Ronee' has an asthma attack that has threatened her life; she nearly dies, but she ends up surviving. (AGAIN.)
The little girl in question, the one this story is about, is now 11 years old, and her asthma is much improved. (She still has attacks, but for the most part, her asthma is finally controlled after years of hell.)
Ronee' was still being attended to by the paramedics. She was gently placed upon a rolling stretcher bed, covered with a sheet up to her chin, and was then quickly wheeled to the back of the ambulance, where the paramedics then loaded her into the back, and then shut and locked the doors. Ronee' was still being assisted with her breathing, but her face wasn't nearly as blue as it had been; still, it was rather off in color.
She was still unconscious; her eyes were still closed, and she was oblivious to what was going on around her or what was happening to her; maybe it was for the best, I kept thinking. My little girl hated needles with a purple passion, and here she was, being poked, probed, and stabbed. Before the ambulance left, one of the paramedics came up to me and told me that Ronee' was being taken to Baptist Hospital, and told me to meet them there.
After the ambulance had pulled out of our driveway and left towards the hospital, I went back inside, and I told the children (and my husband) that Ronee' had been taken to Baptist Hospital, and that I was going to be with my daughter while she was at the hospital; and as soon as I found out anything regarding her condition, I would call home and let them know of the latest news about her.
Once I got to the hospital, I worried, waited, and fretted; I continued to say a quick, mental prayer to God, asking Him to please spare Ronee' 's life. It seemed like hours before a doctor had come up to me; but all of a sudden, there were two feet standing in front of me. When I looked up, I found myself looking up at a young Asian doctor wearing a white coat and a stethescope. He looked serious in expression.
"Ma'am, your daughter is in good hands," he said with a clipped, crisp voice that matched his starched, white lab coat. "We have her stabilized; but she suffered a anaphylactic shock reaction to what appears to have been a bee sting. She is breathing again, and she is doing much better now than when we first saw her. We gave her a shot of epinephrine, and that has seemed to bring her back around. She is conscious, but she is probably feeling horrible right now. We have run a number of tests on her, and we have poked her too. Her oxygen levels have improved markedly, and she is doing quite well; but I think it would be safe if we kept your daughter in overnight for observation. We have her on oxygen, two liters per minute, via nasal cannula; and she seems to be breathing much easier since we gave her the epinephrine."
At the news, I felt the air leave my lungs. I felt a heavy weight being lifted off my shoulders, and I was greatly relieved. Ronee' was going to be okay; and they were only going to keep her in overnight. The asthma attack she had suffered was a bad one, yes; but it could have been so much worse. The last asthma attack she had warrented a three-day hospital stay, and she was so sick. She had to be on a ventilator for a day and a half until her breathing had improved; this time, however, she didn't need the ventilator, and her oxygen levels were so much better this time around. She was being given medicines to counteract the anaphylaxis she had suffered as a result of the bee sting, and she was much improved since being put into the ambulance. And what was most important was that she was now breathing ON HER OWN without any problems whatsoever.
She was going to be just fine, according to the doctor.
Whereupon, I thanked Dr. Chin for helping my little girl, and I then went to the Pediatrics ward, where my daughter was now in her room; she had just been taken there not even ten minutes ago, and they had just gotten her settled in the bed before I got there. I then opened the door, looked in at my daughter (she was now sleeping soundly), and then walked over to her bed, greatly relieved that she had survived yet another breathing crisis.
~The End.~
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Reviewed by Robert Blackwell
1/12/2004
Life without Ronee' would definitely leave us all incomplete.
Beautiful write, as always. {{{{{{{{{{{hugs}}}}}}}}}}
Hello Karen,
A nice conclusion to a realistic acount, You have the ability to write drama in its fullst sense, holding the readers attention the whole time. Good work. Regards Jon W
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
Ronee' was still being attended to by the paramedics. She was gently placed upon a rolling stretcher bed, covered with a sheet up to her chin, and was then quickly wheeled to the back of the ambulance, where the paramedics then loaded her into the back, and then shut and locked the doors. Ronee' was still being assisted with her breathing, but her face wasn't nearly as blue as it had been; still, it was rather off in color.
