Personal Experience: Senior Synthesis

The parents came out of Grandma’s room by one by one, bags under their eyes, makeup running down their face, and bright red noses. By that time, I could almost predict what happened. As my mom and dad approached us with their heads down, I prepared myself to hear exactly what I never wanted to hear. “The doctors are turning off the life support machine. She isn’t suffering anymore, and she will be looking over every one of you guys. She said she loves you all so much,” Mom told us while my dad didn’t hide his tears back.

Suddenly my eyes flew open, the coldness slowly lingered away. My body felt warm. Almost as warm as how my mouth felt the last time I had sipped on my grandmother's tea. My grandmother always told me to have faith and to believe in the end everything would be alright. I felt the frigid saltwater against my skin. “Where am I?” I thought to myself. I couldn’t quite recall what had happened nor where I was. All that I could recall was hearing screams of innocent children and parents trying to comfort

“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

December eleventh, 2012, started out as any other Tuesday did. After school, I left with my friend, Jessica, and her mom to go pick up her little sister, Sophia, planning to go shopping before heading to a doctor's appointment. When picking up her sister, we stayed to talk and eat popcorn with the family who had been watching her for about half an hour before heading to the

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 can honestly say that I have never really believed anything about myself. I used to put all of that on my relationship with God because it was the easy thing to do. But, as I am transitioning into a new part of my life; moving away from family and friends, and figuring out my relationship with God, I am only beginning to understand myself. There has not been a moment in my life where I have had to seriously sit down and think about this subject, until now. I know I was meant for greater things besides sitting and eating food all day, and I know that I am not a completely worthless speck on the planet. But these are all things that I know, not necessarily what I believe about myself. I am unsure about everything and would rather just let life happen. I believe in others but I am at war with myself. To me, when you believe something about yourself, you are being held to certain standard that you will not always meet and ultimately setting yourself up for failure. If I believe I am a loving person and put that out into the universe, then it is expected of me to always be a loving person, when in reality, I am not. I am human and I am flawed.

On Easter, my cousins, brothers, and I woke up at 7:00 and were ready to go downstairs and find the eggs and our Easter baskets the Easter Bunny left for us. We ran down

As we focused on finishing up our English tests, Sarah suddenly had a seizure and would have fallen to the floor if I had not caught her. “Help! Someone please get the nurse!” I shouted while holding Sarah’s body and head. “Sarah, Are you ok? Please wake up. Help is on the way.” I urged. However, Sarah did not respond and was unconscious. I could see the fear and anxiety in her eyes, and involuntarily opened mouth. She continued shivering, her whole body turning cold. I rapidly wrapped my arms around her shoulders to keep her warm. It was my junior year of high school and the first time that I had close contact with a “patient.” Nervous and worried, I did my best to comfort her.

The best four days of my life were exhausting, challenging, and hectic. A traditional Native American dance, the Sunrise dance, takes place when girls are becoming of age. The first day we get dressed by our godmothers, and partake in a social dance with a fire symbolistic of the elders bringing peace, joy,and harmony to the ceremony. The next morning we dance again, then the evening of that same day, we dance with the crown dancers. On the third day, the girl gets painted then her and her godparents do an exchange. On the fourth day the girl gets undressed.

Just before the doors closed a man all in black slipped into the ambulance. The little girl stared at him but no one else seemed to notice the man, dressed up like a fairytale prince in mourning, with burning green eyes. Her dad held her hand and the uniformed men hooked her up to tubes and sensors but it all felt far away, nothing was real except for the man in black and as monitors screamed and the ambulance workers rushed around her, putting something over her mouth and nose and barking out commands, the world went silent, and then it went dark, her only thought being of emerald eyes in the blackness.

As the elevator doors open I immediately see colorful walls and the greenest carpet I have ever seen. The nurse looked at me and smiled “This is the pediatric floor, just keep following me.” I continued following the nurse down the hall and as I looked up I saw tiles on the ceiling with different drawings on each one and different names. We reached two double doors that was opened by a gray button the nurse pushed. As the double doors open children were revealed, they were no older than ten years old and looked sick. It did not take me very long to notice tubes covering their small bodies and as I looked up I saw each of the hairless heads. I gasped as I realized they were cancer children and notice the yellowish colored chemotherapy drip through their ivs to their fragile bodies. Immediately I think back to when I was seven years old in the hospital everyday visiting my grandfather. Walking through those hospital doors seeing my grandpa’s hairless head and the pain he went through. I intensely remembered the grief my family went through when he got cancer and as I look at these children I would not want them to go through what my grandfather went through. I assume the nurse saw my facial expression and she said “I guess you didn’t know you were going to working with cancer kids?” I slowly shook my head but the nurse just grinned “Don’t be too alarmed then may look sick and fragile, but that doesn’t slow them down. I have come to learn that

I lay with one ear pressed against my brother’s chest in a hospital bed meant for one. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. His ten-year-old heart beats as fast as a sixty-year-old smoker’s, desperately trying to compensate for the weakness in his cardiac muscles. We lie watching the History Channel, one of his favorites, when a nurse walks in to insert an IV needle. I watch his big, brown eyes as it takes the nurse four times to get the needle in one of the veins, finally finding its place in his small, delicate hands. His eyes never leave the television screen and his posture remains relaxed. This is nothing more than a routine, a life he’s always known.

It was a peaceful, quiet Friday evening, when I was sitting on my couch peacefully and doing homework and watching TV. It was almost near the time where everyone in my family would go into their rooms, and call it a day. I, on the other hand, was planning to stay up till pretty late to finish some homework. As soon as my dad was going to bed, his phone rang - a phone call from his good friend.

Dusk swallows up the quiet building within an instant, almost perfectly black. It was if pure nightmare became a reality. In the corner of the dimmed hospital room, a senior man rocks silently on a wooden chair. Slowly pushing his numbing feet off of the floor, an eerie creaking sound follows. Anxiously twiddling his thumbs, the cold chills begin to eat at his skin. A resonating shiver climbs up his spine, like a snake stalking it’s prey.

It was early one summer afternoon, shortly after lunchtime, when I heard my mom scramble towards the door. There was little noise, besides her loud stomps and faint cries through the drywall. The wind whistled faintly through my slightly open windows. Suddenly, the air conditioning kicked in startling me. It sounded as if it was a faint boat in the distance. I could make out the sound of the air conditioning through my vents. My brother’s television powered on, as well as my dad’s. They whispered silently through the insulation. Eventually, it all turned off and once again there was my mom’s loud stomps and faint cries.