Final Draft NARRATIVE

Jessica Jeu

Professor Begert

English 099

Educational Experience

The Effects of a Mother

            As a 17 year old, I have had my share of deaths in the past. From intentional death like murder and suicide, to accidental, you name it, I’ve been though it. It was February 2006, and my life was just released from tragedies grip, but only just a little. As the saying “deaths come in threes” consumed my thoughts, I sat by my mother’s hospital bed. My eyes were black from lack of sleep, and they were swollen from crying day after day. From December 2005 to February 2006 I had three close relatives pass away, and I thought I was watching the fourth one.

            My mother and I were best friends, and venting partners. She had what I like to say was the best of both worlds; a princess who had boyish interests. You would find her shinning and polishing her black Dodge that was lifted with 35 inch tires, which is something I would normally see a boy drive. She had a concealed weapons permit, and had a 44 magnum, which is famous for being Dirty Harry’s gun of choice. Even though she liked shooting, and fixing up her truck, she still had girl interests like shopping and going out with girlfriends and gossiping. She is quite a character, but it wasn’t her interests that people thought were intriguing, it was her personality. She was an extremely strong person, both physically and mentally, and had good morals and values. She was “one tough nugget” as my grandpa would say, and definitely not a lover, but a fighter. And after going through what she did, I believe that it’s the people who fight back, are the people who get a second chance at life.

            February 16^th was a normal day for my family, as we helped my mom get ready for work. She was an RN at Harrison Hospital, and worked the night shift. She loved her job, and loved providing for people who can’t provide for themselves. She wasn’t feeling 100% that day, and told me that she might come home early and to not freak out if I hear someone in the house, because it was her. I told her I loved her, and down our mile long drive way she went. The following day I went to school thinking that my mom must of felt better, because her truck wasn’t in the driveway when I left. That afternoon was of a normal routine, go to school, math, science, reading, a break, P.E., and since it was Monday, I had a stop to my homeroom to get a grade print out. With just one B in math and the rest A’s I was looking forward to telling my mom so hopefully she would take me to McDonalds to get me an ice cream. As I arrived to my grandma’s house I screamed “Grandma, Grandma guess what?!” She was not as happy as I expected after telling her about my grades. After realizing something was wrong, I mustered up the courage to ask her. She said “Jessica, your mom is in the hospital.”

            My heart sank, and a million questions rose in my mind as we drove into Bremerton. She told me she has a sickness called pneumonia that she caught from a patient, and with some antibiotics and bed rest she’ll be back to normal in a week or so. With some sense of relief, I was able to calm down. When I walked into her room and saw her, she did not look like the mommy I knew from the previous day. Her face was swollen, her skin was a pale yellowish color, and she had tubes going into her mouth. She had bruises all over her body, and her arms were strapped down to the bed along with her legs. I asked why she had so much bruising and why she was tied down, and the doctor tried to explain something that I already knew. My mother was a fighter, and she was being combative while trying to fight this illness. I understood what he way saying, but still seeing her like that was truly sickening, and that image will stay in my head for the rest of my life. I saw my dad sitting beside her bed, holding her hand, crying. That really stirred my confusion even more. The doctor called our family in for a conference, and explained that our fighter had encountered an even bigger problem. She came down with a complication of pneumonia called ARDS, and she had about a 30% chance of living so they had to put her in an induced coma so that she wasn’t so combative, and to be sure that she wasn’t in pain. Mixed feelings ran through each of our heads, but all I was thinking was how I was going to lose my best friend. For any person this would be a roller coaster of devastation, but for a 12 year who just lost 3 other close relatives six months prior too, it was heart breaking. This wore on me through the days and nights of my mother being in a coma. I couldn’t get through a day without crying, and I definitely didn’t want people to ask me what was wrong when I did cry, because that would just make things worse.

            After about a week and a half of being fatally ill, my mom was taken out of her coma, and started pulling out of her sickness completely. She still had some tubes in her, and was somewhat in a daze from the drugs the doctors gave her. She was moody, and cried over small reasons. She lost 25 pounds, her bones were brittle, and she had to have assistance while walking. Doctors were shocked and thought she was very lucky, but knew how quick it was for things to turn upside down again. A few days into recovery was when I realized I had skipped school about 2 weeks straight, decided it was a good idea to go back so I don’t fall too behind in my school work, even though that was the last thing on my mind. The Monday back I was in a daze. I was tired, emotionally exhausted, and my mothers recovery consumed my thoughts entirely. I didn’t tell my teachers about my mothers illness because I was afraid that from the deaths I told them about before, they would think I’m lying in order get extra time to work on my homework I missed. I secluded myself from friends so they wouldn’t ask what was wrong, and I had a hard time focusing in class. I was emotionally drained, and after getting use to staying home and sleeping when I wanted to it made it even tougher to go back to school. This situation not only made unable to focus, it made me hate school, and all I could think about was being with my mother while she was in recovery. Finally, my first day back was almost over. One more stop to my homeroom, and then back home. I got my grade print out as usual, and looked at my highlighted grades. I had two “F’s” and two “D’s”. I was upset, but felt like I had worse things to worry about.

            I ignored knowing I had massive amounts of homework and only two weeks to complete it, I instead went and sat with my mom from 4 p.m. to 9 p.m., and then went home. I was asked numerous times by my grandma how my grades were, and if I had homework but I repeatedly lied to her and said that I still have A’s and B’s, and that I didn’t miss much. When progress reports were mailed home, and there was four weeks of school left, all the lying eventually caught up to me and boy, did I get in trouble. The next morning, instead of riding the bus, my grandmother drove me to school to go and talk to my teacher. Because I didn’t tell my teachers what was going on, they just thought that I was slacking because I wanted to, not because I was preoccupied with thoughts concerning my mother. They were very understanding after hearing the story, and some teachers gave me some extra credit, but one gave me an ultimatum. She said that if I do all my work and complete it on time she would let me pass the class with a C or better. I was super excited and was completely willing to try. My 6^th grade year taught me a lot. It taught me that you need to be at a satisfied state of mind outside of school in order to excel inside school. I passed all my classes with C’s, and honestly, I was happy with that. For a person who wears their emotions on their sleeve, plus all that I went though that year, I was surprised I even passed.