My Childhood Memories Of My Grandfather And Me

Living across the street from my Papa Gene, I found myself spending every summer day in his humongous- or so my eight year old self thought- pool, treating myself. I was always the kid that thought my grandparents were a God-sent gift to me and I was the luckiest girl in the world. I can still recall the the taste of the orange creamsicle popsicles my grandma would place in a cup outside and let melt before I drank them because she knew that was my favorite way to eat them. I definitely spent the sweetest of summers at that small house with the huge pool. While many childhood memories were made at my grandparent’s house, the one picture that will burn in my head until the end of time will be the one

When I was nine years old, I was very sick, and I had to stay in the hospital. I have very few memories of the hospital, but I do faintly recall a few calming faces as I lay in a hospital cot. These calming appearances were the doctors and nurses of the hospital. During my stay, I interacted with the hospital staff which was made up of nurses and physicians. The main reason why I didn’t feel scared about my condition was due to the trust I had in the abilities of my doctors and nurses.

t was the moment I had been waiting months for. The comforting aromas of bread and tea met my nose the instant I stepped through the doorway. Beautifully-written, thought-provoking books sat on the shelves, waiting to be read while soft strains of celtic lullabies floated through the halls. Excitedly, I bolted up the entryway steps to the arms of some of the most meaningful people in my life- Bumma and Boppy.

“Right this way,” the nurse ahead of me was prompting me to a brightly lit hall that was completely foreign to me. I couldn’t help but be terrified by the sights and sounds around me: people chattering, machines methodically beeping, gurneys rushing past. It was my first time in a hospital and my eyes frantically searched each room looking for any trace of my father. She stopped suddenly and I turned to the bed in front of me but I could not comprehend what I saw. At such a young age, I idolized my father; I had never seen him so vulnerable. Seeing him laying in a hospital bed unconscious, surrounded by wires and tubes was like witnessing Superman encounter kryptonite. My dad’s car accident not only made him a quadriplegic, but also crippled

Grandma and Grandpa are probably some of the most amazing people in the world. I am really blessed to be so close with grandma and grandpa. Both distance wise and relationship wise. I don’t even know where to start. Between all the cooking lessons, rock shows, R.V. shows, birthdays, track meets, concerts, holidays, dinners, snakes, shopping trips and so on I have a lot of ground to cover in not a lot of time. I’ll start with the cooking lessons.

There was a strong pungent of disinfectants and rubbing alcohol as she was rushed into the lobby. Crying out her last breath to express her agonizing pain as she lied down on the cold gurney. The nurses in a light blue uniform quickly arrived as several doctors in long white gowns rushed to the scene. Her mother was by her side, holding her hands as tight as she could, as the nurses pushed the agitating gurney towards the automatic doors. Soon her visions blurred and as the world turned into a tint of pink and red. As her vision slowly darkened, she solely relied on the touch of her mother’s warm hand and her soothing voice. Notwithstanding the tight grip of her mother’s hands, they was soon torn apart. Fear took over her body as she cried even louder. The sudden yet rhythmic beep was the last memory she could recall. It was March 5th.

I was sat on the marble floor of our house next to a big pile of glass that used to be an ornate vase, hoping that my mom hadn't heard the crash. But judging by the sound of quick clacking coming closer every second, I was fresh out of luck. “ALICIA MANON JANE WHAT DID YOU DO?” Her bright blue stilettos that she wore all the time” because they were a ladies shoe” blocked my vision. I looked up and saw the rage that marred her usually gorgeous face. “You’re so useless I swear, ‘m not sure why god decided to curse me with such a burden lIke you” Even at my young age, I could probably recite this speech by heart. I was always “useless” or “good for nothing” sometimes, I even got the occasional“I hate you and I wish that I never had you”, but those were reserved for specIal occasions when no one else is around. She harshly grabbed my arms and forcIbly pulled me up from my position on the floor, I remember feeling her long blood red nails dig into my flesh. She led me upstairs to my room and before she locked me In my room yelled, “ Maybe In here you’ll learn how not to be such a burden to

Hospitals are not the best places; no one wants to stay, but one was my favorite place for six months. People think of hospitals as some place to sit and wait for bad news. Brunswick hospital is the hospital I visited every day. It had plain white walls, red seats to sit in while waiting, and had a great staff. I was in sixth grade living life as any normal eleven year old. Life was a breeze. Then on February twenty-sixth, my whole world changed. My mother found out she had stage three Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. “Mom was going to die,” was the only thing running though my little scatter brain. She would not see my graduate or follow my dreams.

I felt my face getting red hot as I raced down the hospital hallway. I bit my lip, slamming into the wall. I pushed myself back and ran into an open elevator. I tried to study the floor numbers but my vision was blurry from the tears building up in my eyes.

My hospital bed was ice cold and the bleak and empty white walls depressed me as the uncomforting thought that I would have to stay here for maybe another week brought tears to my eyes. The usual and oppressive smell of disinfectant lingered in the room as I recalled that night in my head, trying to convince myself it wasn’t my fault, as I had done everyday since the accident. It was the day everything changed and my life was turned upside down. Forever.

I sat there cold and motionless, not even the sun on that warm summer day could bring me to life. “There is nothing left to do. This is the end.” The words played continuously in my head like a broken record. I had to find the willpower to stand, walk back into the hospital, and say my final goodbye to my mom.

I watched as my family said goodbye as a I lay in my hospital bed, breathing raspily. I told them that I loved them. I tried to reach out for my mother’s hand, but was stopped by the short slack of all the tubes and wires connected to me. She comes closer so she can hold my hand, so she can comfort me in my last moments.

As the only child of two full-time physicians, I often found myself tagging along to hospital rounds on the weekends and clinic hours during the summer months. My passion for hospital rounds was initially rooted in the fresh bagels and biscuits in the doctor 's lounge. However, as hospital budgets dwindled and fresh bagels became stale crackers and dried carrots, I increasingly found myself sitting in the far corner of patient rooms during the consultation. Sometimes we 'd be in the intensive care unit, telemetry, oncology, or even the psychiatric ward. I encountered a truly fascinating array of patients and families. I 'd always sit silently pretending to putt around on my Mom 's PalmPilot or whatever latest gadget that was on the market. But I attentively listened to every word of interaction between the patient and the doctor. I 'd often even get anxious thinking of follow-up questions for the patient that were never asked. The medical terminology was often beyond my years. And the hospital rooms were tropically moist and exhibited foul odors. But none of these details deterred me because I was so intrigued with the patients ' lives. Everything from apathetic gang members in the Western suburbs of Chicago to weirdly spunky senior citizens. This exposure to people from all walks of life each with their own unique and individual story provided me with an astonishing perspective. I was exposed to an entirely new reality of the world that many children are never subjected to.

The day was August 1st, 2013. Summer was coming to an end and fall was close at hand. However, on this particular day, I paid no mind to the changing season. Hundreds of people strolled the hospital hallway, their voices echoing the long pale corridors like distant hums. Despite the outside chatter, my room encompassed a certain stillness. I had always associated stillness with serenity, but this stillness was made up of apprehension, hopefulness, and most notably, fear. As I sat on a bed meant for sick patients, I looked around the small confines of the white room to my family. Within each of them I saw panic; I saw the fear of losing me. After what seemed like a lifetime suspended within a cruel dream, the doctor finally entered the room.

My supervisor, one of the head nurses, hurriedly pulled me to the corner of the bleach white hospital room and directed me to put on gloves, an eye mask, and a face mask. I felt as if I was preparing for war as I put on all of the required gear. The sound of expensive shoes click-clacked down the hallway indicating the arrival of two doctors who rushed into the room and shouted out orders to the staff while pulling the doors to the room shut along with the curtains. Two doctors, eight nurses, an intern, and a dying patient squeezed into the already claustrophobic ten by fifteen-foot room. The machine monitoring the patient’s vital signs continued to beep incessantly as my heart rate accelerated. Throughout my internship, I had never seen a patient in critical condition until that moment. I remembered my teacher’s advice if we were ever in a situation such as this: take a few deep breaths and sit down if you feel like you’re going to pass out. In that