Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Brainstorming for "Eye" essay #1

I was not here for Monday's class, however, I feel as though I have a good idea for our first "Eye" essay...

I'm thinking that I want to write about working in retail.  Like I've stated in class before, I worked in retail for almost 3 years.  (3 years too long, if you ask me).  Within those short years, I have had so many ridiculous experiences, and have gained so many different perspectives on the human race (lol).  I want to incorporate stories that I experienced first hand, involving the customers as well as the staff.  There was a time when I was so close to my co-workers, that it made the experience of working in retail almost pleasant.  There was a downside to it, though, because when one of my managers got fired suddenly, it ripped our store apart and completely ruined our morale for a while.  

There is so much to retail that many people do not get to see, unless they have worked in retail themselves.  The dynamic of the staff has a lot to do with how well the store is run, which is something that many customers do not realize.  If a staff is not being treated properly, then the work that is required is not going to be 100%.  I would like to take my readers inside retail, and give them an idea of the issues that I saw.  I want to talk about certain memorable customers (such as the lady who threatened to urinate on the floor-another memorable story of mine).  I also want to include stories about my former co-workers, because ultimately, they have a huge impact on how well a person does at a job.  I may have a hard time from turning this into an "I" essay, but I'm really going to not focus on MY personal feelings, but rather, the experiences that were encountered around me.  

Monday, October 25, 2010

Losing Myself-Essay 2


There was a time in my life when I lost track of myself, and allowed someone else to take over for a while.  In my mind, I was frail, too exhausted to deal with the reckless decisions I tend to make.  I gave up, and began my downward spiral into oblivion and loneliness.  I knew at the time that was I was doing to myself was wrong, but I sat back in a state of arrogance and pomposity as I watched my life crumble.  It soon became a fog, and my conscience was clogged with egotistical demands and guilt-ridden lectures from him.  I thought it was the right thing to do.  I thought he could never steer me wrong, but he did. 
            It started off in a way that any typical young romance does.  He was the sweetest person I had ever met before.  So sweet, that it was almost bizarre.  All of my past experiences with boys up until that point had been very immature and juvenile.  This, however, was different.  Right from the start, he made it known how “deeply” he cared about me.  He was thoughtful, mature, and truly had my best intentions at heart, or so I thought.  I had just begun my first year of college when we met.  At first, I had no real interest in him.  Sure, he was attractive, but his egotism resonated off of him instantly.  I got the feeling that he was trying too hard to impress me with his so-called wit, and I was immediately put off. 
            He did not give up on trying to pursue me, though. He was consistent with his phone calls, text messages, pleads to allow him to take me out.  I finally gave in, against my better judgment, and to my surprise, began liking him instantly.  He treated me like a lady, opening doors for me, pulling out my chair, and paying for our dates without even questioning it.  Before I knew it, we were seeing each other everyday.  The word love was being tossed around as though it was a football. His family treated me as if I was an actual member, as if he and I had been together for years.  He did romantic things for me that I had only heard about, never experienced.  For instance, when I got a seasonal position at a store in the mall, he surprised me with a leather Ipod cover from Coach, which thrilled me.
             When I look back on everything now, I realize that I did not fall in love with him.  I realize that I was in love with the way he treated me.  The words that came out of his mouth, the promises he made to me regarding our future together, hypnotized me.  He quickly became the only thing in my only line of vision.  I saw no one else, not my family or my friends. He would talk me into going out with him instead of going to class, and stupidly, I listened.  At a time when my schoolwork should have been my job, my number one priority, it simply became an annoyance, something so unimportant, I put it on the back burner.  By the time the semester ended, I only ended up passing two classes. 
            I just did not care about anything anymore.  He kept me under his radar at all times.  At first, I believed this to be romantic, a sign that he was so in love with me, he just wanted to protect me. Before long, I grew tired of it, realizing that it was not because he wanted the best for me, but rather, he wanted me all to himself. I realize now that the more items he bought for me, the more he put me under his spell.  It was his way of controlling me.  He began using the items as a tactic, as a way of threatening me if he thought I was going to leave.
            When we initially began dating, I still had a close group of childhood friends.  My friend Jen and I had an especially close and special relationship.  He, however, “disapproved” of her, because she was friendly with an ex-boyfriend of mine.  He began almost brainwashing me into believing that Jen was playing both sides of the fence, and whatever we talked about in private, she was disclosing to this ex-boyfriend.  Before long, none of my friends wanted anything to do with me, because they disliked him so much.  I cannot remember what finally caused the demise of my friendship with Jen, but all I know is that he was in my ear the whole time telling me that I didn’t need her, because I had him.  I only needed him.
            My relationship with my mother, which had always been strong, soon started to deteriorate as well.  She didn’t like the fact that I allowed a boy to have such a blinding hold on me.  She knew my schoolwork was being affected because of all the time I was spending with him.  I was hardly ever home, and this caused great tension between us.  It kills me now to think of the fact that my mom was hurting so much.  I assumed at the time that she was just upset because she felt that she was losing control over me.  I was, at this point, 19 years old, very immature, and just wanted independence from my parents.  It turns out, my mother just simply missed me.
            I was in a state of ignorant bliss for the next few months.  I loved his family dearly; in fact, I think that’s the only reason why I stuck around for as long as I did.  His parents were divorced, but only lived a few blocks from each other.  We went back and forth between the two houses.  I got a taste of what it was like to be involved in a family of divorce.  There was no lack of drama when it came to his emotions regarding this.  He was torn between the sorrow he had towards his father, and the anger he felt towards his mom for getting re-married.  She married a man whom they all knew, and he was certain that they had carried on an affair while his parents were still married.  This is a story I heard incessantly from his father and his uncles, though I honestly doubt it actually happened.  Regardless, it was none of my concern, but the fact that his family felt so comfortable and compelled to include me in such personal discussions made me even more connected. 
As I got to know his father better, I realized that his attitude and beliefs most likely contributed greatly to the divorce.  His father was born in Italy, and came over when he was a young boy.  Though he grew up here, he still held some of the close-minded and stereotypical mindsets that are often associated with Italian men.  For instance, during a heated conversation regarding his ex wife, he stated to me, something along the lines of, “I allowed her to work, and what does she do?  Goes out and has an affair.”  This statement stuck with me, because it was then that I realized his view on women had been passed down to his son.  The fact that he believes he “allowed” her to go out and work, means that he felt that he had complete control over her, and that was slowly starting to happen to me.  His mom felt like she was being suffocated, and had to escape.
            I had not worked since Christmas, and by the time summer had started, I was extremely low on money.  I decided to return to my usual summer job as a camp counselor for my third year.  When he found out, he was very upset.  He was certain that I was going to meet someone there and leave him.  I had never seen anyone so jealous for no reason whatsoever.  It really bothered me, and it was something that was always in the back of my mind.  It started to all make sense-he felt as though just because his mother left his father, that it was going to happen to him as well.
            Summer came and went, and we enrolled in community college together.  The night before classes started, he told me not to “dress cute” for school, because there was no one there that I needed to impress.  I just brushed it off and ignored him.  The following day, when we met up, he looked at me and said, “I thought you weren’t going to look nice.  Are you trying to meet guys here or something?”  I was utterly shocked and disgusted with his ridiculous jealousy and asinine accusations.  It was then that I realized that I was losing feelings for him.
            We started arguing more often.  When my mother pleaded with me to get a part time job, he made me feel guilty about it, saying that I would never have time to see him.  “I have money for you, honey.  Anything you want, I’ll buy you.”  While this might make a girl feel lucky and secure, I felt quite the opposite. I felt trapped.
            Before I knew it, I had lost all attraction to him.  Sometimes it literally made my stomach feel uneasy to kiss him, but I did it anyway.  I had no one else in my life.  I had secluded myself, pushed all of my friends away.  If I broke up with him, then I would have no one.  I had dug a deep, dark hole for myself, and I only had me to thank for it. 
            He must have sensed the fact that I was losing interest, because he soon became more domineering than ever.  It got to the point that even if I went out with my mom, my phone would be ringing nonstop.  If I was not with him, he had to know what I was doing at all times.  It was completely mentally and emotionally exhausting.  He questioned me relentlessly about where I was going, who I was with, and so on.  I just could not deal with it any longer, and told him I needed a break. 
            “Well for how long?” he desperately asked me, tears pouring down his face.
            “I don’t know.  I need time for myself.”
            “But how long is that going to take?”  Even when we were breaking up, he wore me out.  After about 3 days of not seeing each other, he came to my house and bribed me, telling me that if we got back together, he would take me shopping to the outlet stores in New York State.  I’ll be completely honest-at this point, I just didn’t care.  I wanted to use him, and make him feel like he had to kiss the ground I walked on.  He had put me through so much, had taken so much away from me, and was completely oblivious to it all.  He didn’t know me at all.  We went shopping, and I put up with him for a few more weeks.
            During this time, I became very friendly with a group of people from one of my classes at school.  We had worked on a project together, and decided to meet up for lunch one day.  My stomach did somersaults at the thought of telling him that I was meeting up with them, because 2 of the people were male.  When I finally disclosed this to him, he gave me the exact reaction I expected him to.  He was livid at the thought that I actually wanted to go out with people other than him.  My friends could tell something was wrong with me.  When I told them that my boyfriend was not happy, they questioned why I was with him. 
            “Does it bother you that he’s like that?”
            “Yes, very much.”
            “Well, why are you with him then?” Good question.
            A week later, I went out for lunch with the girl from that same group, Adrianna.  We were discussing our relationships, and I told her how unhappy I was.  She told me that it sounded like I was no longer in love, and that I should just end it.  Right around that time, he called my phone and asked what I was doing.  I told him, and he asked if the other guys were there too.  I said no, and he said, “Good, you’re never going out with them anyway.  Bye!” and hung up.  Right then and there, I knew what I had to do.
            Being in a relationship is supposed to bring joy to one’s life.  It’s supposed to be, for the most part, a wonderful experience.  It is not supposed to feel like a job.  I cringed whenever he came over my house.  I just wanted to be alone.  I finally worked up enough guts and did it.  I broke up with him, once and for all.  It was draining, his non-stop begging for me not to do it.  He even showed up at my house the next day with roses.  He just could not accept the fact that we were done, that I did not want him anymore. That’s when it became nasty.  The hurtful words that spewed out of his mouth were like venom, but I did not let it effect me.  I knew this was the right thing to do in order to get my life back.  A huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders that day.  Though it took an emotional toll on me, this relationship taught me exactly what I want and what I don’t want in a partner.  The immature decisions, though made over 5 years ago, still haunt me to this day.  The choices I made were like a snowball effect.  This relationship not only caused so much emotional pain, it set me back 2 years in school.  No, I’m not proud for allowing someone to take over my life for a while.  But the fact that I was able to take back my life, and put my relationships with my family and friends back together is a huge accomplishment for me.  

Monday, October 18, 2010

Brainstorming for Essay 2

I have a topic in mind for essay 2, however, I've been debating whether or not I really should write about it.  It involves a past relationship I had that really took it's toll on me.  Though it was not in any way physically abusive, I feel as though he tried to control me both mentally and emotionally.  Here's what I would discuss in my essay if I do in fact choose this topic to write about...

His name was Gerard.  We started dating in the fall of 2005, right when I began my freshman year of college.  He quickly consumed me.  By consumed, I mean he took over my whole life.  I dropped all of my friends that 'he didn't approve of', didn't work because he didn't want me to.  Pretty soon, he was basically the only one I had in my life, besides my family.  Part of it is my fault, because I let it happen.  When I look back now, I think to myself, 'what the hell was wrong with me?  I had a voice-why didn't I use it?'  I guess, because, as cliche as it is, I thought I was 'in love', and that he would never steer me wrong.

He was exhausting.  The relationship eventually became more trouble than it was successful and happy.  He had to know where I was, what I was doing, 100% of the time.  Every time he felt that I was disconnecting from him, he would bribe me with going places, with gifts.  I eventually just couldn't stand it anymore, and ended the relationship.

In my essay, I would like to focus on the emotional roller coaster I was experienced through 90% of our relationship.  The first 3 months were pretty good-he was sweet and respectful.  I want to discuss the fact that I was NOT myself for over a year-that he pretty much brainwashed me.  I also would like to use it as an almost cautionary tale for girls (and guys) who think that they are in love and that their relationship is the most important thing in the world.  Because I only focused on him, I failed my first year of school, and that is why I am going to be graduating 2 years late.  Even though he and I broke up over 3 years ago, I am still dealing with the repercussions of this exhausting ordeal.

What do you guys think?  Would you want to hear this story, or is just another cliche tale that could be the plot to a Lifetime movie? ;)

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Project 1, Draft 1

The phone call disturbed me, but I tried not to let it effect me too much.  I kept thinking to myself that it probably was not anything too serious.  I even expected to arrive at the hospital, only to hear my brother complain about some diminutive problem that had occurred on the ride over in the ambulance.  Little did I know that the scenario that my family and I were about to walk in on would involve nothing of that minute magnitude.  Little did I know that a fear would be implanted inside of me and would still somewhat be there 6 years later.  A feeling that I thought I would never have to experience towards my brother was about to take over my whole entire body and mind, and it was not going to diminish over time very easily.
            Growing up, my brother Andrew, one could say, was a ‘typical’ older brother.  Being twice the size of the petite thing that I was, he used it to his full advantage to intimidate me.  He liked to pick on me, and sometimes left me feeling unsettled and aggravated.  There were times, though, that he used his role as the big brother positively, like the time Alex from up the street punched me in the stomach while we were all outside playing.  I will never forget the look on my brother’s face when he saw me clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my face.  A look of pure anger washed over not only his face, but his eyes as well, as if to say to me, “don’t worry, I got this.”  Of course I did not notice it then, but now that I think of it, on that day, my brother showed an almost burning need to protect me as he raced up the street to “take care of” Alex.
            As I got older, I suppose Andrew’s outlook towards me began to change.  He no longer viewed me as the obnoxious little sister who he could boss around.  Rather, he started looking to me as an equal, someone he could actually hang out and get along with. He had started seeing Patty, a sweet and bubbly blond girl who quickly became a part of our family.  Though shy at first, I soon adored her, and looked up to her like the sister that I never had, yet so desperately had wanted for so many years.
            Andrew and Patty were fun together.  I considered them to be adventurous, because they were always going out and doing different things.  Being 13 years old at the time, going out without my parents was only something that I had only dreamt about, which is why whenever my brother invited me to join the couple on their escapades, I was beyond ecstatic.  Before I knew it, I was joining them on their “adventures” almost on a weekly basis. 
Years went by, and the couple was still going strong.  I was all set and ready to start my senior year of high school.  The summer of 2004 was great-my best friend Jen had gotten her license in June, so we were taking full advantage of the fact that we did not have to rely on our parents for rides anymore (needless to say, we were at the mall about every other day).  I was working as a camp counselor for the second summer in a row-something I both loathed and loved at the same time.  Regardless, I had my own money in my pocket for once.  I suppose one could say that it was my summer of independence-I was 17, I had money, and a friend who had a car. I had everything.
            Halfway through the summer, things started to go sour for Andrew and Patty.  They soon broke up, and my brother’s attitude quickly changed.  His temper, which had always been pretty short, grew even shorter with us, and he began lashing out at my parents on a regular basis.  Looking back though, I cannot really remember my brother being too angry with me.  There was no instance where he lost his temper towards me. Funny to think that at one time, I was the only one he really geared his anger towards. 
            Andrew turned 23 on October 10, 2004.  He had moved out of our house only a few weeks prior to his birthday. We all felt, at first, angered by his sudden and harsh decision.  My mom had taken it the worst, of course, because she felt that her role as a mother was being tested to the extreme, and took it very personally when notified of his decision.  As the weeks went on, though, we realized that perhaps the distance could actually help to regain the strength in all of our relationships to Andrew.  Seeing and speaking to him everyday would only lead to fights and deeper rifts, so the distance was starting to help a bit.
            On Friday, November 5, I had achieved the ultimate goal of a 17 year old senior in high school-I had passed my driving test.  I was thrilled, and was even happier when Andrew made a special trip home to congratulate me and celebrate with my family.  For the next 3 days, I had not a care in the world.  I picked up my girlfriends, drove to the mall, and went out to eat.  I began thinking that the old saying was right-that senior year truly is the greatest time in a teenager’s life.  I thought too far ahead.
            The phone call was the first notification that anything was wrong, and I was on its receiving end.  I stayed home from school the following Tuesday, November 8, because I started to develop a really bad cold.  I was in my room watching TV when the house phone rang around 3 o’clock.  I picked it up, only to hear my aunt’s voice on the other end (she and my brother had worked together for about 2 years now).
            “Something happened at work.  Your brother collapsed, and he’s at the hospital.  Call your mom.”
            I was confused, and started to ask questions, but my aunt did not really know any details.  I hung up and called my mom, who then went on to call my dad, and before I knew it, we were all in the car on our way to the emergency room.
            “Everything’s fine, Ma.  He just started taking those diet pills, right?  I’m sure he just didn’t eat enough and they made him dizzy.  It’s fine.”  My mother even went as far as to chuckle a little and say, “Yeah, I’m sure when we get there he’s going to be all annoyed that we took too long to pick him up or something.” 
            We arrived at the emergency room and did not hear any of this.  Instead, we arrived only to hear my brother screaming in agony while vomiting profusely. 
            Confusion quickly took over, and nobody knew what to think.  I looked to my parents for closure, some kind of answer, but all I found was an equal amount of bewilderment written all over their faces.  It only grew worse when the emergency room doctor came in and told us that after a CT scan, blood was found on Andrew’s brain.
            “Huh? What?  What does that mean?”
            “It means that there is something seriously wrong with him, and we have a neurologist on the way.”
            The ride home that night is something I will never forget.  Endless questions filled the car, a need and a want for answers.  When is he getting the surgery?  Is he going to live through it?  Why did this happen?  I could understand my parent’s agony and helplessness, but why was I feeling it too?  Is that the role of a sister?  Is it normal for me to be feeling like this? The only thing I remember once I got home is going into my room, turning off all the lights, and crying into my pillow.
            Andrew received his emergency brain surgery a day later at Overlook Hospital in Summit.  After numerous tests and countless CT scans, it was determined that he had an Arterial Venal Malformation, or AVM.  An AVM occurs when the nerves in the back of the brain do not form properly, and create a blockage, which either starts to leak, or eventually burst.  It is a “sister” to an aneurism.  The AVM was removed and his surgery went very well.  He was placed in the ICU for about 2 weeks, and we were thrilled when we were notified the day before Thanksgiving that he was being taken out and placed into a regular room.
            Before we went to my aunt’s house for dinner on the morning of Thanksgiving, we went to visit my brother.  We trailed my mother as we walked through the hallway, my father and I, so we were not able to feel the initial shock that she felt.  All I remember hearing is my mother screaming, “Where is my son?”
            “Oh, his fever went back up, so we moved him back into the ICU,”  the nurse nonchalantly replied.
            My family and I were livid at the thought that we were not notified, as well as terrified at the fact that my brother began to regress.  We ran over to the hallway leading up to the ICU, a place we thought we would never have to see again.  The hallway seemed longer today, the walls, which were a usual shade of off white, seemed dimmed and yellowish.  I glanced over into the waiting room, only to find more families, just like us, with helpless looks stamped on their faces.  I almost felt guilty walking into my brother’s room, all dressed up with my high heels clicking, about to go indulge in a delicious Thanksgiving meal, surrounded by our family, while my brother laid there all alone, unsure of what was going on, what was happening to him.
            “Hey, how are you feeling?” I quietly asked when I walked up to the side of his bed.  I stared at his half shaved head, his battle wound which was so deep and long, I was sure it would never fully go away. 
            “Not too good.  Not too good,” was all he could say.
            Overnight, my brother’s fever went up to a staggering 104 degrees.  He fell into a coma, and was pretty much guaranteed to die.  I happened to be out with some friends when my mother called me and told me to get home as fast as I could.  When she told me of my brother’s condition, I did not immediately comprehend it.  I replied with something ignorant, something along the lines of, “Well why do I need to come home?”  She immediately began screaming at me, “Do you even care?  Do you understand what is going on?”
            The accusation of the fact that I did not care that my brother was on his death bed hit me hard.  I drove right home, but by the time I had gotten there, my parents were already on their way up to the hospital.  I will never forget the loneliness that smothered me at that very moment.  The house, dark in the dusk of early winter, suddenly did not even feel like my home.  I felt as though I did not even know this place, this chilly, uncomfortable building that was supposed to be filled with warmth, with smells of leftover pumpkin pie.  I just could not bare the thought of losing my only sibling.  As selfish, and moody, and pompous as he could be, he was my brother-the only one I’ve ever had, and the only one I was ever going to get.  Though it might sound overly dramatic, it was at this point that I dropped to my knees and just cried.  I cried for my brother.  I cried for my parents, at my mother’s agony over the thought of losing her child.  I cried for me, for being the selfish and immature 17 year old that I was. 
            Andrew’s condition plateaued for the next few weeks.  He did not get better, but he did not get worse. He had come out of his coma within a day or two, but we soon realized that he had lost all control over his body.  He was mostly paralyzed on the right hand side, and was not able to either speak or eat by himself.  His surgeon told us that he had developed Menengitis, and that the infection had caused his brain to swell immensely.  On more than one occasion, the doctors even had to open up his incision and clean out all of the bacteria that was infecting his brain.  The one comforting aspect of this whole ordeal was the nurses who took care of my brother nearly 24 hours a day.  My family and I were able to find solace in the fact that they felt so dedicated to his recovery, and fought for him, just as much his team of doctors were fighting for him. 
            By the last week of December, the swelling had significantly subsided, and the doctors felt as though my brother was well enough to be released to Kessler Rehabilitation Center.  His speech had been so badly effected that we were barely able to understand him.  Once he realized what was going on, he became frustrated and embarrassed.  Andrew had always been an outstanding intellectual, and for him not to be able to speak properly and get his points across, came as a huge blow to his ego.       
            While I tried to be as encouraging and positive as possible, I too started becoming frustrated.  I was angry because I realized that my brother may not ever fully be the same as he once was.  He could barely walk, barely talk, and was almost crossed eyed.  His vision was effected so poorly, that he had to wear an eye patch over one eye, just so he did not see double of everything.  I don’t quite know who or what I was angry with, but my guilt was immense.  Was I actually mad at my brother?  Though I knew it was not his fault that this happened to him, I couldn’t help but gear some of my inner irritation towards him.
            Andrew had made enough progress to be released to our home right before my 18th birthday at the end of January.  Though his grueling recovery in rehab to regain control of his movement took a toll on him both physically and emotionally, it slowly worked.  It was not until the spring of that year that I really noticed my anger reeling.  When I observed that he was not back to normal within 3 months, I became impatient with him.  He would stutter and lose his balance when he walked, and I would think to myself, “why can’t you just go back to normal?”  I cringe when I think of this now, because I know that he was just as angry as I was.  He did not ask for this.  I had to stop being so selfish and overlook the fact that he may never be fully back to normal.  I realized that I had to get over my anger.  I was not the one who had been lying in a hospital bed for 41 days.  I was not the one who had to learn how to walk and talk all over again.  If I truly loved my brother, I had to accept the realization that this is now who he was.
            Almost 6 years later, I find that I still have some underlying and undisclosed anger about my brother’s illness.  With time, though, I have learned to not gear this resentment directly at him.  Life does not always go according to plan.  Many things can happen to throw a person’s life completely off track. Usually, the most unfair and devastating life occurrences are completely unexpected. People get sick, they cope with it, and they heal-that is, if they’re lucky enough to.  Instead of being a martyr and asking why this happened to us, I now try to focus on the fact that my brother did in fact survive, and was able to recover almost one hundred percent.  Though Andrew and I have endured our fair share of rough times together, the rollercoaster of emotions that I felt for him during his illness is something that I will never be able to forget.  Sadness, animosity, fear, and resentment will always be dominant, but the most important emotion that a sister could ever feel towards her brother, is love. 


Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Brainstorming continued for Project 1

I was thinking more about this topic and was mentally developing the essay in my head.  I know exactly what I feel when it comes to this situation, and I really want to be able to portray it so others can feel it with me.  There are so many emotions to be felt when I look back on my brother's sickness.  The main ones are, of course, shock, sadness, anger, and grief.  It may be hard for some people to understand why I feel grief, especially because my brother did not actually die.  I feel grief for my brother because a part of him was in fact lost when he went through this ordeal.  If a person were to meet him now, and had no idea what he had gone through 6 years ago, then they would not be able to tell that anything that happened to him.  But, being his sister, I can see that he was effected, both mentally and physically.  I want to emphasis this in my project.  One of my main goals with this project is to get my audience to actually feel what I'm feeling through my words.  Though neither my professor nor my classmates were there to experience any of this firsthand, I want them to feel as though they were.

The anger that I felt during this time is something that I am still dealing with to this day.  Sometimes, I actually take my anger out on my brother, even though I know obviously nothing is his fault.  I think of the way he once was and I see him now, and I sometimes want so badly for him to go back to the way he was.  I feel like our relationship was effected by his illness, and thought I know it is unfair to blame anyone, I feel like sometimes I take things out on him.  This aspect of his sickness is also something I want to portray in this project, because I feel like this all connects with the helplessness that a family goes through when a member is so deathly ill.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Brainstorming for Project 1

I thought for a long time about what exactly I wanted my first project to be about.  I wanted it to be something that obviously means a lot to me, but I also want to be able to intrigue and relate to my audience. Though several thoughts came to mind, the one dominant thought that sticks with me is writing about my brother's illness and the trauma that came along with it.  This stands out in my mind because of the severity of his illness, and the the fact that my brother, as well as my whole family, is still dealing with it's consequences to this very day. It was a traumatic experience to say the least, and I find that it is a topic that I find solace in discussing.

 My brother Andrew was only 23 years old when he became extremely sick and almost died in November of 2004.  He had collapsed at work one day and was rushed to the hospital.  My family and I did not think it was anything too serious, but when the emergency room found blood on his brain and called in a Neurologist, we were terrified.  The ordeal only went downhill from there-my brother needed emergency brain surgery, which he received 2 days later, and went on to develop Menangitis and almost died.  Of course there is so much more to the story, but I'd like to save all the details for my project.

I don't just want my project to only state the actual facts about what happened, but I would like to discuss, in detail, about this rare illness that my brother had, and possible warning signs of it.  I'd like to raise awareness of it, because it is something that can be detected is the proper precautions are taken.

There are so many little aspects of this massive story that can be useful in the full presentation of this project- the nurses who stayed with my brother for almost a month and pretty much brought him back to life, the rigorous recovery process that my brother went through (and, in my opinion, is still going through to this day).

I want to be very descriptive in this project, because I want my audience to feel as though they are there with my brother, family, and me, as we struggled to cope with this devastating and unexpected horror. I want to talk about the waiting rooms, the hallway leading up to the ICU, the way the rooms smelled, the weather outside, etc.  I really want to lay everything out on the table that was occurring during this time.