The Story Of My Life

‘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.

Life never did go back to the way it was. It was weird for me. My whole life I was the baby, and I loved it. To top it all off, this baby was STUNNING. I mean she was a gorgeous baby.(And still is.) She had the brightest blue eyes you ever saw, and I swear she smiled from day one. Little me might’ve been a little

I was twelve years old when the life I knew and loved would be dramatically changed forever. I was naive to the world of illness. Unknowing of the obstacles and struggles faced by those battling diseases. Death is something I never worried about. Assuming I would never have to experience the devastating effects that came with it. Effects that would not only change my life forever, but shape me into the person I am today.

“What the hell do you mean he moved away 4 months ago?” I yelled at my mother and she shushed me. “Babe, it’s important to keep calm at this time during the pregnancy.” She said as she took me back inside. I didn’t care but I did care at the same time. This was my only child, it was a miracle I had even kept this child and not had a miscarriage. This baby kept me alive, and in return i kept her alive.

I would become more helpful because my sister having a baby would mean she would need a job. When my sister is at work, I could babysit. Babysitting

Noel pushed me in a wheelchair down the long hall and into the small soundproof room where there were so many bells, buzzers, lights, and crying babies I felt immediately overwhelmed. Here sitting next to the incubator where my 4 pounds 8 ounces 11-inch baby girl Jessica lay hooked up to so many little wires and tubes I just burst into tears. This did not look all right and I was scared. Thankfully a very kind nurse assured me this was just precautionary and she would be just fine. She needed a little extra assistance breathing and feeding, but she could do both on her own. During the course of the conversation, I realized it had been not just a few hours I had slept but days. It was now 4 days after my daughter’s birth and I had not yet had the opportunity to touch or hold her. Initially, I felt somewhat cheated out of those first days, but the next 24 hours felt like the longest day of my life.

Before the nurse opened the door to me and my sister,we began thinking the baby would be yelling the entire time, but much to our surprise the baby was sound asleep. We hugged our mom ,and then we saw a cute, snuggled up baby in the arms of my mom. I was in shock because I’ve never seen a newborn . We had a conversation about my little sister, but then she started crying. My mom began calming the

On July 11, 2011, a 2 pound, tiny baby girl named Alyson was born. Nostalgia crawls into my thoughts as I remember how strange it felt to interact with such a medically fragile, yet unique child. I’ve been around infants before, but this was somewhat new to me. Alyson had a severe problem in her heart, which caused her growth and mind to be delayed. Slowly but surely, I watched Alyson as she grew out of her hospital room and into a home.

Over seventeen years ago, the last day of school for my siblings, my mom start to have contractions around two in the afternoon. She had been preparing for my arrival and the upcoming summer vacation while my dad was working nearby. Finally, at six o’clock in the evening, on June 3rd, I was born a healthy baby a few days past my due date of May 31st. It had been quick, intense birth for my mom, who decided to go without an epidural. Throughout the two days my mom and I were in the hospital, we had many visitors: Uncle Tom, Granny, (mom’s side) and my siblings (Ben and Olivia).

I walked through the silver doors and got hit with the strongest smell of hand sanitizer and soap, as my nose stung I tried not to make a face. I walked with my father through the building that held so many secrets and emotions. As I looked around and saw everybody wearing scrubs and walking with determination from one room to another to another. I didn’t say anything as we slide into the great elevator that will take me to my mother. With nerves running through my veins, all I could do was listen. I listened to the elevator beep..beep..beep, as we go up. I walked on the floor, passing rooms and not knowing where to look with fear that I might offend someone for looking through the open door to their own secret. I got to the dark wooden door,

I look over the city with a smile from my mom’s hospital room. I was ten when my brothers were born via cesarean section I witnessed. “Tina!” my mom yelled. I turned around and saw my mom’s body moving the entire bed. I checked the monitor 343 bpm. My eyes widened, my heart beating fast, I call for my mom as her eyes close, “Mom! Are you okay? Look at me! Mom!”

On the eve of my fifth birthday, my mother was rushed to the hospital for an emergency C-section. On this night, my sister was born two and a half months premature with a gastrointestinal blockage that sent her straight to the operating room and kept her in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for over three months. Unfortunately, I only had the opportunity to visit my sister a handful of times; my parents adamantly claimed the hospital was "no place for kids". The fact that the hospital was off-limits to me peaked my curiosity about what transpired behind the closed doors. I yearned to understand the roles the doctors and nurses played in helping my sister come home. I also longed to see my parents smile and converse in their usual, carefree manner. These months were extremely difficult, as I struggled to grasp the rich complexity of the situation. At a tender age, I was exposed to the frailty of life and the stresses of illness on a family. Moreover, I developed a reverence for the physicians who enabled my sister to come home and live a normal, healthy life.

It was warm for winter in Miami, on January 29, 2003, two days earlier than expected. My mom and dad rushed to the hospital for the third time that week. Today felt different though, today would be the day. It took 17 long hours in the Jackson Memorial Hospital but finally at 9:50 PM, I was born.I was peacefully cheerful the second I was born. Immediately looking around and contentedly observing the loving family that surrounded me:my mother crying tears of joy, my father, and my grandmother. The world so colossal and full of possibilities for a small baby. 7 pounds 11 ounces, green eyes, the newest addition to the family. Jim and Michelle all filled with pride with the delicate object of endless possibilities on how she will impact and shape today's world.

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

We all ran, jumped, hopped, and skipped to the hospital as if we were missing something. As we sped walked to the elevator we ran into my sister’s husband Marion. “What is the rush? The baby is taking his time to come. She has only dilated a couple of centimeters. You guys can slow down a little.” We all sighed with relief. At this time it was around one o clock. We sat in the lobby for hours and hours. All of a sudden my stomach began to rumble loudly. One of