machines that I had never seen before. Mom explained to us what was going on, but I still didn’t grasp the concept that, lying in that little bed, was my baby brother. As an older sister, I felt helpless, knowing that he was going through more pain then I could ever imagine. We stayed for a couple hours, then Grandma took us home. We continued to return to Rochester every day to visit Luther and Mom.

Before they set me on my way home, they gave me a lot of instructions. I couldn't go to school for a week and couldn't do anything but lay in bed. Since I had bleeding in my brain, I had a chance of getting seizures so they gave me some medicine and my mom had to stay home and make sure I was doing okay. Everything was overwhelming, so many of my friends and family stood by my side and came to see me and gave me "Get Well" cards. I really do have the best family and friends in my life and I'm so thankful for

My niece Mikah Bradford was born October 13th, 1988. She was born prematurely. Mikah spent the first month of her life in a neonatal incubator. My second oldest sister Crystal sat by her side the whole time singing to her. I was born May 18th, 1990. Mikah and I grew up as if we were sisters. The year she turned thirteen she was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. The doctors did not want to scare her too bad with the diagnosis, but looking back now they should have. Mikah kept eating what she wanted and gaining more weight. By the time Mikah turned twenty-one her doctors did not like the way her body was causing her pain. A few months after she turned twenty-one Mikah suffered a server diabetic attack.

It was nurses that got us through that time with our sanity intact. Nurses checked on my mother—and us—multiple times an hour. They ran tests, updated charts, and changed IVs; they made us laugh, allayed our concerns, and thought about our comfort. The doctors came in every now and then, but the calm dedication of the nurses was what kept us together.

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

We were coming around the corner laughing and talking about how good he was doing, when we saw a family standing outside the NICU area crying. The nurses would not let us in to see our son because there was a baby in his area that was having his last rites with the family. This was our second experience with premature death. We felt so guilty that we were so happy and these people were losing their son forever. We went into the NICU unit and they said our son was moving up to the level two NICU because he was doing so good. Upon entering the unit, there was a ophthalmologist there examining my son for ROP. He explained what it was, and told us that he would need to be seen continually until he sees the retina attached. By now my son was big enough to be in 0-3 months clothes. (They were kind of big on him.) He was long though and so he filled them out

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

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

Gurneys carrying patients zoomed past us. As the ER doors swung open, my steps started to slow. I thought back to the day before. There was a semblance of a smile on her face when my family surrounded her bedside. What she did not see, however, was the nervousness, the sense of panic; we did not know if the surgery would be successful. The nurse led us to the blue curtains that divided the ER floor, shifting them aside to reveal my older sister. The one that had to live with my aunt in India because we could not afford the medical expenses here, the one with a condition that left her speechless and motionless, the one I always fail to mention when I get asked “how many siblings do you have” because I am too embarrassed to talk about her, but at that moment I was only filled with joy. She had lived through the surgery, she was going to be

Our mom Julia had overdosed and the EMTs did everything they could but she was pronounced dead hours ago with J right beside her. Julia wasn't my biological mother but she had raised me alongside J my entire life. My dad had been with her for a while back when I was younger and she even used to say that he was like the Kurt Cobain to her Courtney Love, he hadn't died or anything but after getting too comfortable he ran off and dumped me onto Julia like some hand me down.

My memories play back like a record player that just keeps winding and repeating. I remember it as if it happened yesterday, the nurses in their Winnie the Pooh scrubs, the IV lodged in my arm that would cause pain with the slightest movement. For an entire seven months that was my reality. The reality, that was filled with endless doctor's appointments, emergency room visits, and being surrounded by doctors and

Mother: I have a case of moderate arthritis from playing tennis and gardening, so my doctors were concerned about my body's ability to carry the pregnancy to full term and handle the full ordeal of the delivery. The birth of our child took a long time. I was in labor for nearly four days. We hired a lovely midwife who has specialized knowledge in handling special births, but after the second day, we decided to load me up in the car and head for the hospital. It was frightening, I suppose, but I also felt a clarity of purpose. I really wanted this baby and I knew that the baby's best chance and my best chance for survival was for me to stay calm and coherent as possible, for the sake of my family.