Personal Narrative: The Hospital Room

A music box like sound twinkled with a bright tune throughout the hospital. Its tune was heard from the quiet and calm patient rooms, through the long white hallways, and to the comfortable hospital lobby where I stood waiting. I wonder what that sound was? Well, who cares? I’ve got other things to worry about. It was my first day of volunteering at the Fountain Valley Regional Hospital. The first tasks I was assigned were to greet, to help, and to escort visitors to their destination. My shaky hands were clasped together in an attempt to stay calm. Jeez I hope I don’t get lost while escorting a visitor.

A unique experience that I had at Norton Women’s and Children’s Hospital was that we also covered labor and delivery and the mother-baby unit. Most of our programming and interventions on these units involved bereavement and grief support, sibling education/support, and memory/legacy making. From my coursework and volunteer experiences at the University of Charleston, South Carolina, I had a solid foundational background with grief and bereavement through our child life courses, our death and dying course, our experiences with Shannon’s Hope, and our experiences with Rainbows. A family is forever changed when there is a loss of a family member, specifically a child (Pearson, 2005). A parents reaction to the death of a child greatly differs

“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

Tiny droplets began to fall on the windshield. As we continued to drive through the drizzling rain, my sister tapped on my shoulder and exclaimed, "Look outside, there's lightning!" I quickly turned to the window only to hear a faint boom, I continue to stare out the window, to see a flicker of light. Suddenly the thumps on the car began to grow louder. Jetting through the wet road, shaking against the harsh winds, flashing thunder continuously abrupts the sky. Looking at the weather now, i noticed how the forecast shifted from a light drizzle to a downpour. Rain sliding down the window, window fogging with a covering mist, our vision begins to worsen. The feeling of fear, heart racing and shaking, begins to build up in the car and I could feel the hairs prickling on the back of my

I was walking down the halls of The Children’s Hospital of Pennsylvania after an appointment. Every hall had a different theme, the point being to attract the little kids, but one, in particular, had caught my eye. The waves and fish on the walls lead me to a window that glassed a room full of kids. I saw doctors with them, but they looked as if they were just playing with the kids, doing everyday things. A passing doctor caught my stare and approached me, and being at least 12 at the time, I blurted, “what is this?” The doctor went on to tell me that I was watching Occupational Therapy. He explained that not everyone can do the things I do every day, and it was the therapist’s job to help them. Being 12 at the time, I was naive to the fact

I earned 14 hours for service for this activity. I continued working in my shift in the ICU. In the ICU, the main jobs are refilling the drawers in the not occupied rooms and ensuring that the supply closets are full. Sometimes, I clear the storage unit, that contains towels, sheets, pillow cases, and rags, from yarn. The yarn is used to tie the a stack of linen together and they are usually all over the place. If I get the chance, I throw out the excess yarn and untie the stacks. When I was doing this, a nurse thanked me because everyone is so busy and does not have time to clean up the yarn. I continued to do my jobs, but towards the end of my shift, I begin to become tired. I developed time efficient system that allowed me to maximize the

“He’s in trauma room one. He said he needed to see you in private.” Lynn said with a hand on Bennett’s shoulder.

I was born on June 26, 2002 in Albany, NY. I lived there until I was about 5, then we moved to Edinboro. For about three years of my childhood I maintained to average an emergency room trip a year. First when I was in Kindergarten my brother accidentally shut a door on my face. The edge of the door knob hit my lip and cut it in half. I started gushing blood. I was crying because that bad boy hurt and then my mom asks, “do you want some Tang”. I didn't want the Tang because my lip was gushing blood. So we went to the emergency room and I got eight stitches. My next injury happened the summer of me going into first grade. We had this croquet set, and me and my brother were pitching an exercise to each other and hitting it with the croquet mallet.

It was the worst thing in my life. One sip of the wrong drink and my best friend, Brady, was in the Intensive Care Unit, with a small change of survival. How was I supposed to know that his ex-boyfriend was going to poison the water supply? No one is supposed to know about that, until it already happened.

The finish line approached fast, my confidence had built as I forced my way towards the end. Still in front, I couldn't quite believe it. I was finally over the line. The roar of noise pierced my ears, serving to snap me back into this reality. The feeling of relief was immense. Arms all around me, like a cradle I wanted to fall back into, as my legs felt like giving way. I was exhilarated but

I’d dressed hurriedly and, like the Hebrews fleeing Egypt, gave scant thought to what I should wear. Only after I’d reached Mercy Hospital did I realize I’d donned black fleece pants dotted with tiny pink hearts, topped it off with a lime green hoodie, and could do nothing about it now.

With my hands gripping the arms as I sat on the edge of the seat, I gazed at the action on my television screen. My family is jumping with excitement as they watch the rider take the lead. Faster and faster and faster they go as they pump their bright, red legs covered in mud and scratches. We scream at the TV as they get closer to the finish. They pedal harder, gritting their teeth and gripping their handle bars as they stand off their seats. Only moments away now, they pedal faster than a cheetah chasing after it’s prey.

I will never forget the walk down the halls at Seattle Children’s Hospital. Being amongst a community of people with physical disabilities and health issues left me wondering if I could be the next victim. Waiting anxiously to see the results of my shoulder, I paced frantically back and forth to erase the nervousness grasping my chest. Finally, my name was called, and I jolted forward with anxiousness, hoping everything would be fine.

The hallways in the hospital seemed long, dark, and lonely as my husband and I walked behind two paramedics. No one said a word to one another. I felt like I was in a trance, putting one foot in front of the other yet not understanding why I was doing so.

When we meet up with Zak and Gordon, both are eager to get started. It’s apparent that I just rolled out of bed. We stretch for ten minutes or more. Next we get on our bikes. Zak leads our