Personal Narrative-Hire Or False Weight Room?

I had always thought that not playing sports because of some injury was a lame excuse for the weak. This thinking was probably due to the fact that I had never gotten a real injury, such as breaking a bone or tearing a ligament. However time after time of getting re injured in the same place weakened that area, now I get injured in those places much more easily than before. Sometimes life just teaches one lessons the hard way. Many people had told me to quit playing with injuries, but I didn’t listen. My brother often told me to stop

I woke up startled and didn’t know where I was. I had an IV in my arm and my parents were staring at me. The doctor came in

The stench of death hit my nostrils as I opened the door to go inside, which is why I always hated going to the hospital. We waited the fifteen minute queue, until I heard my name from a nurse. I followed the nurse into a small, beige room. I sat down on the examining table, as my doctor walked in. I told him my symptoms, and he did a quick check up. His cold fingers pressed against my lower back. “Breathe in and out.” He said. I did as told. “Slower.” he exclaimed. At that moment, while I was slowly breathing in and out, I could hear a small click every time I inhaled. The doctor looked up and said, “Ahhh, you seem to have pneumonia.” He explained to my mom and I what that meant because we were clueless. After he finished, he told us that if I waited any longer to go to the hospital, he wouldn’t be speaking to me, which opened my mom’s eyes finally. He told me that I couldn’t go to school for at least another two weeks, gave me a school note and my prescription. We left the hospital. My mom dropped me off, and went to pick up the medication. As I lay in bed, I remember thinking about everything that has happened to me in the past two days, and what the doctor told me. Those thoughts were interrupted by the opening of my bedroom door as my mom walked in. She handed me the medication. I swallowed the pills, and fell asleep. The next morning my mom walks in with a stack of papers. She said, “It’s alright if you’re not able to attend class,

I've always been the odd man out on any sports team who looked forward to conditioning at the end of practice and would hold my plank an extra few seconds until I really felt the pain. I loved pushing myself beyond my expected limits and the satisfaction of leaving the gym knowing I gave my full effort. Although the thought of taking a weight lifting class was extremely intimidating, I acknowledged my deep love for training and bettering myself.

There is one place where I go to when I have any problems. Stress leaves my body when I’m here. It’s also a place where I can go to make myself stronger, faster and better at sports. It allows me to get stronger and live a healthy lifestyle. This wonderful place of meeting my goals is the weight room.

I’ve have been through hardships and hard times, especially with sports. One of many injuries was when I was playing basketball during open gym. As I went up for a contested lay-up, I twisted my leg. Not knowing it was still planted, I chipped the tibia in my knee. Though it hurt, I was still was able to walk it off. My father and I went to the

I had no idea how I got to the operation room from the pre-op room or from the operation room to the post-op room. All I knew was that when I woke up I was in the post-op room. It took me awhile to fully wake up, as I was in and out of a haze for a few minutes. Once I was truly awake, I realized that my right foot was now in a boot and that it was also elevated. The nurse asked me if I was in any pain and if I needed anymore medication. After I said that I was fine, she took me to a separate room where my mother was waiting. While in this room, another nurse came in to ask me if I would like anything to drink or eat. Once I answered, she left and came back with apple juice and animal crackers. It was now around five o’clock and everything was coming to an end; we were almost ready to go home. To get me from the room down to the ground level and to the car I had to ride in wheelchair. This was my first time being in one myself. My mom and I had prepared for me possibly feeling out of sorts and not wanting to sit upright in the car on the way home. So, we packed blankets and pillows. After the whole backseat was ready and I was situated, we started home. On our way, we stopped once to get a sandwich for me because I was still hungry from not eating much that day.

“Are you OK Logan?” It was my Gymnastics coach. I was lying on a mat with feet and face all covered in blood, the only word I could manage to say was ouch.

Next thing you know I wake up in the recovery room with a dead weight I look under the covers and there's this big white brace on my leg.Touching my thigh it was all mush and none of my muscles worked. Dr. Berkson came over and told me that the surgery was successful, and they ended up finding more things wrong than just the bucket handle tear. It ended up taking 4 hours. They took me to another room, and this point I was crying and no one knew what to do.because I wouldn’t stop, they brought my mom in and said to her that it was all the medication they had to add to make sure I would stay asleep. she was crying and telling me that I was fine and that we would go home soon. She handed me a stuffed fluffy dog and water.The nurses had loved me from the first surgery, they all brought me something and were with me the whole time. One nurse came in and put me in a recliner chair so I could get dressed. When I was finished she slammed the recliner part down. Tons of pain shot through my leg and I screamed in pain. She felt so bad and she apologized for her mistake. Sherman’s nurses were amazing and the nicest people ever, always trying to be there for you..The minute I was wheeled out of the hospital all I remember is hearing good luck with the best of

They took me to the X-Ray room and did some tests on my arm and then put me back in the other room. The doctor came back with the results at least 15 minutes later and said I need surgery. I had to have the surgery the next day because there wasn’t enough doctors available on Sunday. The nurse put me in a wet and cold plastic cast with a sling in case I moved my arm and caused more damage. After a while they took me upstairs to another room to spend the night in. The first room I went in there was a kid snoring loud my dad took a peek and asked the nurse if we could move to another room. The second room I went in was quiet and nobody else was in the room. I went to the bathroom real quick after that long grueling waiting period. After that

It was eight in the morning on an early summer morning; my nerves inside of me were rattling like never before. My parents and I were in the car driving down the road to make my appointment at University Hospital. While on the road, I would always try to find something to distract myself from the fear of a nurse injecting me with a long, intimidating, and deadly needle of doom. Also, the anticipation of the horrible pain and medications that I would have to go through once the whole procedure was finish made my heartbeat beat at a very rapid pace. As I was in the car I was begging my parents to turn around and cancel this whole appointment. My parents kept telling me “it’s too late; they already have our money and if you be a good patient

I could feel every crack, rock, and pothole as my dad drove me to the hospital. My mind was racing through all of the possibilities—appendicitis, stomach ulcers, gastritis—each one terrifying me more than the previous. After enduring a sonogram, a radiologist entered the room and examined the pictures of my internal abdomen. “Prep her for emergency surgery,” the radiologist said calmly. Those five words took me from a relaxed patient, to a panicky monster. The word surgery reverberated and rang in my ears in a continuous song. Seconds later, what seemed like the entire hospital’s staff was preparing me to go under the knife. It was complete

It was time to face my impending doom, the one thing that stood between me and my ‘A’: fitness testing. My arms would not fail me. I was not going to fall, I was not going to break. I would face this like I faced everything else, with determination on my shoulders and perseverance on my back. As I lifted myself from the ground, sweat dripping from my forehead, I knew it would not end well. All I could think was, ‘I am not going to make it, I am not going to make it,’ and I absolutely did not. My arms gave out from under me as I hit the floor with a loud ‘thud’. My teacher looked down at me with disappointment in his eyes. In this moment I knew that me and push-ups were not meant for each other. Being 16 years old and not being able to master

The day of my surgery came it started at 7:30am so I wasn’t able to eat breakfast, but that wasn’t the sad part I was missing the first day of 4th grade! I got to the hospital as scared as I could be. While walking, the sun’s rays reflected off one of the hospital’s windows and landed right in my face. What a day I thought. When we got in the building a doctor took my mom and I straight up to a room. They had to put a whole bunch of tubes in me through shots. I HATE SHOTS!! When it was time they took me to a room full of people. One of them took my finger and put tape around it, so I think it was taped. That was the last thing I remember before my world turned black.

As we entered into Houston traffic, I became more and more worried about my dad. I looked out of the window of my grandpa’s red Cadillac and watched us zoom over all the overpasses. It was around ten p.m., so we did not go to the hospital that night; instead, my paternal grandfather took me to my maternal grandmother’s house. She lived in a suburb of Houston called Pecan Grove. I was angry at my grandfather for not letting me go straight to the hospital, but I was tired, so I didn 't argue. The next morning around seven my grandfather came and picked me so that we could go see my dad. As we arrived, everyone was just sitting there in the dull gray chairs that were in the waiting room including my brother, sister, soon to be ex-stepmom, my dad’s girlfriend, and my grandmother and grandfather. They were all sobbing; it was almost as if you could feel their pain. The nurse came to me and told me I could go back into my dad´s room. As I walked through the suffocating gray hallway, I read a sign in front of the entrance I was directed to, and it said “ICU,” or intensive care unit. I knew from that point on that he would look much worse than I had imagined.