Sophocles And Wires-Personal Narrative

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,

Five years ago, my mother was rushed to the hospital for an aneurysm. For the next two weeks, my family and I sat huddled around her bed in the intensive-care unit, oscillating between panic, fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion.

My hospital bed was ice cold and the bleak and empty white walls depressed me as the uncomforting thought that I would have to stay here for maybe another week brought tears to my eyes. The usual and oppressive smell of disinfectant lingered in the room as I recalled that night in my head, trying to convince myself it wasn’t my fault, as I had done everyday since the accident. It was the day everything changed and my life was turned upside down. Forever.

I frantically run across the street to ask the neighbor to look after my two sons who have just returned from school. Then jump in my car and speed to the hospital. Not sure what to expect when I get there, I brace for the worst as I walk in the room. The room is filled with doctors and nurses all working to stabilize him before the trip “You’ll only have two minutes” I’m told as nurse hurries past me. “The helicopter is here, we’re taking him up now.” I love you was all I had the chance to utter before they rolled the gurney carrying his battered body away. “Where is he being taken” I ask a nurse as I’m running out the door. “Saint Vincent’s in Toledo” she responds

I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.

I could feel my lungs collapsing, taking a shuddering breath of air, I reached for the “help” button. As my vision went black I could hear the comforting voices of the nurses “you’ll be ok son, we won’t let you go, not now its too soon.”

I laid down on the white, musty bedsheets next to my ailing mother. This was her fourth trip to the hospital in a month. I was only six at the time and wasn’t really sure why I was in this room waiting for the doctor to come back, but I knew I had to be there for my best friend. I snuggled up closer on her right side and mustered up the courage to ask the question I had been wondering all month.

It took almost all my strength to get into that wheelchair on that late, sunny afternoon. It seemed like a normal day in the hospital, but this one was different for me. I am finally leaving to go home for a while, something I have not done in months. My strong heart beat faster and faster has the nurse pushed my wheelchair down the hallway to the front door. The warm spring breeze blew against my pale face as the doors automatically opened. “This is it”, I thought to myself, “I am finally getting out of here.” Although this was a very stimulating moment for my family and myself, it is almost impossible to forget the whole journey that made this day so special.

My mother didn’t want me to go anywhere; she wanted me to be safe at home with her. We’d lived through the months of anticipation and planning together, and she’d shared my anguish at the end. I’d watched dry eyed as she folded small garments in tissue paper to take to the charity shop, her hands shaking, and listened to her weeping in the kitchen when she thought I wouldn’t

Just before the my first day of middle school, my Aunt was admitted into the hospital. She had a gruesome battle with colon cancer for the past 18 months. She had been to the hospital many times before, had large amounts of her intestines removed, and lived to tell the tale. Sadly, this was not one of those times. This was my mother’s sister, and she drove to the Akron hospital to visit her. She came home that evening and sat me down, and I knew from the grave look on her face that something was wrong. “Justin, Aunt Patti isn’t coming home.” I cried and reasoned and asked why the doctors couldn’t do anything. My mother could not give the answers I so desired. I cried myself to sleep. The last seven days of my aunt’s life were spent in hospice. She was on an large amount of painkillers so she couldn't feel any more pain. Her eyes were closed and couldn’t talk, she was in an almost comatose state. I remember walking into her room for the first time. I’d never seen more love in one place. Her husband sat and slept in a chair beside her bed. We all were talking to her and joking and laughing about the good times had. The doctor said she couldn’t hear us, but that didn’t stop us. Any time she exhaled or let out a subtle grunt or moan, that was our sign that she was listening, trying to

I walked into the hospice care building with my family excited to see my grandpa, who I hadn’t seen in a couple weeks. The building had a peaceful atmosphere, staffed with caring nurses. They had beautiful flowers planted outside and a kitchen filled with good food. The building had a weird feeling to it though. It had a certain distinct smell to it, similar to a nursing home or hospital. Though, the more I thought about my grandpa being there made me slowly get more and more upset. The last day I saw my grandfather was the day I realized, to be happy in life, I must accept everything that comes my way and make the most out of the life I was given.

About an hour into the journey home, my mother felt the symptoms of a heart attack. I rushed to the nearest small-town while looking for a hospital or emergency clinic, but there was nothing within seventy-five miles. At a nearby convenience store, my mother bought some aspirin to ease the pain and hopefully prevent death. The pressure I felt was strengthening, but Maddie was my steady hand; she reassured me that everything was going to be okay, and we would quickly make it to a hospital. Soon my mother felt

That’s just the way life is. I got to the operating room and changed into the hospital gown. I always hated the hospital gowns. There were closed from the front but open from the back. It just didn’t make sense to me. Sitting on the hospital bed, I was so nervous. The nurse even noticed and gave me some medication to calm down my nerves. I always wanted to be a nurse when I grow up. I started to think if I can ever actually fulfill that dream, but I had faith in God and knew he wouldn’t let me down. The nurse told me she can see me as being a nurse because I love to help people. The medication didn’t seem to work so well especially when you’re almost going to have an open heart surgery. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening to me again. It felt like a dream, I dream that I wanted to just wake up from so badly. I started to imagine myself sitting home watching TV like a normal teenage girl with nothing to worry about but homework and drama. I knew I had no way out of this though. It’s now or never, I thought to myself. My father held my hand and said, “come on sweetie, you can do this”. I kissed my parents goodbye and couldn’t help but cry. I started to think to myself that this may be the last time that I’ll ever see there beautiful faces. I trusted my surgeon with my life because this isn’t the first time he has done this to me before. He told me that he always loved seeing my face v\because I was all smiles but this was such a fake smile I had on. My

The familiar sound of squealing brakes signaled the beginning of the best part of my night. Getting out of the house, without a sound, was the tricky part. If I timed it just right, I could use the car’s engine to my advantage and cover the creak from the door. Once I was outside, I was in the clear. I scampered over to the XL white Suburban and gingerly climbed into the passenger seat. My mom sat inside, listening to soft jazz, decompressing from a long day’s work as a nurse in the ICU. As with most nights, she feigned annoyance before excitedly walking me through the events at the hospital. Some nights were filled with triumphant saves, others drowned in an untimely loss. The stories varied, yet a central idea remained: take care of the person instead of the patient. In my youth, her stories registered at face value. All too soon, I would see the truth in her words firsthand.

On February 20, 2014 I was in a car accident. I was only 17 years old, and I was in the 11th grade. After I got hit I was on the ground conscious, and waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Many people would assume that this was the word part of my life, but it actually wasn’t. I was hospitalized at Sacred Heart Hospital in Pensacola Florida. At the time I had gotten attached to my doctors, my nurses, and the cafeteria lady. May people had called, left messages, even sent get well soon cards, and flowers. I was released from the hospital March 8, 2014, I thought this was the best day of my life. I arrived home later that evening, and the next day many friends, family, former co-workers, and my boss arrived at my home to show their love. I