Hospital Boredom

OMG, she writes stories too! Ok, so it was for a class.

 

            All I remember when I woke up to the blinding fluorescent lights shining into my dilated eyes is thinking, “How does anyone expect me to get any sleep with those things on?” It was typical five-year-old behavior, to think only of slumber while a needle designed for intravenous medicine was stuck into my hand. After all, who would care about the days they spent in the hospital room when they had a headache from lack of sleep?

            Once I had finally given up the hope of returning to the depths of my dreams, which with my child’s patience was within minutes, I began to pout because there was nothing for me to do. None of my relatives who were within the room had been kind enough to bring my favorite toys as they rushed me to the hospital when my temperature soared dangerously, and now I was paying the price for it. While I attempted to find figures etched in the patterns of the ceiling, I suddenly realized a fact that was both exciting and alarming: it was almost my birthday! Was I expected to spend my birthday in this linoleum-filled room with no toys? Surely no person could be so unkind as to expect that of me. It must be a surprise, I thought, once my birthday comes they will take me home and have loads of presents and cake and all my friends there. This is merely a ploy to throw me off. Well, I was too smart to fall for that one.

            Imagine my disappointment when the men in the strange white coats came in and spoke to my parents, who in turn told me in words that I could understand that I would be staying here for a while longer. Now all I longed to do was cry; how could they keep me in a room with nothing to do and bright lights that hurt my eyes? Of course, I could not cry; I was about to turn six, which meant I was a big girl, and big girls didn’t cry. Instead I nodded sadly and returned to my downhearted search for a figure within the ceiling.

            Two days later, on my birthday, I walked through the front door of my house, the needle gone from my hand, the only clue that it had even been there a small red mark. On the kitchen table there was a vanilla cake embellished with “Happy Birthday, Lauren” and crafted by my grandmother’s own hand. My family stood by my side as I celebrated my return to health by promptly devouring as much of the cake as I could stand, and then collapsing on my bed to catch up on all the sleep I lost due to the fluorescent hospital lights.

Reviews

[Andromeda]

what class was this for? i really like it! im glad you got cake, etc. what were you in the hospital for?