Gothic Incident Narrative

It’s three o’clock on a brisk fall afternoon on November 3, 2010. I walk into my kitchen and see my mom on the phone. Her face is pale with terror, as if she had seen a ghost. She drops the phone on the tile floor and says with a panicked face, “Get your sister and go to the car”. I follow her as she grabs a sweater and car keys, frantically asking her what is going on. As we are on the highway, I look to my left, seeing tears streaming down her face as her fragile, shaking hands hold a rosary. She keeps muttering “Please don’t let me lose my father today”.

I join the rest of my family under the fluorescent lighting of the emergency room and begin to feel the walls closing in on me. My uncle enters the waiting room and says “He was pinned by the back of his legs while loading lumber into the back of his van. He lost most of his

blood and has severe damage to his legs.” The strange smell of disinfectants and the clinking sound of surgical tools frighten me as I enter the operating room.

My grandmother rushes to his side, grabbing his hand, crying “Don’t leave me yet”. He cracks a smile at me and whispers “It’ll be ok”. We are escorted to a dimly lit waiting room, where we anxiously await the outcome of his life for the next eight hours.

A quote I find to be very profound in my life is “What shapes us most isn’t our circumstances, but how we choose to react to them”. This relates to my experience during the three months of my grandfather recovering in the hospital. After his first operation, he had an option; to save his left leg or have it amputated. He replied that he wanted to try to save his leg, and if that deemed unsuccessful, have it amputated. My daily routine consisted of going to school, going to the hospital, and studying for the Scranton Prep entrance exam. My

mother would sit in the waiting room with me as she quizzed me about parallel sentence structure. When I received my letter of acceptance, I was overjoyed to tell him the news. He lived with us after he was released from the hospital, since the first floor of our house was handicap accessible. Sometimes he would look at his leg and make a remark about his rapid progress; other days he looked upon his leg with disdain, as if giving up on all hope. I tried to remain optimistic, but I knew there were more hardships to come, not only physically and mentally for him, but financially. After Christmas, he returned for another operation. A surgeon, dressed in blue scrubs, stated there was a major infection in his leg and that it must be amputated immediately. On New Year’s Eve, the night before the amputation, he asked me if I would take him to the twelfth floor of the hospital. I wheeled him to the top floor, where I saw a window that overlooked the entire city of Scranton. I asked him if he was nervous about the amputation. He replied “The thought of losing a leg tomorrow terrifies me, but I have to believe that everything happens for a reason”. At midnight, glistening in the reflection of my grandfather’s glasses, vibrant fireworks painted the sky. He seemed to look out on the bright city with optimism for the New Year.
Undergoing physical therapy with his prosthetic leg, my grandfather exemplified determination and resilience. By his strength and optimism, he was able to get back on two feet and work. I made a promise to myself since then that I would try to live life by implementing what he taught me. He taught me to have faith, because God has a plan for all of us no matter how hard it may be to realize. He also taught me to value hard work and determination in everything I do. Whenever I am faced with a challenge, I look to him as not only as my inspiration, but also a mentor.