I would be lying if I said that Christmas was my favorite time of year. In fact, these words have never been articulated by my tongue as it brushes past the soft palate of my mouth, producing speech. Agonizing or distressing would better describe it. Though, these banal adjectives could not begin to reach the dark depths where my illness held my shackled being in a dirty, steel cage. On Christmas day, only eight years old, I received a harrowing diagnosis; I was sick with both an autoimmune condition and a rare blood disorder. My once carefree childhood was replaced with sterile, colorless rooms where physicians would crowd around me like a specimen under a microscope. They poked and prodded with their cold, lifeless instruments. It always ended the same, though. I saw me mother wearing the expression of both apprehension and melancholy on her face. I heard the doctor’s muffled utterances migrate to my ears saying, “The prognosis is not good.” As a result, I came to realize that the thread holding my life was dangling in front of me, mocking my imminent mortality. A thick mass of gray clouds migrated into my head filling the void with hopelessness. Consequently, a fork in the road developed before my feet. I could either allow my sickness, which had already beaten and …show more content…
Eventually, I intend to volunteer with the Peace Corp or a similar type of organization. Through such a program, I can improve the health of international civilians by educating community members about nutrition, maternal health, water sanitation, and HIV/AIDS. This is especially important considering the fact that, like rural areas in the United States, individuals residing in small towns in developing countries also lack necessary medical services and
The imagery of the patient’s lifeless body gives a larger meaning to the doctor’s daily preoccupations. Gawande’s use of morbid language helps the reader identify that death is, unfortunately, a facet of a physician’s career. However, Gawande does not leave the reader to ponder what emotions went through him after witnessing the loss of his patient. He writes, “Perhaps a backup suction device should always be at hand, and better light is more easily available. Perhaps the institutions could have trained me better for such crises” (“When Doctors Make Mistakes” 73).
All haikus must follow through a certain criteria. This procedure of writing is what makes haikus distinguishable from other types of poetry. Poems must attain a 5,7,5 syllable scheme in order to be recognized as a haiku. Similar to haikus, books must also undertake a list of steps to be considered as a hero’s journey. A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, does not see this through.
The AIDS hospice reeked from disease and neglect. On my first day there, after an hour of "training," I met Paul, a tall, emaciated, forty-year-old AIDS victim who was recovering from a stroke that had severely affected his speech. I took him to General Hospital for a long-overdue appointment. It had been weeks since he had been outside. After waiting for two and a half hours, he was called in and then needed to wait another two hours for his prescription. Hungry, I suggested we go and get some lunch. At first Paul resisted; he didn't want to accept the lunch offer. Estranged from his family and seemingly ignored by his friends, he wasn't used to anyone being kind to him - even though I was only talking about a Big Mac. When it arrived, Paul took his first bite. Suddenly, his face lit up with the biggest, most radiant smile. He was on top of the world because somebody bought him a hamburger. Amazing. So little bought so much. While elated that I had literally made Paul's day, the neglect and emotional isolation from which he suffered disgusted me. This was a harsh side of medicine I had not seen before. Right then and there, I wondered, "Do I really want to go into medicine?"
Although I have grown up to be entirely inept at the art of cooking, as to make even the most wretched chef ridicule my sad baking attempts, my childhood would have indicated otherwise; I was always on the countertop next to my mother’s cooking bowl, adding and mixing ingredients that would doubtlessly create a delicious food. When I was younger, cooking came intrinsically with the holiday season, which made that time of year the prime occasion for me to unite with ounces and ounces of satin dark chocolate, various other messy and gooey ingredients, numerous cooking utensils, and the assistance of my mother to cook what would soon be an edible masterpiece. The most memorable of the holiday works of art were our Chocolate Crinkle Cookies, which my mother and I first made when I was about six and are now made annually.
make my way to the frost coated back door, illuminated by the green and red
In "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge undergoes a transformation as a result of his encounters with three ghosts and becomes a kind, happy, and generous man. His greedy, cruel, and grumpy demeanor is replaced seemingly overnight, but he doesn’t just wake up and decide to be nice. It takes three Spirits to change his outlook on life - The Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present, and Future. The Ghost of Christmas Past makes Scrooge begin to regret his selfishness, and the Ghost of Christmas Present begins to teach him about others. This second Ghost helps to make him realize that money doesn't buy happiness. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, however, teaches the most profound lesson of all: unless he changes, no one will care if Scrooge dies. Because of the Ghosts, by Christmas morning Ebenezer Scrooge is a completely different person from the man who went to bed on Christmas Eve.
Thinking this was partly my fault, I felt terrible. If I wasn’t sick, maybe she would’ve gone to the doctors earlier, and they would’ve caught it sooner. Trying to be strong, I bit my tongue. However, once I heard the number four, a little crystal bead escaped from my eye. The feeling of warmth slid down my face, dripping off of my chin. Fighting back more tears, I went over to give her a hug. Her strong embrace broke me. One tear turned into a straight rainfall. In addition, I could no longer breathe. “It’s just a bump in the road. Everything will be all right,” my mom said
Frosty the Snowman waves hello alongside Santa 's reindeer that are ready to take off. Candy canes line the sidewalk and the ginger bread dolls dance in a merry circle. The trees all sparkle with thousands of red, yellow, purple, blue, and orange lights. Out back, Mary and Joseph stand over baby Jesus, Choo-Choo train’s chug in spot, stars twinkle with bright yellow bulbs, and Mr. and Mrs. Santa Clause wave in the distance. Kerkhoven, MN, the location of the happiest house on the block. Every year my breath is always taken away as my eyes struggle to soak in the utter abundance of Christmas spirit. I 'm smiling and we 're not even inside yet.
My motivation to serve as a Peace Corp volunteer and my desire to work in the field of international health and development stems from my childhood interests and my academic concentration. Early on in my life I realized that I cherish being of service to others. While working to vaccinate youth for Polio in Nigeria, I was eager to help individuals and families improve their health and overall wellbeing. Furthermore, I love working with children and helping them through the numerous difficulties and barriers associated with being a child, especially in the developing world. I realized this passion when I worked as a highschool teacher in Brazil.
Traditional Christmas decorations have been always warm and inviting, but style experts offer modern takes on decorating your home this holiday season. "Keep it simple" is the only advice you get from most Interior designer.
The welcoming Christmas feel, the warm glow of the lights on the trees, and the many fun times with family is what make many’s Winter break. It’s a time to chill out. During my break, I watched some late night movies, hung out with my family, and played a lot of fun games.
I was in hospital gown for the first time, wondering why it fits so weird and doesn’t cover everything while staring eagerly at the ceiling, still picturing my mothers smile parted from me few minutes ago, I could tell she was worried but wasn’t sure why. Despite being five year old the feeling of fear and trepidation were replaced by ones of curiosity and wonderment. What was going to be done, How it will put and end to my most feared nightmare at the time? Frequent penicillin shots! I was excited and wondered if I get to see my tonsils after removal; I was told there were two of them!
Two days after what I felt was the best Christmas ever, not because I received everything I wanted but because I got nothing. I had no gifts under our big plastic green bare tree. It was the best to me because I had given the people I loved the most the best I was able to give. I was able to see them truly happy. Something I had not seen in a long time. Everything was picture perfect that Christmas morning only to know that soon it would all wash away.
Ever since I could remember, I have spent Christmas at my grandmother’s house, a house which is full of comfort, warmth, and happiness. At Christmas, I have always been able to escape the cold and dark real world allowing myself to truly enjoy just several moments in time. These moments have left impressionable memories from my childhood making Christmas a holiday that is special to me and my family. It is a time for my family to get together, share stories, laugh, and even cry.
make my way to the frost coated back door, illuminated by the green and red