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Another Christmas Story

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On December first I hit the alarm off button on my clock. ‘I can’t wait to decorate for Christmas today’, I thought as I stretched. I had been waiting for this day since Thanksgiving. School is always canceled because of the knee-deep snow. My mom and I start decorating right after breakfast. It’s one of my favorite days of the whole year. I walked out of my room into the upstairs hallway. It was still dark. Mom must still be sleeping. I decided to go downstairs anyway. I reached out for the banister but I must’ve missed because I found myself tumbling head first over the railing.

The last thing I felt as I hit the floor was pain. I was unconscious. I didn’t hear the ambulance sirens blaring in the background. I didn’t see my father’s worried face as two men lifted me onto a cot. I didn’t feel my mother brush her hand across my face as I was carried into the emergency room.

I slowly opened my eyes. My head felt heavy from the bandages wrapped around my head. I could see my parents over in the corner. They looked upset. They turned their heads towards me as I stirred. “Sabrina! How are you feeling?” My mother looked pleased that I was awake. “Tired.” I laid my head back down. It hurt too much to keep it up. The doctors and technicians did a few tests and then I was allowed to go back to sleep. The only memories I have from the next few days are sleeping, eating, and being tested.

As Christmas approached I became worried. There was no way I wanted to spend Christmas in the hospital. No way, no how. I also didn’t want to skip out on my mom’s decorating tradition. I was slowly healing but it would still take me a few weeks to recuperate. I had no idea how well I’d be by Christmas.

The next few days were filled with tests and medical procedures. I began to doubt they’d let me go for New Year’s, let alone Christmas. Every night as I went to sleep pictures of X-rays and tests danced in my head. Then one day when my mom came to visit she asked the doctor a question I’d been waiting to hear the answer to for weeks: “Will she be home for Christmas?” The doctor hesitated, the replied: “We don’t know at this point. We just don’t know.”

As I woke up on Christmas Eve a feeling of dread hit me. I still had a broken leg and a head in bandages. No way would they let me go by tomorrow. I was too upset to do anything so I just went back to sleep.

Later on the doctor came into my room. He and my parents talked for awhile and then my mother approached my bed. “The doctor said your leg and head is healing well. There’s no reason to keep you locked up in here.” So, I would get to go home for Christmas!



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bubj98 said...
Nov. 17, 2010 at 10:16 pm
for some reason you make injury relatable and beautiful.especially in ths article.keep writing please.and also please read my work as ive told you before
 
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