God Loves Me

November 8, 2007
“Don’t go outside without a jacket. And how many times am I going to tell you to stop taking showers in the morning?” She noted.

“Dede, I’m not going to get sick. You’re always worried about someone other than yourself.” I whispered.

It all happened two years ago. I thought I was an adult and I didn’t need anyone’s advise, especially my moms, whom I called Dede.

“Get up, it’s time for school. If you miss the bus you will be walking to school!” she shouted.

“Achou, Achou.” I felt bad. My head was pounding and my throat felt like a rough rug. I knew Dede was about to come in there nagging.

“I told you about taking baths in the morning and not wearing a jacket. I cooked breakfast and you still don’t want to get up. I even cooked your favorite pancakes, the ones with chocolate in it. I know you smell that fresh squeezed orange juice.” she replied. As if I asked what’s for breakfast.

“I don’t feel good, my head hurts, and my throat is killing me.” I mumbled.

“Don’t think your going to get out off scrubbing, soaking, rinsing, drying, and putting up the dishes tonight. As soon as I get your brother up Ill be right in there.” She responded.

Two weeks later, instead of felling better I was at my worse. Everything I ate I vomited up. I could barely walk and my voices imitated Randy, from American Idol. All I could do was lay in bed.

“Get out of bed right now, its impossible to be sick for this long!” She stated as if she was an doctor with a MD degree.

I looked at the door, than I looked at her face, than I looked at the door with this frown on my face, I looked at her again and this time she looked sad, so I looked at the door an got right up. For the past two weeks it seemed like my mother was changing, when I was the one sick. She looked thirty-eight or thirty-nine, tall and dark skinned, in tennis shoes with no socks, with some blue jeans that matched nothing she had on. After standing up for those few minutes noticing how bad she looked I fell back on my bed. Dede looked at me, jerked me up, and put my arm around her shoulder, continuing to walk me out of my room to the car. Before I could make it to the car I started barfing. The vomit got on my mom, she looked like a pink ice cream bar.

“Are you ok? Do you need for me to call 911? Can you make it without throwing up in my car?” she questioned me.

“Yes….No….NO!” As soon as I opened the car door I started at it again, this time I vomited on the ground.

When I got to the emergency room, it took them an hour to get to me. Finally, the doctor saw me, and he asked a few questions.

“What hurts?”

“My side, my head, my throat, and my stomach.” I replied.

“From the looks of it, it might be your appendix, but there’s one way to find out.” the doctor said.


“By drinking this bottle of fluid, and if it comes up its time.” He responded

“Time for what?” I felt miserable and the thought of something bad happening next, made it worse.

“You will have to get your appendix taken out, and from the way you look they are about to burst.” he had this mournful look on his face.

As soon as I left out that room the doctors rushed me into surgery. The doctors gave me some sleeping gas. When I woke up my body was in pain, and my family was there with gifts. God gave me a second chance, and this I know. The doctor said if I would have waited a few more hours my life as I know on this earth would have been over.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback