The Question:
Personal Narrative
I have just finished writing this board in several Arabic scripts. I looked at the panel for a while. Who can believe that this hand, who wrote these scripts, was one day unable to move, covered with splint, and hanged to my neck? My thoughts bring me back to an old experience that happened in my childhood fifteen years ago.
On a hot morning, after all my brothers and sisters went to their schools, my mother started doing the daily household chores. I and my little sister drank two glasses of milk as we used to do every day. Then, we started playing and tried to invent more interesting games. That day, the fantastic place for our game was my brother's bed. We got up the bed, went to its edge, then jump on the floor and warmly laughing. In the meantime, my mother arrived to the room where we were playing to vacuum it and wipe its floor. She looked at us and said while she was continuing her work, "what are you doing? Be careful not to drop while playing". We were engaged in our game so my mother words did not enter inside our ears. Then she left the room and continued her works. We also continued our interesting game. Many seconds later, my foot clenched by the bed edge and I fell down on my right hand when I was jumping on the floor. My mother ran back quickly as she heard me crying. My hand was hurting and curved in the middle. Difficult time passed. No car. No one could take me to a hospital. My father was abroad.
My mother brought a piece of cloth and tied it to hang my hand to my neck. She firmly said, "No more playing. You have to sit till we can go to the hospital." I obeyed silently though my hand was slightly still hurting me.
What happened to my hand? Can I play again? Can I draw and paint? Will I use only my left hand forever? I know that some people are left-handed and can naturally practice daily activities. I remembered also a video I have seen that was about a man without hands and did everything with his legs; writing, sewing, and even playing with balls. "I'm better than him of course," I said to myself. While thinking, I went into a deep sleep. In the afternoon, my brother came back from his school and was astonished when he saw my hand. As I and my mother were ready, we immediately went to the nearest hospital by taxi. The hospital in the neighborhood was lacking advanced technology so the doctor advised us to go to the hospital that is in the downtown.
An hour later, my hand was covered with a white splint and hanged on my neck by a strip of gauze which let me feel as I was carrying a heavy thing that prevents me from moving freely. Now, I can't play as I was doing many days ago. I had to accommodate with the new situation; eating by the left hand, learn writing from the scratch. Many days later, I became more familiar with my new heavy hand. Every time I had a shower, Mom covered the splint with a nylon case to make it away of water as possible as she could. The only one benefit of this splint was using it as a shield from hits of our neighbor children.
After three months, my father came back from abroad. He picked up me to the hospital to take out the splint. I was happy and afraid simultaneously. How will they take it off? Will not the doctor cut my hand by mistake while cutting the splint? Will I be able to use my hand again like my sisters?
"Dad, how will the doctor take out this splint?" I asked my father fearfully. "They will use a special tool that stops working as it faces the hand," he kindly answered. Then, I feel a little of reassuring. As we arrived to the hospital and entered the orthopedics department, I saw a lot of rooms. Some of doors are opened which allowed me to see what happened inside but I did not see anything important. As we approached the wanted room, I heard a child crying. I became afraid again. Why is this baby crying? Is he afraid? Do not they hurt him? I asked again. "No. Be assured please. They will not hurt you and you will be happy after they finish." When we entered, the doctor asked me to sit on the chair. He brought his tool. It was not scary. He turned it on and it started making an annoying voice that pierced my ears. As he applied the tool on the splint in straight line from my elbow to my wrist, the splint fell down. I saw my hand; it seemed weak and wrinkled. Some small pieces of cotton were spread on my hand. I flicked them out.
I spent the home way looking at my hand, touching it to be sure that there is no pain, and moving it up and down. When we arrived home, my mother was waiting us with open arms at the door. We all in the house celebrate this event and my family members gave me a nice gift. It was a special day. It made me feel how much they are kind and love me.
This experience was rich and added to me a lot of values. When I missed the use of an important organ of my body, I recognize how important it was. I became more aware of healthy habits and good food that help me maintain fit and healthy. This experience also enhanced the relation with my family. They helped me whenever I need which supported me to pass the experience with positive psychological feelings. It also taught me special skill such as writing with my left hand. I think it is very important to teach and train myself to do various tasks and master several skills. This will help me to deal more effectively with such a situation. Though some experiences seem difficult when they happen, but they improve our personalities and teach us a lot of lesson that will support us in our life.
Personal Narrative
My Broken Hand
I have just finished writing this board in several Arabic scripts. I looked at the panel for a while. Who can believe that this hand, who wrote these scripts, was one day unable to move, covered with splint, and hanged to my neck? My thoughts bring me back to an old experience that happened in my childhood fifteen years ago.
On a hot morning, after all my brothers and sisters went to their schools, my mother started doing the daily household chores. I and my little sister drank two glasses of milk as we used to do every day. Then, we started playing and tried to invent more interesting games. That day, the fantastic place for our game was my brother's bed. We got up the bed, went to its edge, then jump on the floor and warmly laughing. In the meantime, my mother arrived to the room where we were playing to vacuum it and wipe its floor. She looked at us and said while she was continuing her work, "what are you doing? Be careful not to drop while playing". We were engaged in our game so my mother words did not enter inside our ears. Then she left the room and continued her works. We also continued our interesting game. Many seconds later, my foot clenched by the bed edge and I fell down on my right hand when I was jumping on the floor. My mother ran back quickly as she heard me crying. My hand was hurting and curved in the middle. Difficult time passed. No car. No one could take me to a hospital. My father was abroad.
My mother brought a piece of cloth and tied it to hang my hand to my neck. She firmly said, "No more playing. You have to sit till we can go to the hospital." I obeyed silently though my hand was slightly still hurting me.
What happened to my hand? Can I play again? Can I draw and paint? Will I use only my left hand forever? I know that some people are left-handed and can naturally practice daily activities. I remembered also a video I have seen that was about a man without hands and did everything with his legs; writing, sewing, and even playing with balls. "I'm better than him of course," I said to myself. While thinking, I went into a deep sleep. In the afternoon, my brother came back from his school and was astonished when he saw my hand. As I and my mother were ready, we immediately went to the nearest hospital by taxi. The hospital in the neighborhood was lacking advanced technology so the doctor advised us to go to the hospital that is in the downtown.
An hour later, my hand was covered with a white splint and hanged on my neck by a strip of gauze which let me feel as I was carrying a heavy thing that prevents me from moving freely. Now, I can't play as I was doing many days ago. I had to accommodate with the new situation; eating by the left hand, learn writing from the scratch. Many days later, I became more familiar with my new heavy hand. Every time I had a shower, Mom covered the splint with a nylon case to make it away of water as possible as she could. The only one benefit of this splint was using it as a shield from hits of our neighbor children.
After three months, my father came back from abroad. He picked up me to the hospital to take out the splint. I was happy and afraid simultaneously. How will they take it off? Will not the doctor cut my hand by mistake while cutting the splint? Will I be able to use my hand again like my sisters?
"Dad, how will the doctor take out this splint?" I asked my father fearfully. "They will use a special tool that stops working as it faces the hand," he kindly answered. Then, I feel a little of reassuring. As we arrived to the hospital and entered the orthopedics department, I saw a lot of rooms. Some of doors are opened which allowed me to see what happened inside but I did not see anything important. As we approached the wanted room, I heard a child crying. I became afraid again. Why is this baby crying? Is he afraid? Do not they hurt him? I asked again. "No. Be assured please. They will not hurt you and you will be happy after they finish." When we entered, the doctor asked me to sit on the chair. He brought his tool. It was not scary. He turned it on and it started making an annoying voice that pierced my ears. As he applied the tool on the splint in straight line from my elbow to my wrist, the splint fell down. I saw my hand; it seemed weak and wrinkled. Some small pieces of cotton were spread on my hand. I flicked them out.
I spent the home way looking at my hand, touching it to be sure that there is no pain, and moving it up and down. When we arrived home, my mother was waiting us with open arms at the door. We all in the house celebrate this event and my family members gave me a nice gift. It was a special day. It made me feel how much they are kind and love me.
This experience was rich and added to me a lot of values. When I missed the use of an important organ of my body, I recognize how important it was. I became more aware of healthy habits and good food that help me maintain fit and healthy. This experience also enhanced the relation with my family. They helped me whenever I need which supported me to pass the experience with positive psychological feelings. It also taught me special skill such as writing with my left hand. I think it is very important to teach and train myself to do various tasks and master several skills. This will help me to deal more effectively with such a situation. Though some experiences seem difficult when they happen, but they improve our personalities and teach us a lot of lesson that will support us in our life.
