I recently went down south to Stanford Children’s Hospital for my sister Venice. She had a body scan, an echo, and a breathing tube test. Sitting in four different waiting rooms packed with lots of 4-9 year olds and their families with my younger brother Joey was horrible. It took six long boring hours for all of this to be finished and me and Joey we tired, hungry, and were about to kill one another. We fought over headphones, water bottles, and the last bag of chips in the vending machine. Finally we got to leave and start driving to our guest house in stanford. It was very nice and super fancy and of course Joey looked homeless. My mom insisted that Joey should change his clothes in the parking lot while we go and check in. We get to our
My leg bounced wildly. I had every nail on my hand bit down until they were almost bleeding. I had drank three Pepsi's and eaten two candy bars just for something to do, and we had only been waiting an hour. Sixty minutes of pure torture, not knowing what was wrong with my baby brother or if he was going to be okay.
I was in the fourth grade crying and waiting for her, hoping she would be okay. All I remember is being so scared for her, fearing that I might have to grow up without a mother. She came out of surgery and was perfectly fine. She was left with an ileostomy bag, which is a bag attached to the small intestine on the lower right quadrant of the abdomen. That was one of the coolest things I have ever gotten to witness. Who else can say they have seen their mom’s small intestine? She went back to the hospital six months later and had it repaired on January 26th, 2009. She is perfectly healthy now and I thank the Lord every day for
Elizabeth Bishop was born February 8, 1911 and died October 6, 1979. Elizabeth grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts with her grandparents. She lost both of her parents at only eight months old. Elizabeth lost her father to Bright 's disease; a disease that causes inflammation of the kidneys. Elizabeth 's mother had a mental breakdown when Elizabeth’s father had passed away and was admitted into a mental hospital. Elizabeth never saw her mother after that- leaving her to be raised by her father’s parents. After college, Elizabeth spent much of her time traveling Europe and Africa then decided to settle in Key West, Florida. These travels can be seen reflected in her first book North and South published in 1946. New York 1941, Bishop met Lota
breeze had found its way into the stadium. TJ took his helmet off and stood there, letting the wind comb through his dark hair. The fresh Utah air filled his lungs. He could smell the grass, the popcorn, the hot dogs. Listening to the roar of the crowd, TJ grinned. There's no day like game day. He thought.
Peter Nicks and William Hirsch’s 2012 documentary film, The Waiting Room, follows the lives of patients, doctors, and staff in a hospital in California. The hospital is a safety net hospital meaning that it provides care to low-income, uninsured populations. The documentary examines the obstacles faced by people who live without healthcare in addition to showing the public what goes in a safety net hospital. The Waiting Room fits into the finger categories of government and politics and science and technology. The most relevant category is government and politics. Healthcare and insurance have played large roles in the government for years. In fact, ObamaCare, the president’s plan for health care reform was one of the root causes of the 2013 government shutdown. This draws attention to just how large and important the congressional healthcare debate truly is. The documentary also fits under the finger category of science and technology. The Waiting Room discusses the technological and scientific innovations found in today’s hospitals. Additionally, it references some of the new methods being used to treat diseases that are prevalent in society. This is particularly significant because these new technologies and treatment methods are being used to save lives every day. The implications of the Waiting Room and safety net hospitals are not limited to finger categories; they are evident in tens of thousands of hospitals throughout the world.
It is a Tuesday night in San Marcos Texas, it is a bit chilly outside as I walk up and down the square looking for a section of bars I can observe. As I walked East on Hopkins street I stumbled upon two bars, Harpers Brick Oven Sports Pub and The Porch. Both bars were packed with what looked like a mix of native San Marcos residents, and college students. These two bars shed light on what the square is; a welcoming place with a carefree atmosphere for all people who call San Marcos home to enjoy.
Another resident assistant that I interviewed was Patrick Fullerton who serves Blanton Hall. His attention to carrying out the position in its entirety showed how I will also need to prioritize my commitments. A resident assistant is first a student and a worker second, so being able to carry out the demands of a RA but acknowledging that school is equally as important is crucial. Patrick’s excitement about encouraging residents exploration of the campus and the Red Hawk experience showed how a resident assistant’s job is never ending. You’re always recreating new ways to redefine the experience at MSU worthwhile especially for first-year and younger students. He spoke so proudly about the various programs, either social or educational, that
I had been in hospital rooms many times before, but this was the first time that I was the patient anxiously awaiting their results. I sat on the hospital bed and nervously kicked my legs back and forth as I stared at the door, willing the doctor to walk through it. After a long wait I grew tired of this, and shifted focus to my surroundings. I had been admitted to Scottish Rite hospital, a branch of the Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. Being a children’s hospital meant that the nurses wore cartoon print scrubs, the walls were painted in bright colors, the televisions were always turned to either Disney Channel or Nickelodeon, and everyone treated you like royalty. They did everything they could to mask the fact that it was indeed a hospital. However, I was too old to be fooled. I knew exactly where I was and what that meant, and that was that nothing good could come from being here.
Everybody in my family thought I was insane for taking a job with Stephen Hopkins; they were convinced that I would never make it. According to them, I was nothing but a "gentleman of four outs" That meant, that I am without wit, have no money, no credit, and no manners. Truth be told there was some truth to that, I was flat broke, had no credit and would have to work hard to pay Mr. Hopkins back for taking me on the voyage. Besides that, there were a lot of things that could go extremely bad, but I was determined to make a new life for myself. I had grown tired of the tyranny of the church and things were getting really out of hand. The church was starting to fine me for not showing up for church on Sunday and it just felt like they were controlling every aspect of my life.
During my first night in the station, I was taken to an interrogation room by three agents. In the room, I was seated and handcuffed, and then interrogated and questioned about which Oromo party I support. “ I know nothing and I have no connection or any involvement with any party in the country . I am a peaceful civilian and a national team Boxer.” , was my response.
As I close my eye and hear nothing but the world, I also heard water dripping from the bathroom. Not only dripping water but water rushing as if someone put it on slowly. I didn't want to hear it anyone so I cover my ears quick trying to forget what I just hear. Shortly after I don't hear the water anymore but only my auntie walking around cooking in the kitchen. I got up and walk to the kitchen finding so yummy food, but sadly I have to walk past the bathroom. I didn't want to go near it or look in it. I want to used the door that connect the bedroom and the kitchen, but my auntie don't let. After breakfast, my mom came and pick my sister and me up to go back home. On our way home, lee told my mom about what she saw last night. Lee told my
I stare out the window as we drive past the many trees. I hate the trees. There blocking my view from the sky. I wish I could see the sky, it's the only thing that can make me feel sane. It's the only thing that can make me feel like a normal human.
"Where is Paradise?” said my mom to my Aunt Dee. She replied, "She’s in the living room talking to Robert on the phone. As I and my dad’s conversation progressed about putting minutes on my prepaid cellular phone, my aunt came in the living room and said to me, "Your mother wants you to come and lay back down with her.” Baffled, I just simply said OK. I went back to what was called the “Hall of Fame Room" at my grandma’s house where there were pictures of everyone in the family at various ages. My mom and I slept on the floor in that room whenever we visited. For some reason it felt extremely odd for my mom to want me to come and lay down with her. However, I obeyed. As I begin to lie down she said to me “We are going home early today”. I
The film, “The Waiting Room,” is a documentary that records the events at a public emergency room over the course of 24 hours. It reveals testimonials of both patients and workers throughout their stressful and unpredictable days.
Once upon a time, I saw the world like I thought everyone should see it, the way I thought the world should be. I saw a place where there were endless trials, where you could try again and again, to do the things that you really meant to do. But it was Jeffy that changed all of that for me. If you break a pencil in half, no matter how much tape you try to put on it, it'll never be the same pencil again. Second chances were always second chances. No matter what you did the next time, the first time would always be there, and you could never erase that. There were so many pencils that I never meant to break, so many things I wish I had never said, wish I had never done. Most of them were small, little things, things that you could try to glue back together, and that would be good enough. Some of them were different though, when you broke the pencil, the lead inside it fell out, and broke too, so that no matter which way you tried to arrange it, they would never fit together and become whole again. Jeff would have thought so too. For he was the one that made me see what the world really was. He made the world into a fairy tale, but only where your happy endings were what you had to make, what you had to become to write the words, happily ever after. But ever since I was three, I remember wishing I knew what the real story was.