Running through the hospital’s long white halls, he thought that his mom was going to die. The paramedics were right in front of him, but it felt as if they were a mile away. Reaching his hand out, he began to holler: PLEASE STOP! PLEASE the words bristled from his mouth. He fell onto his knees, in front of him the white floor had droplets of blood that came out of his mother. Time passes, the boy lying on the floor, motionless, Just looking at the flickering light above. Footsteps approached, the boy remained motionless--not caring who it was. I’ve found the boy, over. Excellent nurse, bring him to O.R. #3. Gotcha. The nurse stopped and looked at the boy, she felt sympathy for him. She observed how the boys skinned turned pale. No child should go through this, said the nurse under her breath. Continuing her walk, she as the boy decides to lie on the ground. Hey buddy. How’s it going? There was no answer. Lying down on the cold, sterile floor, the pain was indescribable. The nurse could not stand the stink like pain on her back, deciding to get up; she crouched down giving her hand to the boy. Come with me, okay? Grabbing her hand was the only communication they have had so far. His hands were cold as steel, the nurses face grew concerned. Let’s get you warmed up okay? Holding hands they walked to the front desk on floor eight, Hey, do you if the cafeteria is still up? I think it is, but you better hurry its almost eleven. The boy looked up at the nurse, tears running down his face. Oh don’t cry. Giving him a hug. Lets go get some coco. Sitting down at the cafeteria there was still no communication between the boy and the nurse. Yummy coco huh? Looking across the table, he pushes the coco aside; I don’t ... ... middle of paper ... ...m, she did not know what was going to happen next. Who was the boy going to stay with just in case something does happen. The taught she had utility caused her to fall asleep going back into her coma. The boy just observed his mother. The boys eyes watered. He as his mother also taught what was happening. The isolation of the room caused him to become overwhelmed. Hyperventilating the boys asma came, the nurse helping the boy earlier that night saw that he didn’t look okay. What was she going to do? Help! Doctor! She rushed in putting him on the bed next to his mothers. Doctor is we dont stop this the boy will ultimately go into cardiac arrest. I know nurse, I know… Walking to and from the halls the mother became restless, she did not know what was happening with her son. She knew that she had done something wrong. Why couldn't this situation be resolved. She taught
Now that the summary is out there for all who did not get to read the story let’s make some connections to everyday life. In the story is it said by the author that, “All the while I hated myself for having wept before the needle went in, convinced that the nurse and my mother we...
The novel, “Dreaming in Cuban” by Christina Garcia, is about a Cuban family. This novel is structured around the Cuban Revolution, everything from politics, family life, and spirituality. The women in the family all have strained relationships. They all have very different personalities and different reactions to the revolution. Lourdes, the daughter of Celia wants nothing to do with the revolution and wants nothing to do with Cuba. She also doesn’t keep much contact with her mother. Everything she has gone through is why she is the way she is, and why her daughter also has a strained relationship with her.
The boy’s mother will take the easy way out for herself so that she won’t have to fight through the pain. By taking her own life, she will leave the boy in the father’s hands. The boy misses his mother everyday
As a child the sight of an ambulance would send shivers down my spine, the flashing lights and loud horn, the panic as cars comes to a stop, and the terrifying events that followed. Being a witness to such commotion never seemed as horrendous until I became the person inside the ambulance. After experiencing headaches, sore throat, shortness of breath, and the lack of ability to move my left arm my parents sent out a distressed call to the paramedics who then rushed me into the E.R. Within the hour I was no longer on a gurney, but instead was on a hospital bed, tangled in color-coded wires to keep me alive. Hours passed, possibly even days, when I opened my eyes, only to find the words “ Sabrina’s room” on a dashboard in big pink letters. Injected into my left arm was an IV tube that dispensed antibiotic fluids into my suffering body. As I turned my head to look into the mirror I saw that my hair was shaved and a scar remained with staples over it, forming into the shape of an arc.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I sat down on the plush blue chairs outside the hospital room and wept. Nevil was officially declared dead by the hospital workers. “We really didn’t mean to right? Tommy?” Danny asked me. In my mind the scene of Nevil being crushed kept repeating over and over again. Nevil’s mom, the one who provided us with chocolate chip cookies and hospitality, cried loudly in her room. All of the Redhands sat in extra chairs outside Nevil’s room. Sally returned from the bathroom with Mary. Sally, who had an extremely irregular heartbeat for a teenager, was having trouble breathing. Mary just stared straight ahead, and wouldn’t say another word for almost three weeks. “Where is my son?” I heard a voice shout from the main desk. Oh goodness it’s Nevil’s dad.
She was blood shot red, her eyes were closed and she was screaming so bad my ears were ringing. I grabbed her by the mouth and told her to be quiet, to open her eyes and look at me. She followed my directions and grabbed me, exclaiming that she wanted her mother back: the doctor then came in and discussed with me that they wanted to keep her. I automatically stopped him mid sentence and advised him that she would be going home with me, I refused to let her stay
A mother could feel her son acting differently whenever her wheelchair-bound son's nurse would come around him. She used her mother's instinct to figure out a way to find out the truth.
Every mother would like to see her child succeed in life. The following passage from the poem, "Mother to Son", by Langston Hughes demonstrates the love and concern a mother has for her son. She teaches him using her own life as an example; her life as a climb up a staircase. The imagery from the advice given in the stanza is explicit and poignant:
To wives and slaves; and, wide as his command, Scattered his Maker's image through the land. (l. 1-10)
My feet strike the ground, launching me faster heading for the sound. Finally I reach it, almost wishing I hadn’t. Here lies a mother, child in hand and a red stream flowing down her lifeless face. The bundle in her arms screams again, snapping me back into reality. Taking the infant in my arms, I silently pray for our survival. I retreat to the small clearing to find the same glances staring back at me. I take a glimpse, surveying the scattered items laying on the earthy floor. I see a small first aid kit lying open by a sapling. It is empty except for a roll of white gauze. I take it in my hands, swiftly wrapping it around the small child and hoping the warmth of the thin fabric will turn purple lips back to a healthy hue. I hold the newborn to my chest and wrap it further in my own clothes.
Odile had just heard the news of her mother’s illness. Her husband was in Texas. She had nowhere to take her four children. Odile explained that she had no other choice than to leave her children with Mamzelle. As Odile left, Mamzelle stared at the children, contemplating them. She was unsure of them being with her in her home. During this time of contemplation, she was figuring out what to do with the four children. Mamzelle began to feed the children. During the first few days she realized that she was incapable of taking care of Odile’s children. She had no experience in childcare. Over time, Mamzelle became very familiar with each child and their personalities. She had gotten used to the laughing, crying, and talking coming from each of the children. Each day, she got the children up and ready for the day. She fed the children and bathed them. When the two weeks had passed, she no longer complained about the
It was 11:45pm on a gloomy Monday night, and an excited Cynthia was putting the finishing touches on her sky blue baby shower invitations. Cynthia worked up a sweat from all of this activity, and then suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. At that moment she immediately woke her husband Matthew with a loud shrill that sounded like “The baby is coming!”. Matthew thought he was still dreaming until he felt a hard thud on the top of his head, and opened his eyes to his wife’s pale face that was as bright as a ghost. Matthew did not know what to think, this was his first child, his first everything and he was nowhere near ready to become a new father. Matthew still had a lot of bottled in information about himself that he has yet
In the story father and son who do you feel more sympathy for. This story is set in Northern Ireland about a Father and a son in which recently the mother and wife has died. The son moves temporarily to London but his dad brings him back after what seems to be trouble with drugs. The father and son do not get along with each other the father tries to get his sons respect but doesn't succeed. At the end the son is killed and the story is left there leaving us with the suspicion of who killed him.
I wake up in this room. My mother is to my left crying with her face in the palms of her hands. My dad, he paces the floor with his hands in his pockets. I am scared I can barely remember what has transpired. As my mother stands and looks at me square in the eyes, the nurse comes and says with a grin on her radiant face “Hello, Mr. Howard. How are you feeling?” I attempt to sit up, but my body is aching. My dad hurries over to help, but it was no use the pain was overbearing. I began to weep and apologize. My dad with a stern look on his face says, “Andra, you are fine now just relax”. How could I relax? I am stuck in this room with no memory of what happened.
“Are you scared?” a small, frail voice spoke up. I looked over my shoulder to face the owner of the voice; a small, young boy, around the age of 7 or 8, but his tiny figure causing him to look just 4 years old. Judging by his pale complexion and a bald head, I didn’t have to ask what illness he had. “Of dying, I mean.” “Are you?” I speak up, after spending a minute to study him in his excessively large hospital bed. “Hell yes.”