Personal Narrative: Volunteering At The Hospital

Being only a measly volunteer for my high school HOSA (Health Occupations Students of America) program, I am not allowed to participate in much, leaving a lot of down time. I hear the sound of rushed feet pacing up and down the light brown, wooden floors, and the white, florescent lights blind any who dare to gaze up. I am only here to observe surgeries and injuries, yet so far I have only managed to observe impatient nurses streamlining up and down pallid hallways. I glance upward to a clock staring at me from right across the room. It glares 8:48. I moan, realizing I have another thirty minutes before I have to head to school. I turn my head when I hear in the distance an unusually loud herd of frantic feet. Moments later the double doors blast open, paramedics, doctors, and nurses all surround one speeding bed. The transition from utter silence to sudden action throws off my relaxed and daydreaming mind, as I see the ominous bed hurdle its way into an open room down the

* The description of the ward – the ward is a blank canvas, devoid of all emotion. The ward also contains ‘...the glass Nurses’ station where she’ll spend the day sitting at her desk and looking out her window and making notes on what goes on...’

I have an amazing opportunity through my sister's employer, to volunteer to assist hospice patients on a regular basis. I volunteer to assist hospice patients and their families by offering compassionate companionship and assisting with errands. Hospice patent's needs are not always monetary but more often emotional support and companionship. Last year, for one of my projects, I volunteered to make Thanksgiving meal boxes and to deliver them to the home of the hospice patients. I, along with other volunteers, filled the boxes with traditional Thanksgiving meal ingredients including desserts that were donated by area businesses. It took us approximately four hours to fill almost one hundred boxes. After filling all of the boxes, I volunteered

At last, she finally arrives to a hospital that seems to be in the middle of no where. There is nothing in sight other than the hospital and a minute gas station that looked as abandoned as rest of the part of town she was in. She pulls into the parking lot and her mind is flooded with questions, “Where do I park, where do I enter, who do I check in with, what if I’m in the wrong place?” she begins asking herself. She walks through the double doors in the ambulance bay into the Emergency Room where she will be spending the next 12 hours of her life. She walks in and greets the staff that she assumes she will be working with today. “Good Morning everyone!” Taylor lets out an overly joyful greeting. Staff responds back with a simultaneous, monotoned, “Morning.” This jaded Taylor’s hopes for the day, as none of the staff seemed interested in being there. She begins questioning is this really what she was meant to do in life. Then, at a no more perfect moment than right then, she hears a chipper, “Good Morning all!’’ Anxiously awaiting the identity of this mysterious person, a blonde haired, peppy and perky as ever, nurse emerges from behind the entrance

In this film the hospital is extremely well kept with excellent care facilities for every patient. The number of patients are very few. There are regular, short-intervalled checks on the patients, who were being provided a closed but more close to a home-like environment with the living room, the art room and music room. They were given top notch facilities according to that era. Every patient was seen by the doctor (Dr. Sonia Wicks) individually with enough time given to every patient.

The white lights, the sounds of lives coming in and out of the world and the sense of calm that I have always felt inside its wall despite the chaos, make up my mental image of Northwestern Memorial Hospital. It’s where my life began, my mother workplace, the place where my interest in caring for others was born.

I arrived at the Baptist Memorial Hospital at 1:18. As I went to sign in at the health records department, I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. I was filled with nerves and a million thoughts going through my mind. All I could think about was how ready I was for my time in the Emergency Department to be over so that I could go to another rotation site. When I finished signing in and getting my picture taken for my Baptist Memorial Hospital I.D., I walked down the hall to the Emergency Department. As I walked up to the desk, I could see that there were very few patients in the waiting area; it looked like it would be a slow and easy day. I walked up to the desk and told the women my name and my purpose for being there; she pushed the button on the side of the wall to open the doors to let me in. As I walked into the Emergency Department, I was hit with the smell of germ-x and blood combined. Surrounding me were nurses dressed in blue scrubs. I went into the break room and placed my folder and jacket on the table. I went and sat

It was what felt like the hottest day of the year July 31 in New York City. Joan Ormsby was returning some clothes, she had received at her baby shower on this very hot day. She remembered that she had a doctor's appointment at 11am that day she rushed her usual shopping routine. She arrived at the OBGYN office, by herself, at 11am. Joan waited in the waiting room waiting for her name to be called while fanning herself with her right hand whilst she rested her left on her bloated stomach. “Ormsby,” the nurse called whilst holding the door and searching for a standing woman. Joan was guided to the room she waited for Dr. Green to pop into the room smiling like he always did at the other appointments. Joan looked around the room many thoughts

I recently finished a round of rehab with Aaron Schauble at your Decatur location and before too much time passes, I wanted to be sure and send a note to you about my experience at the clinic. As a business owner myself, I know how much I appreciate constructive feedback and I want to give credit where credit is due.

I did not specifically apply for any location within the hospital. I feel there are many places in the hospital where a counselor-in-training can be placed. If I had to choose to three departments that I would be interested in working in would be the outpatient psychiatric department, inpatient psychiatric department, or in the cancer institute. The first two work with patients that are seeking direct support for either new symptoms of mental health condition or help with pre-existing conditions. Both locations give me the opportunity to work with mental health daily. Outpatient would give me the opportunity to work with clients that have a variety of symptoms where as the ones which would be inpatient would typically have more severe symptoms and need a more structure setting. I am also interested in working with your outpatient behavioral health team because you take an integrated approach to treatment. In addition to the integrated approach, I have interest in the workings of the TMS treatment of depression which is also something the outpatient

Frequently, patients enter a hospital where they experience different levels of care. Certain situations, along with the environment that they are in, can leave lasting impressions on their visit. It is of great significance that all employees and staff provide the best level of care. My patient was at the hospital to deliver her baby. The following describes the events that took place throughout her stay and the interactions that she had with hospital staff.

My favorite part of school were the clinical sites, as I was signed up to go to Catholic Care Nursing Home. On the first morning, I put on my navy-blue scrub pants and my tan scrub top. Feeling very nervous; my stomach was turning while I was trying to clip my ID badge to my top. I made sure I had my stethoscope, ink pens and a note book in my pocket. I grabbed a granola bar on my way out to my car from the kitchen, then got into my car and headed to the care home in Belair. The brick building seemed huge and the parking lot had several cars. I drove around the parking lot to find the door, thankfully there was a parking spot 10 spots from the door. I got out of my car and started walking to the door. The morning felt cold, I walked at a fast pace. Once I entered through the door, a musty and weird medical smell filled the air. Several older people in wheelchairs, some were sleeping. A few of them were awake and I said

The familiar sound of squealing brakes signaled the beginning of the best part of my night. Getting out of the house, without a sound, was the tricky part. If I timed it just right, I could use the car’s engine to my advantage and cover the creak from the door. Once I was outside, I was in the clear. I scampered over to the XL white Suburban and gingerly climbed into the passenger seat. My mom sat inside, listening to soft jazz, decompressing from a long day’s work as a nurse in the ICU. As with most nights, she feigned annoyance before excitedly walking me through the events at the hospital. Some nights were filled with triumphant saves, others drowned in an untimely loss. The stories varied, yet a central idea remained: take care of the person instead of the patient. In my youth, her stories registered at face value. All too soon, I would see the truth in her words firsthand.

It was an unpleasantly early morning in the hospital waiting room. Nurses buzzed around, busy attending to their patients while a faint beeping sound could be heard in the background. I was starting my second shift of the day at the hospital, just finishing working a shift in the dark, grimy morgue. Groggy, I sat down at my desk to begin another four hours of labor. My position was to assure that the paper work was properly completed and that all patients were attended too. While being a supervising nurse was a great responsibility, it left time to day dream.

It is October and the coldness of outside matches the icy interior of the hospital. I have been in the surgical waiting room for three out of the ten hours, and I already feel antsy. I have sat in every possibly comfortable position I could think of in the cheaply upholstered chairs. So I decided to roam the halls. As I walk down the halls I take it all in. The children pushing each other in their wheel chairs, smiling though their cannulas and IVs, the babies that are cloaked