The Rollercoaster of My Elementary Years: The Highs and Lows

My sister was born with many medical problems. At first, no one could say what was wrong with her. She had to be in the hospital after birth, doctors would constantly say she wouldn’t make it past three (3) days, then a week. However, she managed to survive. I’ve heard stories about how my mother’s family would make comments on “it’s for the best she doesn’t make it” or “it’s too much responsibility to handle a medically challenged child”. Things that would make any parent go into a rage.

But my mother held it together and continued to be at the hospital every day. Finally, the time came when my mother could bring my sister home. It was difficult for her because my sister was born with disabilities and needed constant care. She needed to be connected to multiple medical machines. Heart monitor, feeding machine, and oxygen machine. My mother did her best to care for my sister. Constantly getting up at all hours of the night, checking on my sister, and making sure all the machines were working properly.

My mother had little support from friends and family. But she managed. For three years, my mother struggled, and then I was born. Shortly after I was born, my mother received a little more support from family friends. Looking back, it seemed she got the support because I was born as a normal child and not disabled.

Shortly after I was born, my biological father was arrested. He turned out to be a very bad person. It was a situation where he was nice and said all the right things, but he showed his true colors after he and my mother got married. She took the opportunity to escape him and his family. She had spent a year trying to rebuild her life. She attempted college for a bit, but my sister had a relapse in her condition that had forced her to drop out. But during her time of trying to rebuild her life, she met her best friend, who helped my mother through family drama.

They had spent a lot of time together. When my sister's medical care began to fail her, my mother decided to move us to Texas, where my sister could get better medical care. He helped pack up all her stuff and move us down to Texas.

After we moved, my sister’s medical care improved. She was admitted to Cook’s Children Medical Center, which had opened a few years before our arrival. Life was starting to be stable for my family. After some time, my mother and her friend had a falling out. I can’t recall what happened; they had always put aside their difference to make sure my sister and I were looked after.

For a few years, things were going well. My mother enrolled me in school, and my sister was doing well. Then, towards the end of 1994, my sister had relapsed again and was hospitalized. I had to miss many days of school to be with my mother and sister.

Back then, I could only attend school where I lived. I wasn’t allowed to go to school outside of that area. This was a bit of a problem since the hospital was a good distance from where we lived. Given the number of days I had missed, it was becoming apparent that my mother needed to make other arrangements to help me keep up with my education.

I wasn’t a well-educated child. All subjects were difficult. It was said that at the age of six, I should already be reading. However, I had a very hard time. My mother and her friend would try everything. It wasn’t until one evening, when my mother had to step out, and her friend stayed at the hospital to watch my sister and me, that I began my reading path.

He was reading a book, Cujo, by Stephen King. It started with him reading to me out loud, and slowly we began reading together. Eventually, I was reading on my own. True, this should not have been my first book, being that it was an advanced book, let alone a horror novel. But I did. This shocked my mother. She couldn’t believe I was reading and understood what I was reading.

I was not interested in what I was reading, so I never seemed to have bothered with it. I began reading books over my age limit. “Teaching Mr. Griffin”, “The Fear Street Series”, and more of Stephen King's books. I moved on to Dean Koontz and Kay Hooper. Reading and writing have become my strongest subjects.

My mother found a loophole and was able to register me at a school close to the hospital, so she didn't have to travel so far (it wasn’t long after I had left that the school district changed the rules, making this “loophole” no longer available). This had seemed to work out for a bit (a few weeks); however, I had fallen back into the same pattern.

It was around this time that my mother met my stepfather. He would often visit the hospital and spend time with us on weekends, and when he got off work, he would take me out for dinner or even some ice cream. We would sit, and I would talk about school and how I was feeling about everything.

After my sister had recovered and was stable, she was released from the hospital. We had returned home, and I was able to go back to the school I originally attended.

That same year, once more, my sister was admitted back to the hospital. My sister was in serious condition. They were not sure if my sister would survive. It was a constant battle for survival for her, and this had put even more pressure on my mother.

Since my mother was the sole and only parent I had, I had to remain by her side. This became a problem when Social Services got involved and said I needed to attend school. This was a difficult situation for my mother. She had to remain at the hospital for my sister. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t leave my sister’s side and take me back and forth to school.

Her friend couldn’t do it because they lived far from where we were. But the hospital and staff had arranged for me to be enrolled in a nearby school. My mother was so grateful. Everyone thought this would solve the problem. However, I had still managed to miss so many days of school. There were many days my mother couldn’t drive me to school. I attended enough days to qualify as a student, but I also missed enough days that I fell behind on lessons and assignments.

The hospital staff did their best to tutor me and help me catch up. I would sit at the nurse's station and complete the workbooks that were given to me. I struggled academically, especially in Math and Science. There was even a tutor who would come by for the children at the hospital who couldn’t attend classes. He was very nice. He allowed me to sit in on his lectures and participate in their activities.

However, this had allowed me to learn things that no school could teach. Empathy and sympathy. Experience and appreciation. Many children were left alone during their difficult times, and I would often sit with them and listen to their stories. I took the time to learn about them and their conditions. We would share experiences and learn from each other. I didn't know at the time how much my sister and the rest of the children at the hospital would affect me.

Because I had spent so much time at the hospital, I started to help where I could. I would answer patient calls, provide snacks, and monitor dietary needs. I throw birthday parties, dress up for Halloween, and pass out candy, fruit, or the required items for the individuals. I would dress up as a bunny for Easter, hopping around from room to room. I did my best to include every child. To make sure they were a part of something instead of just sitting in the room waiting for whatever treatment or test was to come.

My sister was still in the hospital from the end of 1994 to 1995. This is where my sister had a stroke that had left her in a coma. My mother was distraught. They weren't sure if she would ever wake up from it. On one of the rare days I was able to attend school near the hospital, I was sitting in the middle of class when I was called out because a family member was there to pick me up. I was both excited and confused. My mother never said my family was coming, but this all happened on the same day my sister fell into her coma.

They had wanted to surprise my mother, so they never told her they were coming down. When I got to the hospital, my mother was confused. She had no idea they were coming down or that they were picking me up in the middle of the school day. This was a horrible day for my mother. One daughter was fighting for her life in the hospital, and another daughter was removed from the school grounds without any permission or consent from her.

Turned out the school had released me to my family without knowing who they were. They did not ask for documents or call my mother. The front desk asked my family some very vague, basic questions, and that seemed good enough for them to release me.

My mother pulled me out of that school and made a complaint to the school district about the situation. If my family could walk in and say they were my family and the school was willing to believe them and release me, there was no telling what would happen if someone I didn't know wanted to pull me out.

This was a huge issue because my mother had divorced my biological father. After all, he turned out to be a very dangerous person, both he and his family. He and his family have been trying to get custody of me ever since my mother left. The Amber Alert had not yet been established, but our case helped advance the movement.

This left my mother in a very difficult situation. She didn't know what to do. This was when my family stepped in and offered to take me to Oklahoma and live with them for a while until things were settled with my mother. Against my mother's desire, she reluctantly agreed. She couldn’t care for me the way that was demanded, and she also couldn’t abandon her other daughter. Against my mother's intuition, she agreed.

I didn’t know at the time what was really happening. My godmother, whom I went to live with, had everything set up for me: new clothes, my own room, and lots of toys.

It turned out that my godmother wanted children, but she couldn’t have any at the time, nor could she adopt. She had planned to take custody of me and provide a loving home that would be deemed appropriate and acceptable in the eyes of the court if there were to be a custody battle.

I was enrolled in my fourth school during those 12 months. I attended for maybe a month before summer arrived, and I even attended summer school. I was making friends and living my best life. Every day, my mother and I talked, but then it became every other day, then once a week.

I was around seven years old, so I wasn’t aware of what was happening. I didn’t notice the lack of phone calls or conversations. However, my mother kept calling every day, sometimes multiple times a day. She was always told the same answers. Sarah isn’t here, or Sarah is busy.

I couldn’t imagine what that was like for a mother. Especially my own mother. She had one daughter in the hospital who wouldn’t make it, and the other daughter didn’t want to come back home.

My mother had had enough. She demanded that they bring me back, or she would call the police for kidnapping (at least that’s what I heard from other family members). I returned to my mother for the last few days of summer.

My sister was still in a coma. After my return, I stayed at the hospital with my mother. During this time, I began exploring the hospital more. I was bouncing around from floor to floor, wing to wing. Meeting lots of peers (kids my own age).

Some were very sick (cancer patients). I spent a lot of time with other kids who didn’t have family or friends. Some I developed a close bond with didn’t survive. This was very hard on me. At such a young age, my thoughts were of how someone could die alone with no one there.

But I kept moving forward, and I would visit with as many as I could. Do all sorts of activities with them, from drawing together to sharing stories and dreams.

I also volunteered my time helping nurses feed the abandoned or drug-addicted infants. I would hold them in my arms for a little while. That was when I decided I wanted to be a mother.

There was one infant I grew attached to, whom I nicknamed Angel. To me, she looked like an Angel. I would spend hours upon hours watching her. Sometimes I even snuck out in the evening to do some night feeding. Sadly, she didn't live long. She ended up passing away due to some complications.

I was all over the hospital, doing so many different things. My mother never knew where I was, but she was always given updates on how I was doing and on all the wonderful help I was providing.

She never knew I visited terminally ill patients or how I was helping with infants. I never told her about some of the things I witnessed or how I felt. Looking back, I should have said something. This is where I started my writing journey. When I wasn’t spending time with patients or helping care for infants, I would find a quiet place and write.

A miracle happened. My sister woke up!

It shocked the doctors and staff. We all cried from joy. They kept my sister in the hospital for a while longer.

My sister got better and was released. Because of being at the hospital so much, we ended up losing our home. So, we had to find another. This is where I learned we were on welfare and subsidized housing (the government was taking care of us). It didn't take my mother long to find a more stable home for the three of us. When we found our home, I was enrolled in the school that was so close it was almost within walking distance.

My stepfather would come over two or three times a week. He would take me out to get ice cream, and we would talk about anything and everything. Though I had my tantrums and my reserve about him, it was still nice that he was around.

In 1996, Twister came out, and my stepdad took me to see it. I was so engrossed in the movie. He realized before I did that I would start my path in meteorology. This was now the second passion I developed.

When he came over on weekends during the spring and summer, we not only watched the clouds move in, but we also drove around to spot potential storm systems developing.

I loved every moment we spent together doing this. After some time, he would take me to the Skywarn weather seminars. Though I was too young to be certified, my stepfather would "deputize" me as his little weather watcher assistant.

Any time it would start to storm, I would run outside and watch the clouds swirl around in the sky. I would call my stepdad and tell him what was happening.

My sister still needed around-the-clock care, so we were sent home with a home nurse. They would come during the night and take care of my sister. This gave us an even more stable life. We had a routine, and everything was becoming as normal as it could be given our situation.

Between reading, writing, and weather, I was a pretty busy young girl. I joined multiple clubs offered by the school. Book clubs, poetry clubs, writing clubs. I was engrossed in many activities. I even had my own club, which I started outside of school, related to weather and cloud watching.

I was really proud of how much I had accomplished over the years, and I was able to apply everything I learned to my academics. Because of missing so many years of school, I was held back. It wasn't a major hindrance, but it did affect me cognitively. I was not at the academic level I should have been for my age. Though instead of helping me catch up, the school put me into a program they started for those who fell behind. We would spend our time in class basically reading and writing—my two strongest subjects.

During the mid to late 90's, our school forced us to participate in what was called the D.A.R.E program (Drug Abuse Resistance Education). Every year, the school would have us write an essay about drugs. Some wrote about the dangers of drugs, and some wrote about their idols who have been on drugs.

I wrote about drug-addicted infants and how I wanted to be a nurse to care for them. I wrote about my experience and the trauma I endured during my time at Cook Children's Medical Center. That year, I won second place in the contest. I was forced to stand up and read my essay to everyone, which shocked me. I remember standing there reading the words of my essay. I wanted to throw up. Not because I was shy, but it brought back too many memories. Memories I wanted to forget.

After D.A.R.E was through, I had many kids talk behind my back. Whispering that my mother wrote my essay, and I never went through something like that, or I didn't know what I was talking about. The truth was that my own mother had no idea I went through all this. She was focused on my sister's recovery. She didn't know where I was half the time. This was probably the first experience of bullying.

My childhood went downhill for me after we had settled in