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I heard the beeps of the moniters. The drip of the IV chords. Their eyes looking at me saying "Fortunate little girl". The hallways was lined up with the beds and patients laying quietly in them. I took a shakey breath as I looked down. I knew they were all staring at me. For the first time, I understood. I understood the eerie feeling characters in books and T.V shows felt as they described their fright of hospitals. I never understood their fright because I had just envisioned a Doctors' office. But for the first time ever, I was in the ER. And I was terrified.
My Grandmother had fainted at church right before we broke our week-long fast. All my family was terrified for her because she was the eldest on my moms' side of the family.
She was 76 years old, and fasted for a week. She'd also diabetic, and took at least 10 pills each day if not more.
I fought with my grandmother everyday, and say things I kind of regret now, but that I hadn't before. You see, I'm that kind of 'say-whatever-the-hell-I-wanna' kind of girls.
But that doesn't mean I never apologized.
At that moment, looking at my grandmothers' peaceful, sleeping facing, I begged God to keep her hydrated safe. At that moment, I wanted my grandmother more than anything else.
I wanted to see her in the kitchen as she always is, scolding me to fold my legs and sit like a young lady, or to not say that anyone was 'ugly'. That God has made everyone beautiful and indifferent. I wanted to see her sitting at the diningroom table, muttering to herself as the read the Bible, threatening to slap me because I told my little brother to shut-up.
I just wanted to see her healthy.
I wanted her out of this hosptial. And after an hour, she quietly opened her eyes. The breath that I had been holding in, was immediately let go.
"Not once in my life have I been in a hospital bed." She said scrunching up her face and looking around.
I laughed- that's definately something she would say.
The hospital kept her in that wretched place over night. And the next day, after I came home from school, there she was as always, stirring a wooden spoon in a big pot, adding spices and yelling at my cousin to lower the T.V volume.
My grumpy, loving, caring, cooking, sweet sweet Grandma.