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Monday, February 29, 2016

Getting Through Hard Times

A November day three years ago, at the fester of twelve, my life took a turn for the worse. I awoke in the midsection of the night, my chest base and enflamed. My mother bundled me into the car with a veer of clothes and headed for Childrens Hospital, driving speedily done Vancouvers silent streets. after five coherent hours, a sterilise appeared at my infirmary bed. He explained that my Lupus (an autoimmune disease) was flaring and, pausing a moment, that I ask to take the steroid hormone prednisone. Ever since receiving my diagnosis, I had feared this drug and its extended list of slope effects. As he turn over the prescription medicine to my mother, I cowered bottom of the inning a disobedient stare. Even as the empty bottles of prednisone multiplied in the pill cabinet, my wellness did not improve. to a greeatr extent protein appeared in my pee indicating kidney problems- and my energy levels dropped. The doctors ultimately sent me to the infirmary for a kidney biopsy. I arrived on a Friday morning. The nursemaid handed me a black hospital gown. As I drop on a wheelie bed, an IV dripped downer into my veins. Several hours after, I groggily awoke in a small, antiseptic-scented hospital style with drapes for walls. My back was apprenticed and slightly delirious where the doctors had removed a piece of my kidney with a needle. I ate the tasteless hospital food and watched the movies the nurse wheeled in on a cart. The day mat up long, stretched by worry. The results were reverberated in a a few(prenominal) days later and my medications were quadrupled.Free Soon, with the effects of the change magnitude medication, my face became puffy, my step-up charts plateaued, and I real insomnia. In the weeks that followed the phone call, I pull down into despair. I ripped up paper. I threw my give lessons supplies across the floor. I yelled at my family that I despised them. I sobbed in my bed under the covers. I sit down silent at my desk at school. Yet, through all of this, my family did not give up on me. My flyspeck sister wrap her arms most me when I cried and told me she sleep with me. When I chucked things across the room, my mother picked them up and put them away. My rival sister walked with me at lunchtime and sit with me through either class. It was this unconditional love that gave me the strength to tolerate on and recover. I believe in the power of family support.If you compulsion to get a full essay, pronounce it on our website:

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