Personal Narrative: My Aunt Dori

My Aunt Dori has always been different; however, I never truly realized how different until a few years ago. She has severe cerebral palsy. I have always known, nonetheless it did not fully sink-in until August 3, 2003. This particular day I had witnessed her having a grand-mal seizure. I remember being terribly afraid and confused. The scent of disinfectant filtered deliberately through the air. The aroma filling my nostrils gradually at first, then all at once. The hospital seemed empty, and hair-raisingly cold. Lots of concrete pillars, large windows, and white linens everywhere I looked. I was ten years old, and no one would reveal what was happening. I can remember my mother telling me with a worried smile, “Do not worry, sweetheart.
We would constantly color together in coloring books, and make friendship bracelets and necklaces out of blush and lavender plastic beads. My Grandma Vita was engulfed by an abundance of in the stress midst of her last pregnancy. Case in point, by that time she had three children, her father was a recovering alcoholic, and her mother was astonishingly ill. She had been battling pneumonia for years. In turn, the stress lead her to smoke throughout Aunt Dori’s trimesters. Therefore, my aunt was born two months premature. The NICU physicians knew Aunt Dori would have some complications, but it was her underdeveloped lungs that caused major problems. The day after she was delivered, she stopped breathing. As a result of the deprivation of oxygen to her brain, pieces of her cerebellum, part of the brain that controls the regularity of muscle movements, died. Hours later, doctors confirmed she now has Cerebral Palsy (CP). To be more specific, she is an a-spastic quadriplegic, which means her muscles are always slightly contracted, and she is not able to walk correctly because of it. Some CP does not affect speech or mental capacity. Luckily for Aunt Dori, it affected neither. As a child, I never understood why she was different than my other aunts, besides the fact she was in a wheelchair. I thought her twenty-four hour care takers had been just other friends coming to visit and sleep
Before I could even comprehend, my aunt was convulsing, with eyes rolled back and foam forming at the mouth. Hurriedly, my mom pulled her out of her wheelchair and rolled her on her left side. When the paramedics arrived, it felt like the universe was in slow motion. Voices seemed a million miles away, like soft echoes ricocheting off ragged cave walls. I was infinitely in shock; I could not process my surroundings. Mom rode in the ambulance, while I rode in Grandma Vita’s car. This moment would be the last time I saw Aunt Dori until tomorrow. The hospital was abnormally clean. Some rooms emitted no sound, however, others squealed well into the night. I never in truth noticed patients. Windows and cemented columns at every turn. The air conditioner was blasting from all angles. The doctors came by and solemnly murmured they desired to speak with my mother in private. Their eyes said to leave. Furious, I stomped off to the visitor waiting area. I may have appeared enraged on the outside, but it was all a charade. On the inside I was panic-stricken and somber. What was wrong with Aunt Dori? Why could I not attain answers? Mom returned with a pained expression on her face as the doctors calmly strode away. I recall her breaking the news to me sighing, “Do not worry, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine.” She relayed the information from the doctors frankly, holding nothing back.