Hopes like a Vast and Empty Ocean

Most Children try to get out of going to school. Sometimes it was by faking your sickness, putting a hot washcloth on your head to increase the temperature like a fever, or making sounds to pretend your throwing up. This wasn’t a trick. This was a talent. There were the two of us, creating a secret plan to convince our parents to let us stay home. Either you gave it your all or you got caught lying and were sent to school. You wouldn’t lose anything but your hopes. My hopes, and my sisters hopes, depended on our special talent and faith in eachother. But if your parents caught on after several attempts of acting like you are not feeling well--then you would likely start crying and begging them to just let you take a day off of school. Most of the time, though, it was our mother who caught on. Nothing we did could stop our Mom.

As time flew over us, we didn’t want to stay home anymore because of the homework you got if you were absent and we were getting older. In late spring, I got sick a lot. This time it happened for real and it wouldn’t stop. My Mom couldn’t stop it this time either. Taking days off now bothered me instead of exciting me. Last year I found out I had an illness.The word illness ripped into me like a knife into a

crisp, cold red apple. It was a horrible sinking feeling that seemed to possess my whole body—a feeling so terrifying that even the most brave person alive could not possibly endure it. Now it was summertime and I was in the hospital.

I had always been a stubborn and vigorous person who wouldn’t let anyone or anything bring me down. But this time it was different. I loathed the hospital so much, but I knew the doctors and nurses would take care of me. I stared deeply at the painting in front of my hospital bed of a bright blue ocean. I thought so many times to myself that I’d rather be there. In the bright, and big ocean. With the waves crashing on the ocean shore and the soft sand sticking to the bottom of my feet like butter on toast. It was afternoon and my Mom just returned from visiting my siblings. I spent last night in my room alone because my Mom was here so long and needed to go home to freshen up. The thunder and rain was so loud last night that it made me feel even worse. I was happy to see her here. We had all been worn out, tired, and gloomy. My Mom saw me and bent down to give me a hug.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked after hugging me.

“Better than when I first came here eight days ago,” I replied.

“That’s good your Dad, brother, and sister all miss you,” she said.

“I miss them too,” I said with tears in my eyes.

“Yes, let's hope we get out of here soon and no tears!” my Mom said with a soft smile.

“What? Me. I’m not crying. Never,” I said while laughing.

The nurse came in and did the usual normal morning routine. First, she weighed me and took my blood pressure with a sphygmomanometer. Then, she gave me my medicine that was inserted through the Intravenous therapy (IV) which delivered fluids directly into my veins. Many people did not like having to get a shot or anything entered through a needle. I never minded it. I liked the feeling of the cold fluids entering in my veins because it distracted me from everything going on and made me more relaxed. 

When the nurse was all done she asked “How are you today?”

“Good, I just want this all to be over,” I said.

“ I know I’m going to check in with your doctor who will come today to discuss when you can leave,” the nurse said.

“Okay, thank you,” I said. 

Since we were waiting awhile I went to take a shower. My Mom helped me disconnect my IV from the machine. Taking a shower made me feel fresh and good about the day. When I looked back on everything while taking a shower I thought to myself that I was going to be alright. I reminded myself that I didn’t lose an organ, colon, body part, or heart. I didn’t lose anything, but my hopes. I grabbed the shower knob and turned off the water. After I gently stepped onto the white towel on the floor, dried my frail skinny body, and got dressed. 

When I returned it was eight o' clock and I needed to eat breakfast since I took my medicine. My Mom was sleeping on the extra bed in my room. The hospital's eggs with cheese made me feel like I was at home on a Sunday morning with my family. My sadness quickly returned. Usually I loved eating but I didn't crave anything anymore because everything I ate hurt me and I just savored the smell. 

After I finished eating a small portion of eggs I watched television because I had nothing to do. Flipping through channels on the remote distracted myself from worrying what the doctor was going to say. Shortly, Mom woke up and spent time with me watching a funny movie about a teens mother following her to college. It felt like a long time before the doctor came to talk to me and my Mom. I had some difficulty wondering what he came for until I remembered again. 

"I have some good news and bad news," the doctor said.

My mind wandered and my mind clinged to the worst scenario, that I’d have to stay here longer. For a minute I looked away at the painting of the blue ocean.

"Yes," my Mom said.

"She still has to stay on the medicine until she gets better but she is free to go home," the doctor said with a huge smile on his face.

"Thank you Doctor," my Mom said in an excited voice.

I was in so much shock and could not believe it. The thought of going home again made me want to jump up and down like a little kid getting to go outside for recess. Tears started to roll down my face and I began to feel eager while packing up everything. 

"Are you crying again," my Mom laughed.

"Yes, but this time I'm crying tears of joy," I loudly said.

When I got outside to go into my Mom's car I kept my face to the sun since it was so beautiful outside. The sun made me feel better and thankful for life. My illness doesn't define me. It's how many times I get back up with faith that defines me. On the car ride home I thought my experience had taught me a lot. I discovered that, in order to reach the top, you must learn to go through the rain and, in order to conquer your fears, you must face them first. In a way I am thankful for my long stay at the hospital, because I conquered a lot of my fears.