Stitched Up Narrative

‘I don’t want to lose her,’ I kept repeating in my head trying to look strong for her. I was trying to not show how scared I was, trying to stop bursting into tears the second I saw her in the state she was. She was so weak and there was nothing I could do to help, except stay out of the doctor’s way. There were nurses and doctors rushing around and giving me a strange look until realization dawned on them. I was at the hospital with my mom around 10 at night, in my pajamas, wondering what was going to happen to her and if she was going to be okay.

The large cut on the right side of my forehead had begun to bleed again; my own blood threatening to choke me. “Calm down its ok. You're going through a rough phase that's all. Try to get some rest,” was all the comfort dad could manage before choking up into tears. He turned away as streaks of auburn curls lightly brushed against me, the owner tending to my wound. Rest, he says; not so easy when every time your eyes droop, the dreams begin. They have been getting worse, the closer I become in finding a way to bring her

It was the first day of summer, about 10 o' clock in the morning and my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize but I answered it anyway. "Hello Ms. Mullen are you coming today?"

I felt the dread sink like a rock in my stomach. My two brothers, Ryan and Matthew, were on the opposite end of the spectrum. My mother had been telling us for weeks that we were going up to the farm that my family owned, but I didn’t quite believe her until today. My brothers were given dirt bikes last Christmas while I was given a ATV. Both of them had been counting down the days until they were able to finally ride the dirt bikes and that day had come. After everything was packed, I crammed myself in the van with my brothers and hoped for this trip to end quickly.

I told one of the ladies to call your father, your father rushed from his job to the hospital and was with me the whole time.”

He reached into his breast pocket again, this time retrieving a knife, which he then handed to me. I sliced a diagonal cut across the palm of my hand. Blood began to seep out, like sap from a tree. I smeared it on the bottom of the paper. Then, nothing. I felt nothing. Wendell tossed a box of band aids onto the desk. He noticed me blankly staring at my hand. He walked around the table and put his arm around me. Pulling me in nice and close, he began.

After a good night’s rest, we headed off to the trail. We had to take frequent breaks, because the air was super thin. The trail was rocky, uneven, and slippery. If I were to fall that would be very very bad. I thought it was easy, but then the impossible happened.

I immediately called in my assistant, Rosa, to help me in the operation. According to Melissa her mother got hit by a car. I knew how bad it could have been, and I was relieved that her condition wasn’t so bad. She had bad scrapes and after I took the x-ray, I saw that she broke 3 of her

As he said these words, I was just thankful I would still heal, though I would have scars. I still held on to the ideal, the blessing that I could keep my leg, scars and all. I would eventually deal with my disappointment that the procedure didn’t go well, but I would move on with success and progress. Hope remained, even in the face of the reality of my life on my feet for work.

The door opened. “Okay Annie, the surgery went well. As you can tell, you have a cast on. It will stay on for two weeks and you are coming back to get a new one in another two weeks. I am scheduling you for physical therapy starting next week to help you get back on your feet. Your mom rented you some crutches and I am sure you know how to employ it. Of course stay off the surfboard… you should be able to surf again next summer. It takes a while for the bone to heal so be careful. Don’t do things that put pressure on the ankle. Other than that, you should be good to go!” The doctor explained.

Rochelle, Aaron’s mother took me into their bathroom to clean the wound so that it didn’t become infected. She told me to calm down since that would lower my heart rate and slow the bleeding. She told me that it wasn’t anything to worry about, however, I wasn’t convinced. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed that there was just a moderately deep cut on my ear. It wasn’t that awful, yet I was still worried about blood loss, although that wasn’t an issue. I put an ice pack on my ear and began to calm down until my mother

“Let’s get him to the ambulance.” I heard the doctor say. With help from he and my dad, I walked over to the ambulance, parked just around the

A white, spotless shirt was created into a reddish-orange spotted shirt a little too soon. The gash had become too large to stop bleeding, spewing all over the couch onto the towels. “We are going to have to drive to a hospital or immediate care facility. She will probably have to get stitches,” My dad explaining to me while I’m in tears. Tears that came down my face like a river.

Whenever I visited my grandfather in his hometown, I was struck by how often people would stop to thank him for mending broken bones or treating their clubfoot as an orthopedic surgeon. It was during these moments when I first realized the profound impact of practicing medicine.

It was your typical late-October afternoon; a little chilly and slightly dreary. Towards the end of a three day weekend my freshman year of high school, my friends and I wanted to do something besides watch movies all day. My friend, Austin, had suggested we all hop on the four wheelers and spend the day outside mudding. As soon as he mentioned it I immediately knew that I would not