My Father’s Surgery
I could hear the heartbeat monitors and crying down the hallway and I could feel the nervousness throughout my body. My Father Ambrocio, was undergoing surgery on his back due to an injury on the job. The thought that anything could happen in the operation room was too much. We were in Long Beach California for three days of pure fear for my Father's life but inside, I knew, that this fear will not last forever.
It was 2013 and I was 13, when my Mother Amelia came into my room on a Tuesday night to ask whether I wanted to go with her to my Father’s operation. She explained to me that her and my Father were going to leave Wednesday after she got out of work. She asked me “Do you want to go?”. I thought to myself “If
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The drive to the medical center was really odd. There was no talking and every time my mom tried to start a conversation my Father would try to avoid it. “Look it’s Angel Stadium” my Mother said out loud to my Father. He said nothing and attempted to fall asleep. The rest of the drive there I thought how serious this trip really is. At first I did not take it too seriously but with every minute that would pass I felt more and more scared. It felt like I was in a room and the walls were caving in slowly. My mind was thinking of the things that could happen and I thought television shows and real life scenarios where things go wrong in operation rooms. I thought to myself “Stop thinking about that!” and continually repeated it in my head but the thoughts were stuck in my head like a piece of gum. We arrived to the Holiday Inn hotel right off of interstate 405 and only about 3 miles from the hospital. I was somewhat amased at the fact that the hotel looked somewhat like a wide tower. I was excited because this was my first time being in a hotel. We entered our room and the first thing I noticed was the view. We were on the eleventh floor and right above us was a restaurant on the last floor. By this time it was ten o’clock and we had to wake up at five am so we quickly fell asleep. I felt a few taps on my shoulder and I heard my Mother's voice “Wake up, wake up” she said. I could tell that my Father did not get much sleep. His eyes were …show more content…
We all stood up from our chairs and we took an elevator to the second floor. The bottom floor seemed like a office, but the second floor felt like a real hospital. It smelled sanitized just like a regular hospital. I could tell it was old, there was a stripe of a washed out green that went along the walls. The lady showed us to another small waiting area. The room was small and had four couches and a small table in the middle with magazines on it. My Mother and I went to sit down and my Father began to do the same thing but the lady then said “No come with me, we need to prepare you”. At this moment I felt my fear began to settle in. I rested my head on my Mom’s shoulder. My Mother woke me up, “Wake up, we’re going to see your Father”, As I got up from the couch I asked her “ Is he done?”, “No he goes in like in ten minutes and they’re letting us see him right before”. The lady who showed us to the waiting room was there and showed us to the room where he was. The room was long but not ride and there were many other patients there and I figured out they were all there for surgery too. We walked toward him and he was there in a patient gown. We stood next to him my mother began to speak to him, I looked around the room at the other patients, When my Mother finished talking to him, I told him “It’s going to be OK.”, “I know” he replied. We
I had been cringing about day for so long. I was completely terrified to go into that room. As the door opened I was exposed to a cold draft and I could feel the dense air. The day I was told this needed to be done was horrifying, and now it’s actually happening. They rolled me over to a new bed and I looked around seeing doctors everywhere. There was a table that they rolled next to me and on it was things that I can’t even explain. They put a green mask on me with tubes going through both sides of it. They told me I’d get drowsy and all of the sudden I closed my eyes and it was happening. I was getting knee surgery.
One night as I searched for my mother, my dad told me she was not feeling like herself. My dad told me to let her rest that night and I could talk to her the following morning. As I started to wake up the next morning my father was sitting at the foot of my bed and informed me I’d be spending the day with my Aunt Michelle because my mother had a doctor’s appointment. I could not wrap my head around why I would not be attending this appointment but had attended all the others. Later that evening once again both my parents came into my room but this time without smiles. With a shaky voice my mom began to tell me she had been diagnosed with Preeclampsia and her illness was progressing quickly. Now with tears running down her face she continued
I fought the thoughts of not being able to breathe and allowing myself to have a panic attack. I have never been very religious, but it got to a point where counting didn’t help and the moment that destroyed my health replayed over and over. It was the few seconds prior to blacking out, to when I looked up at my rearview mirror and saw a truck coming right for me because he fell asleep. These thirty minutes of darkness symbolized the endless emotional and physical pain I had endured and my return to the darkness, which I cannot explain. So I prayed, hoping that even though I couldn’t remember all the verses, it would end the spinning and the torture. These moments of fear were more than claustrophobia; it was also a concoction of sadness. Sadness, that uncovered my weak and fragile human being self to the world because I had still not healed. As these thoughts deepened, the bed of the MRI machine began to move outward and I knew it was over. I hadn’t realized that my body was trembling until they took the thick white sheet off me. It revealed my shaking legs covered in Goosebumps and so, I pulled my fuzzy green socks up and with their help got off the bed. I wondered if that’s what it was like to live through a traumatic event or was it me being dramatic? Either way, I shut the door leaving the loud and terrible noises behind me. As I walked out, I could never see myself laying in that room again, unable to escape the endless
“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
My time in the hospital was such a haze, in what felt like a day or so a total of was 2 weeks had passed. Going home was a strange feeling since I had almost forgot what home was being gone so long from it. When the doctor had removed the wrapping around my head, it was like all the memory of the event had been released at once. The story of how my sister had dug her nail in my eye and subsequent reenactment. I never expected to have my sight be scared by such a close person and fro them to repeat their action twice. I was in my room that Thursday afternoon having just come back from school I was placing my backpack to the side when it happened.
The doctors could not save him. My heart ached, and I wanted to run away instead of facing the cruel reality that my dad was not going to walk out of this hospital today or ever again. I cried hopeless tears as my mom slowly carried me to the far corner of the hospital where my dad had been placed by doctors hours before. When we reached the doorway to his room, I froze with hatred and anger. I could not comprehend why the doctors had no power or ability to fix the situation. I felt helpless and did not want to go inside the room where my dad was being held captive by countless wires and machines. However, I crawled onto the foot of the bed and held my dad’s legs as he continued taking shallow breaths. Ultimately, that is where I remained until a nurse came in several hours later to confirm he had passed
When I woke up I had no idea where I was. I was dazed and really confused. The nurse came in and said, “Jaclyn you're in the Toledo Flower Hospital and you passed out.” My parents were sitting there with worried faces. I just wanted to know what was going on. She was giving me a medicine through my IV, looking as if she was frantic and dripping with sweat. As soon as I got my medicine a stretcher burst through the door. There was a bloody unconscious man lying on it. My nurse immediately ran to them and she was rushing around and looked like she was on an adrenaline rush. She was yelling for a Doctor, but there wasn't one around. She had to make the decision to intubate the patient without the doctor and that was a risky decision.
When I was twelve years old, I obtained my first surgery. I recall feeling frightened yet overwhelmed with the idea of receiving surgery not to mention the risks. My supportive mother was glued to me through the challenging period. Looking back, shoes were squeaking against a polished white floor as individuals with blue scrubs were rushing to ill humans. Beeping machines following the creaky noise when doors open and close. A mixed odor of chemicals, medicine, and sanitizer to prevent viruses from diffusion. An extreme amount of pain on the left portion of my stomach placed me in between life and death.
In the summer before my junior year in high school my mom and I learned that my 5 year old little brother, Angel would need surgery to better his breathing. Growing up in a complex family structure where my parents constantly argued created an isolating feeling in me leading to a desire for a younger brother or sister. Fast forward to 5 years later, I was extremely worried and distressed hearing that my baby brother needed an intricate surgery, because I didn’t know what to do in order to help relief the stress my mom and I were experiencing. The challenge that put a stop on my focus in academics was beyond the physical conflict of my little brothers surgery, it was the internal issue I felt as I was vastly overwhelmed. It was quite an eyeopening
The most unforgettable thing for me is the surgery. It was a hot day in summer vacation. Mom took me to the hospital because there was a red, about 3 centimeters wide tumor on my leg.“It should be cut.”said the doctor. Hearing this,I opened my mouth widely because of surprise. I hadn’t expected it would be cut, I’d thought it would recover by applying some ointment. Reluctantly, I have no choice but to follow the doctor’s arrangement. A few days later, I went to the hospital again for the surgery. Anxious, I couldn’t stop rubbing my hands and my heartbeat was so quick when I lay on the operation table. “Don’t be too nervous, it will take only a few minutes.” said the nurse. And she explained the procedure of the surgery for me to make me
I remember being on a math class when I received a text saying I was soon going to receive an emergency call. The worst things cross my mind but nothing could ever prepare me to hear what I did. My mother called saying that my sister was under ICU because her former flu had become an odd illness in her lungs. My thoughts immediately went to my father. My younger sister had always been so close to him and I couldn’t even imagine how destroyed he might’ve felt. I was taken to a waiting room at the hospital my sister was in. The moment I arrived, I saw my father pacing back and forth from the bathroom to a chair. He was neither crying or sad but he did seem desperate as if his life was on the verge of being taken away and he was barely holding
He, along with his mother, the surgeon, multiple other doctors, sutdent assistants (of which I was one), and family friends crowded into the small room that had been designated as the “surgery room,” which was nothing more than a big closet with church supplies and bookshelves lining the walls. In the middle of the room stood a big table that was being used for the surgeries. After I helped him onto this table, he lay down, closed his eyes, and put his little hands on his chest. His sweet face displayed a look of utter peace. I looked over to this little boy’s mom, who was standing in the corner of the room. Tears streamed down from eyes that shone with hope. I closed my eyes, and a small tear trickled down my own cheek. Then, the surgery
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
My baby boy almost died the very day he was born. I remember it all so clearly. The doctor had already informed us of complications, but in our innocence we tried to ignore the fact that it could be life threatening. I began to push, pain shooting through me as though my whole body was being pulled in to multiple directions. My hands were gripping the side rails of the bed so tightly that you could see the imprint of the of the rails embedded in my skin. I was exhausted and felt like giving up. I pushed and pushed as hard as I could. Then suddenly, after an hour of pushing, it was time. I waited to hear that first cry, the first sound of my baby. But I heard nothing except for the shouts of doctor and nurses yelling for the resuscitation team. It was in that moment my world fell silent. It was like watching a silent movie in the late 1920s. People bustling all about, but without sound. Then I heard what sounded like a fire alarm in my ear. It was the telephone. People were calling wanting to know if he was here and my husband was talking to them. This call jolted me out of my silent film. I exclaimed loudly “No! I don’t want anyone here! Not yet!” I was afraid, terrified that my baby was not going to make it, and I did not want an audience. I began to hear words floating around the room like cord, wrapped, blue, and Apgar score. Then finally, after what felt like forever, I heard a cry. It felt
My father and brother are very far out in the deep waters searching for seashells and any aquatic life swimming through the warm, ocean waters. Back on the shore, my mother, my sister, and I are tanning and reading magazines that we grabbed at the hotel. On the cover of the magazine in bold letters it says “SURGERY.” It reminds me of the day Mother got her surgery. She and Father left very early that morning to drive to Apple Hill Surgical center. My parents warned us to behave and that my sister was in charge for the day. My brother and I would have to behave or we