The sickness spread quickly, faster than even my mother thought it would. One day, I was perfectly fine and only moments later, a few days at most, I was bedridden, hooked up to more machines and IV’s than I could possibly count. Most teenagers don't ever have to go through something like this, the worst they deal with is broken bones and bad bouts of the flu, I guess that makes me unique. Sometimes I just sit in my bed and think about killing myself. I'm never going to get better, so why hang around for the few miserable months I have left. Being in the hospital taking treatment is only delaying the inevitable. The likeliness of me getting my strength back before dying isn't high, so it's me and this bed until my last moment. The hospital …show more content…
I could hear the beeping of my heart monitor getting faster, embarrassing as I didn't mean to get excited. “Hold on, you aren't going home,” My heart sunk, deep down I knew that wouldn't be the case. I was still sick. “But you don't have to stay in this room anymore. You get to leave.” I sighed, I was glad to be getting out, but I knew as well as he did that I was dying. If they were letting me out now I probably had only weeks, months at best, left. The medicine wasn't working, but my mom refused to let it go, and being only 17, I didn't have much of a choice either. “Are you taking me somewhere then ?” My voice was sort of scratchy and my throat was dry. I received a nod in response to my question. I swiveled my legs around to the side of the bed, preparing to stand, but I'm not dumb, I know if I tried to walk I would collapse into an underweight heap on the cold floor. I could barely hold a cup of water without spilling it because my hand shakes. Luckily, Minho came prepared, as he wheeled in a wheelchair from outside of my door. He helped lower me down into it so that I wouldn't end up hurting …show more content…
I was nervous, the only people I had talked to fort the last six months had been Minho and my mom, maybe a few phone calls with my sister. She was overseas at an expensive college, so I guess I didn't really expect her to come back to watch me die anyways. There were bound to be others in the room. As Minho opened the door, I saw that I was right. There were about 10 to 15 people in the room. The bright lights illuminated them. Most of the people were actually teenagers, looking almost the same age as me, then there were two adults in the center of the room, passing a notebook between them as the conversed in muted whispers. They were maybe 30 and 25 though, so not too
If a doctor didn't come and talk to us soon, I was going to march my way into one of those rooms and find the doctor myself. It was cruel to keep us waiting so long without answers; I was going crazy with worry.
In the Victorian Britain there was 88 minors were killed from the start of 1851 to the end of 1851 from many, many different things. I am talking about deaths in Victorian Britain and what I think the deaths mean is that the people who died, died cruelly. There may be some people who die of accidental deaths but most people die of a cruel death. The Victorians viewed death as a sad time because the deaths caused a great deal of sadness and pain to the person's family mates and friends.
For some, coping with death is the end of a journey, but to others, it is the beginning of change. The novel, The Hero's Walk, explores the meaning of this statement through the death of Maya. Because of her death, the people who are close to her, such as her father, Sripathi, begin to suffer. However, he eventually experiences a positive change after coping with her death. In Anita Rau Badami's novel, The Hero's Walk, Maya's death is a major turning point which affects the life of Sripathi; ultimately, this loss contributes to his major character development.
The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail. (excerpt-Faulkner's Nobel Prize acceptance speech)
Death is a topic that is often not discussed in the western culture. When the topic of death
The recent death of Riley Hughes and numerous other deaths of babies arouses the attention of the public to the serious issue of anti-vaccination and whether or not parents should vaccinate their infants. In the opinion piece entitled "Don't let any more babies die because of anti-vaccination lobby" published in The Herald Sun on March 24, 2015, author Susie O'Brien targets especially the anti-vaccinators parents of the young children, in addition to the general adherents of it. Accordingly，it professes the opinion of the parents should definitely vaccinate their infants to preclude them from suffering from the fatal diseases. Consequently, the incipient tone that O' Breins used is distressed towards the fact of a number of babies died from
Although death seems to be a theme for many literary poems, it also appears to be the most difficult to express clearly. Webster’s Dictionary defines the word “death” as, “A permanent cessation of all vital function: end of life.” While this definition sounds simple enough, a writer’s definition goes way beyond the literal meaning. Edwin Arlington Robinson and Robert Frost are just two examples of poetic writers who have used death successfully as the main theme of their works. Robinson, in the poem “Richard Cory,” and Frost in his poem, “Home Burial,” present death in different ways in order to invoke different feelings and emotions from their readers.
This is crazy. Why am I afraid? I’m acting as if this is my first funeral. Funerals have become a given, especially with a life like mine, the deaths of my father, my uncle and not my biological mother, you would think I could be somewhat used to them by now. Now I know what you’re thinking, death is all a part of life. But the amount of death that I’ve experienced in my life would make anyone cower away from the thought. This funeral is nothing compared to those unhappy events.
One of the men smiles and assures me everything will be ok. I start to worry knowing when emergency crew say that something truly is wrong. While the man was speaking, the other slipped out of my sight and reappeared with a sharp needle. I wanted to tell of my fear of needles, but before I could say anything. The man injected the big needle and clear like substance into my body.
Death is a natural part of life that we all have to face one day. The way in which friends and love ones cope during this time is based on their culture or religious belief and their support system. Different religion or culture has different mourning customs which are unique to their own believes. For this project, three religious practices: Christianity, Muslim and Catholic were examined along with their own unique customs and believes. Despite the wide array of differences between each culture, they all believe in life after death and that there is a heaven and a hell.
In his novel, As I Lay Dying, Faulkner embodies the ideal tragic hero through Darl, the central protagonist and narrator. Throughout the story, the characters are constantly confronted by misfortune and struggle; the trek to Jefferson for the Bundren family is rife with mistakes and misjudgements. Despite Darl’s determination to free his family from this struggle, his dedication to his family leads to nothing but a fruitless endeavor. Furthermore, his actions ultimately result in his mental downfall. Darl functions as one of the main instruments of the suffering of his family members.
“I woke up from the nightmares with a cold fear,” she said. “I came to a point where I didn’t want to die, but just wanted to be dead.”
Modern medicine has been fighting death and whether that is good or bad remains unknown. In the essay “On The Fear Of Dying” by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross she dissects modern medicines effects on living and examines the mental and emotional toll is has taken on people. In the essay she talks about how despite modern medicine’s benefits it has allowed us to become more wary of acknowledging death and accepting it. The author explains that despite the advantages of modern medicine it has lead to more emotional and mental problems regarding death, destroyed our ability to cope with death, and made dying an impersonal and cold experience. While the author takes a rather grim outlook on modern medicine, I agree with her; modern medicine has increased
Paramedics squeeze my arms, staining their gloves a deep red. Doctors and nurses scream at each other as they run across the hallways wheeling me into the operating theatre. I look over to my wrists as clear fluids begin their journey into my veins. My heart is in my throat, my pulse is echoing throughout the room, my limbs are quivering, and my lungs are screaming. Nurses force plastic tubes up my nose, as jets of cold air enter my sinuses, giving me relief. Inkblots dance before my eyes like a symphony of lights. A sudden sleepiness overcomes me and slowly my vision dims.
As hours went by soon some symptoms appeared. Some of the symptoms I experienced were; struggling to walk, nausea, dizziness, vomiting, and fever. My mother instantly saw my symptoms and told me that we should drive to the nearest hospital. I was young and hated the hospital, so I told her I would heal within time. So my mother agreed but kept a very close eye on me.