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Mental health hospitals and clinics essay
Management of grief
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I was squatting down surrounded by white walls, white floors, and bleached fluorescent lights. I was told that white bright colors represented safety, purity, and goodness but I only felt empty. Feeling empty was something that I have never felt before, being in the hospital only made it worse. This was the first time that I had been to the hospital in a month. My and sisters and I finally found out what why my dad was so sick. My mom and dad had been keeping it from us, but decided it was time to let us know that my dad had tongue and throat cancer. Along with the recent news about my dad having cancer, we were also told that his chance of survival was 30%. At this moment my world was flipped upside down. There is a 70% chance of my dad …show more content…
There is a 30% chance that my dad could live. I wouldn't have to picture my life without him if he put up a fight. I knew that he could do it because he is one of the hardest working men i've ever met. My father was born in an extremely low income family but worked as much as he possibly could to make a name for himself. I knew that he could do it. I finally had the hope that I craved. One evening a lady from our church dropped off a gift for our family. We decided to wait to open it till we got to the hospital. When we got to the hospital my dad was excited to see that our church community continued to stay in touch. He opened the gift and it turned out to be a prayer blanket. None of our family members really understood the until we read the note inside. It explained that there are small strings that come of the blanket and when you want to make a prayer you tie a knot in the strings. It was a unique blanket with a quilted design. This blanket would allow me to feel free and open with my thoughts. Every chance that I had I would tie knots on the blanket begging god to allow my dad to beat the
When someone tells you they have experienced something "life changing" what lingers through your mind? Mine is November 10, 2010 12:04pm; This was the first 24 hour period when my mother’s ability to act single-handedly on her health became theoretical; Failing to recall whether she took her pills in the morning was no longer acceptable. My mother had undergone a surgery due to various cancerous cells that grew in both her thyroids. Having removed the right and left side, doctors informed her after this procedure she must consume two white pills everyday, for the rest of her life. The purpose of these pills
I was ten years old and my grandfather had recently had surgery to fix a brain bleed and was deteriorating rapidly. I was about to head to my soccer game when my mom phoned us, and then we rushed over to Victoria General Hospital. We met my uncle and my two cousins in the parking lot and then went up to the hospital room. It was a large room with lots of windows and we had it all to ourselves. Throughout the morning we sat at his bedside and played cards and each of us went up to his sleeping body and told him one thing that we liked about him. Between trips to get ice cream, telling us his stories from the Korean war, playing cards and rides on his scooter, I thought we had covered what I valued most about his company. We also had a wonderful nurse that checked on us periodically and spoke with mom and her sister about the care he was to receive. I was too young to understand most of these conversations, but I remember that he offered tissues and brought in a chaplain. My mom grew up in the Anglican church and so I feel that by having a spiritual leader there in my grandfather’s
Imagine having to wake up each day wondering if that day will be the last time you see or speak to your father. Individuals should really find a way to recognize that nothing in life is guaranteed and that they should live every day like it could be there last. This is the story of my father’s battle with cancer and the toll it took on himself and everyone close to him. My father was very young when he was first diagnosed with cancer. Lately, his current health situation is much different than what it was just a few months ago. Nobody was ready for what was about to happen to my dad, and I was not ready to take on so many new responsibilities at such an adolescent age. I quickly learned to look at life much differently than I had. Your roles change when you have a parent who is sick. You suddenly become the caregiver to them, not the other way around.
I thought of what happened, if he was in pain, where was he, what he looked like. Oh, did I think about that a lot, I was so afraid of it. Not really the aspect of if he was morbidly disfigured or something to that extent, but more along the lines of, if he's just hurt what happened to him? But what if it's more, is it bad? Will they even let me see my dad?
My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.
My grandmother's sudden death is the most significant change I've ever had to face. As we walked into the hospital, my stepmother and our pastor approached us. "Your grandmother has had another stroke; the doctors say that there is nothing they can do. Do you want to go see her?" In just two short sentences my whole life changed.
“The hardest part wasn’t losing you, it was learning to live without you.” I was 12 years old when my mom got a phone call. It was the morning of October 30, 2011. My grandma was ill, she was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis. I learned something valuable, you don’t understand the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.
My mom came into my room in the middle of the night one day in April of 2014 and hugged me to wake me up. She told me that my dad had been a car crash. The hospital my dad was in had called her on our minute phone the government had given us. I remember feeling the way my throat constricted in itself as though someone put their hands around my throat. My parents were always vague about informing me and my sister about a situation when it was serious with this as no exception.
I remember the day my father died; it felt as if a gigantic piece of my life was stolen from me. My dad was not what you would call innocent; he made mistakes like everybody else, but he was a good father and I loved him. I loved him like a five year old loves a teddy bear-with every fiber of my being. But my father was very unhealthy.
I was approximately 6 years old when I saw the look on Dad’s face; I felt helpless, for he lied there on the floor curled up in a little ball. His big brown dreamy eyes looked up at me, as he was trying to speak. He mumbled that he would be okay. I felt so scared and really wanted to help him. Two months later
A memorable event,losing a loved one is something that eventually everyone experiences. Losing my best friend,after being murdered is by far the most devastating thing that I am learning to cope with. Jose and I were really close. We did many things together. Though they have taken his life,no one can take away the memories we created together,Jose and those memories will forever live in my heart.
When I was growing up, my dad was never quite around. He began to work more frequently when my parents and my sister, Ashley, moved into our new house. To most people he was known as a "workaholic". Almost every holiday, except Christmas, he would work. I would go to bed at night and he would still be at work; I would wake up in the morning and he would have already left.
Somehow this bug is controlling my father with a tiny remote, giving him super strength. At this point I didn’t know what he was saying. I was concentrating on the pain on my wrist and the ringing in my ears from all the yelling. Knowing my mom was out of town for work I still screamed for her hoping she’d save me. Finally, the door was opened and the monster threw me out of the way like a rag
He was put into the hospital, and he was in need of blood. A stranger donated blood for him. Thanks to that stranger, he was able to live for a few more days. Those days were the most meaningful days of my life.