A newly born child lay exposed on a hospital bed. Skin turned a light purple and cold to the touch. It only had a few more seconds until its last final breath would be given. An innocent little girl having her life taken away from her unknowingly by the vicious environment she'd been born into. Her cries abruptly stopped, only to hear the one sound no one wanted to; the lone tone of the heart monitor.
The baby still lay on that bed table almost motionless. He tiny finger were in the air slightly moving, like she was grabbing for air. A lady was yelling at the doctors to do something right now. Demanding they give CPR or give her more air through the oxygen tube. She wanted her baby girl to live.
That little baby is the one writing this essay. I am alive, well and living my life to the fullest.
I was around age 10 when my adoptive mother had told me that horrible story. I couldn't believe that I had survived. She said I was only about 5 pounds and most children don't surpass that tragedy. She told me the doctors wanted to give up on me right away claiming death. However, she knew better. Nothing is more heart breaking to know your own birth mother didn't care if you were to live or not.
Now, that I am 17 years old I understand more and know better. Yet again I ask to know everything about that day and the days that came. My mother and father that I live with now are not my biological parents; although, I consider them to be. I was born into an only child home, so I haven't had the experience with siblings, even though I actually have three.
I look back on the past, and a little into my future thinking to myself, my situation could be far worse than it was. Taking things for granted was one of things I used to do for the longest times. Being an only child didn't help as much. When I think of it, I could be dead, buried in a grave or living in a foster care with no family. I've learned over the past years to appreciate my mother and father for not giving up on me when I was pronounced dead on that table. It burdens me to think that there are thousands of children in foster homes who are probably having the worst lives ever.
Having the good life does not mean to be rich, famous or anything more. It means that you are living your life to the fullest, appreciating what you have and going on to do your best. There is one thing people don't consider or understand. Life is a precious thing and anything or anyone can be taken away from you in a blink or an eye.
This is a very good essay, and well written. The only thing is towards then end you say, "who are probably having the worst lives ever" just rephrase that, it sounds a little awkward.
