That chilly rainy Monday summer morning, I did not feel like pulling myself out of bed. The black bulky digital alarm clock read 6:30 with its bold red letters and pierced my ears with its sharp beeps, but I paid no mind to it. It is too early in the morning and too cold and wet of a day to travel 55 minutes away to spend 6 hours volunteering at a hospital where the nurses did not respect me. However, two minutes and 20 beeps later, my mom barged into my room and turned on all the lights, forcing me to wake up and commit myself to the hospital.
Half an hour later, I stepped into the living room and the delicious odor of my mom's special homemade breakfast - home fries with an egg sunny side up and ketchup on the side - instantly woke me up and watered my mouth. Another half hour later, I was ready to embark my journey to another boring day at the hospital and my mom was ready to take a walk to the nearest train station with me. On the train on my way to the hospital, I again dreaded the day I have waiting for me - another day of just standing around the hospital corridors doing nothing fruitful because the nurses were afraid to assign me any tasks at all. As the train was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, I received a text message from my mom that although shows that her English is not yet up to par, also shows that she truly cares for me.
"Call me there. Be careful. Wet," the text message read. I laughed as I read her message and frowned when I read the time on my phone. It was merely 7:45 and my mom had probably awoken half an hour before I did to prepare breakfast and yet her workplace does not open until 9:00. Knowing this, I mentally reprimanded myself for having thoughts of wanting to quit volunteering at the hospital. Although my mom is unlike most American parents who at least speak fluent English, she still does everything she can to ensure a positive mental growth in me. I knew my mom had simply wanted me to stay committed to a responsibility I had taken on at the beginning of the summer and to not give up before I fulfill my duty. At that moment, I promised myself to make the best out of what I have at the hospital and to earn the respect of the nurses because as somebody once said, "Respect is not a right: it has to be earned."
Upon my arrival at the pediatrics department, I readily wore my red and white striped apron, clipped on my ID card, reviewed the patients list for today and began greeting the patients. As I entered each room, I greeted each young patient and their parents with my signature smile and fulfilled all the requests I can possibly perform for them. I brought them pitchers of ice and water, diapers, new bed sheets, socks and endless amounts of necessities that could add on to the patient's and their parent's comfort. I smiled at the fact that despite the distress look many of the parents wore on their face, none of them were planning to leave the hospital without their child. Even more, I shined at the fact that despite the tears they have shed in fear and the worried look they each carry, they still found a smile within them to thank me for my time and efforts.
Going down the corridor of rooms, I reached the last room and in there was a 3-year-old boy in his crib, alone in the room, staring at the doorway as if he was waiting for somebody to give him just a second of their day. I entered his sunlight-filled room and flashed the boy my biggest smile. At 3 years old, I expected him to at least be able to respond to my questions but all I got from him was an endless stream of gibberish as if he had a lot to say but just could not make out the words. A few minutes later, a group of doctors and nurses entered the room to check up on this young prodigy, and I quickly learned his sad story. Geo, as I nicknamed him, was born with many developmental disabilities, along with speech delay and his mother, being a single parent, has to work long hours and thus does not have much time to spend with her son. Throughout the rest of the day, I spent my time accompanying Geo and we have surely developed a close bond that even the rest of the doctors and nurses saw. Unlike the other nurses who have failed to convince Geo to drink his medicine and inhale the chemicals his body is lacking, I was able to easily encourage him to take all his medications. At that moment, I saw the trust Geo had in me and received the looks of approval and acceptance from all the nurses as the department. For the first time that summer, I was more than eager to volunteer overtime and was even hesitant to leave before Geo slipped into his afternoon nap.
As I started my trip back home, I reflected on what I have experienced on this day, this summer and pretty much, my entire life. Throughout my 16 years of living, I have experienced all the luck that none of the patients I have cared for had. I have never come close to hospital admission and my mom was definitely by my side at all times. My experiences with Geo and all the other patients this summer have opened my eyes to the fact that like respect, good health and a perfect family are not given rights - they are things to treasure while they are present.
While walking home from the train station, I picked up a bubble milk tea from the nearby bakery, a type of luxury my mom never had at my age, and walked home with a smile, thinking of my mom.
Half an hour later, I stepped into the living room and the delicious odor of my mom's special homemade breakfast - home fries with an egg sunny side up and ketchup on the side - instantly woke me up and watered my mouth. Another half hour later, I was ready to embark my journey to another boring day at the hospital and my mom was ready to take a walk to the nearest train station with me. On the train on my way to the hospital, I again dreaded the day I have waiting for me - another day of just standing around the hospital corridors doing nothing fruitful because the nurses were afraid to assign me any tasks at all. As the train was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, I received a text message from my mom that although shows that her English is not yet up to par, also shows that she truly cares for me.
"Call me there. Be careful. Wet," the text message read. I laughed as I read her message and frowned when I read the time on my phone. It was merely 7:45 and my mom had probably awoken half an hour before I did to prepare breakfast and yet her workplace does not open until 9:00. Knowing this, I mentally reprimanded myself for having thoughts of wanting to quit volunteering at the hospital. Although my mom is unlike most American parents who at least speak fluent English, she still does everything she can to ensure a positive mental growth in me. I knew my mom had simply wanted me to stay committed to a responsibility I had taken on at the beginning of the summer and to not give up before I fulfill my duty. At that moment, I promised myself to make the best out of what I have at the hospital and to earn the respect of the nurses because as somebody once said, "Respect is not a right: it has to be earned."
Upon my arrival at the pediatrics department, I readily wore my red and white striped apron, clipped on my ID card, reviewed the patients list for today and began greeting the patients. As I entered each room, I greeted each young patient and their parents with my signature smile and fulfilled all the requests I can possibly perform for them. I brought them pitchers of ice and water, diapers, new bed sheets, socks and endless amounts of necessities that could add on to the patient's and their parent's comfort. I smiled at the fact that despite the distress look many of the parents wore on their face, none of them were planning to leave the hospital without their child. Even more, I shined at the fact that despite the tears they have shed in fear and the worried look they each carry, they still found a smile within them to thank me for my time and efforts.
Going down the corridor of rooms, I reached the last room and in there was a 3-year-old boy in his crib, alone in the room, staring at the doorway as if he was waiting for somebody to give him just a second of their day. I entered his sunlight-filled room and flashed the boy my biggest smile. At 3 years old, I expected him to at least be able to respond to my questions but all I got from him was an endless stream of gibberish as if he had a lot to say but just could not make out the words. A few minutes later, a group of doctors and nurses entered the room to check up on this young prodigy, and I quickly learned his sad story. Geo, as I nicknamed him, was born with many developmental disabilities, along with speech delay and his mother, being a single parent, has to work long hours and thus does not have much time to spend with her son. Throughout the rest of the day, I spent my time accompanying Geo and we have surely developed a close bond that even the rest of the doctors and nurses saw. Unlike the other nurses who have failed to convince Geo to drink his medicine and inhale the chemicals his body is lacking, I was able to easily encourage him to take all his medications. At that moment, I saw the trust Geo had in me and received the looks of approval and acceptance from all the nurses as the department. For the first time that summer, I was more than eager to volunteer overtime and was even hesitant to leave before Geo slipped into his afternoon nap.
As I started my trip back home, I reflected on what I have experienced on this day, this summer and pretty much, my entire life. Throughout my 16 years of living, I have experienced all the luck that none of the patients I have cared for had. I have never come close to hospital admission and my mom was definitely by my side at all times. My experiences with Geo and all the other patients this summer have opened my eyes to the fact that like respect, good health and a perfect family are not given rights - they are things to treasure while they are present.
While walking home from the train station, I picked up a bubble milk tea from the nearby bakery, a type of luxury my mom never had at my age, and walked home with a smile, thinking of my mom.
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