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Personal Narrative: E. T.

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I blearily opened my eyes and wiggled my fingers, captivated at the tubes that were woven in and around my hand. One of my fingers was smashed into captivity by a blinking red light, making me look like E.T. These sights could have been so nerve-wracking, had I not gotten used to them over the previous few years. Instead, they mollified any concerns I had regarding the surgery. They practically whispered to me that I had made it through and that I was going to be okay. I so desperately needed to be okay. Often, during the two years prior to this surgery, I would attempt to go to school and end up at the hospital. I would throw up in the bathroom, or be unable to walk due to the profound pain in my stomach. I had countless MRIs, X-rays, and

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