All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
What a Pickle!
When I wake up on Friday, I instantly notice that I am shivering out of control. I sit up and am immediately assaulted by a strong feeling of nausea. Thankfully, there is a trash can beside my bed. Apparently I have been puking all night, although I have no recollection of anything.
“Are you okay honey!?” my mom inquires, concern plain in her voice, as she rushes into the room.
“No,” I wearily reply, not fully trusting myself to respond without retching.
“You’re not going to school today, okay?” she tells me not really asking a question.
“That’s fine with me,” I weakly answer.
“You just rest,” she tells me, “I’ve gotta go to work, but I’ll call at lunch. I put the phone beside your medicine; you have to take it in half an hour.”
“Okay,” I mumble as I reach for my T.V. remote.
“Bye! I love you!” she hollers to me as she walks out the door.
“Bye Mom, love you too!” I shot back, mustering as much strength into my voice as I can.
I turn the T.V. on and start to watch SpongeBob. I may be fifteen now, but everyone has at least a sliver of childhood left in them. After an episode, I have to take my medicine. I really hope it isn’t the drowsy kind otherwise I’ll have a hard time sleeping tonight.
I pick up the vile of deep, plum purple medicine, measure out my dosage, and swallow the noxious, overly sweet medicine. I hate medicines, especially the kinds that say they are cheery flavored, because they never really are. I quickly took a drink of water to wash the horrid taste out of my mouth.
Within five minutes, I’m already beginning to feel the effects of the medicine. Of course, my mom just has to give me drowsy medicine. As I nod off into my dream world I hope that when I wake up I will feel a million times better.
As I walk around trying to find something to do, I start to feel kind of sick. But, as soon as I start to color with my friends, I quickly forget all about feeling sick.
By lunch I was starting to feel worse though. I wasn’t hungry, and that’s something that hardly ever happened to me. I told my flamboyant preschool teacher that I wasn’t hungry and that I didn’t feel good, but she made me eat some crackers and drink some juice. After lunch, I kept complaining about feeling really sick, so she checked my temperature and said that I didn’t have a fever. She called my mom anyway, and had me talk to her.
“What’s wrong honey?” my mom asked with a very concerned tone to her voice.
“I don’t feel good,” I whined unhappily.
“Do you think you can make it ‘till I pick you up?” she soothingly inquired.
“I guess,” I halfheartedly said, but I really just wanted to go home right away.
“Okay, I’ll see you at five. Love you!” she promised me as we hung up.
Now, I just had to make it for four more hours. Thank goodness two of those hours were my favorite afternoon activities; snack time and nap time. The latter came first and when we all pulled out our cots, I quickly lied down and fell asleep within just a few minutes. It was the fastest I had ever fallen asleep.
When I woke, up my friends asked me if I wanted to play house. I joined in, hoping that the time would fly by like the crows that fly around the sky with quick twists and sudden turn, never stopping only speeding up to go ever faster. By snack time I was starting to feel a little bit better, so I ate my whole entire snack. Only one hour left, I thought to myself.
Finally, my mom came to the preschool to pick me up. I quickly got into the car and we drove home. On the way home, she asked me how, and where I felt sick at. We finally pulled into the driveway and the rest of the evening passed without much event, but bedtime was a different story.
At about nine o’clock, I was starting to ache all over. The pain rolled through me like waves. It started at my head and gently rolled through me all the way to my toes, bringing each nerve a sharp, strong pinch of pain that made me wince. My mom gave me the thermometer and told me to check my temperature with it. After it gave out three shrill, salient beeps, I went and showed it to my mom. Now looking back, I assume that I must’ve had a pretty high fever because she woke up my dad and they took me to Wilson Memorial Hospital’s Emergency Room.
At the hospital, the nurse checked my temperature, blood pressure, height, and weight. Then, she brought me to one of the patient rooms to wait for the doctor. When the doctor got there, he did all the normal tests and then informed my parents and I that I would have to get my blood drawn. I was terrified of needles, but really didn’t understand the concept until I saw the biggest needle in my life.
Immediately, I tried to get away, but my dad held me still. I was crying before they even got the needle to my hand. The doctor told me to squeeze my dad’s hand when it started to hurt. Then, he plunged the needle into my left hand and I watched as the blood slowly flowed from my hand to the tube. I kept squeezing my dad’s hand harder and harder; my fingers were white from the effort. Having my blood drawn was the most painful thing that has ever happened in my life.
After they drew my blood, the doctor left the room to go run tests on it. I was, naturally, terrified and in a lot of pain. I couldn’t stop crying. When the doctor came back he put an IV into my left wrist. Oddly enough, the IV didn’t hurt at all. After I got the IV, I started to feel better. A lot of things started to get blurry, so I knew I was starting to feel better. I slowly loosened my grip on my dad’s hand as my mom soothingly rubbed my back. Finally, I thought to myself, It’s finally over.
I nodded off a short time after that and the next morning I felt so much better. It’s truly amazing what doctors can do.
The drugs finally wear off, and as I wake up, I rub all the drowsiness from my eyes. Everything is still bleary, but I notice that I feel a lot better already.
I can’t believe I had that dream, I think dumbfounded. I realize, then, that I’ll never forget my pneumonia, no matter how long I live. Somehow the whole experience was etched into my mind. It was forever seared into my psyche and no matter what I do; I know I can never erase it. No matter what I do, any sickness, any anomaly cause by germs makes me think of it, and nothing will ever change that.