The Rollercoaster of My Elementary Years: The Highs and Lows

Before my sister and I were born, my mother had dated our biological father. He had wood my mother in all the right ways. After they got married, things turned very dark, quickly. My mother was constantly abused. Both physically and mentally.

She found out she was pregnant. He and his family used my sister to threaten my mother at every turn. She was trapped and helpless.

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 childbirth. Doctors would constantly say she wouldn’t make it past three (3) days, then a week. However, she survived. I’ve heard stories of 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 had to be connected to multiple medical machines, such as a heart monitor, a feeding tube, and an oxygen machine. My mother did her best to care for my sister. Constantly getting up at all hours of the night, checking on her, 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; she suffered mental abuse, physical abuse, and isolation. This had taken a toll on her, both physically and mentally.

Three years and three months later, I was born. It was when my mother was in the hospital that she learnt my biological father had been arrested. She did not waste any time; she took this opportunity to escape from him and his family.

My mother had spent a year trying to rebuild her life, attending college and making friends. Her newfound freedom opened many doors. Though those doors had to shut, for my sister needed more care. 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 failed her, my mother moved 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 had been 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 differences 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 improving. 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 far 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.

Because of the number of classes I had missed, my education had taken a hit, and I fell far behind my peers. School advisors would tell my mother I should have already learnt how to read by this time and that I was too far behind.

I had difficulty with reading. The adults in my life would try everything they could to get me to read. Hooked on Phonics, Reader Rabbit, and JumpStart game series. 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, given 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 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. Math continued to be my weakest subject.

It wasn’t long before my mother found a loophole and could register me at a school close to the hospital, so she didn't have to travel so far. 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 could go back to the school I originally attended. That same year, once more, my sister was admitted back to the hospital. They were not sure if she would survive, but she was a fighter.

Since my mother was the sole parent I had, I had to remain by her side. This became a problem when child protection services got involved and said I needed to attend school, one more incident like this and I would be removed from her custody. She was put in a difficult situation because she had to remain at the hospital for my sister; she couldn’t afford to leave her behind and drive me to and from school.

Her friend lived too far to take me, and it was deemed inappropriate to have me stay over at a man’s house that was not related to me. According to the courts and social services. The staff at the hospital felt sorry for my family and 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 missed 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. He was very nice; while tutoring other kids there, he would allow me to sit in on his lessons and participate.

Though I was failing academically, being at the hospital, I have learnt things no school could teach. 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 helped where I could. Responding to patient calls, offering snacks, and keeping track of dietary throwing birthday parties, dressing up for Halloween, and passing out candy, fruit, or the required items to individuals. I would dress up as a bunny for Easter, hopping around from room to room. I wanted to make sure they knew how important they were.

My sister suffered a stroke between 1994 and 1995, which caused her to fall into a coma. The doctors told us they believed this was the end for her, and she might never wake up. My mother was distraught.

This occurred on one of the rare days I could attend school. I was sitting in class when I was called out. My godmother was there to pick me up. I was both excited and confused. My mother never said they were coming, but this all happened on the same day my sister fell into her coma.

She 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 did not know 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 permission or consent from her.

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

My mother pulled me out of that school and made a complaint to the school district about the situation. If my godmother 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 major issue, since the divorce of my mother and biological father, both he and his family had been trying to locate me. They had wanted to take custody of me. But since his arrest, my mother had taken every precaution she could to prevent that from happening. This was before the Amber Alert was formed.

She did this without thinking of the repercussions of child protection services knocking on their door. She had to think of something quickly. This was when my godmother stepped in and offered to take me to Oklahoma and live with them for a while until things were settled. Against my mother's desire, she reluctantly agreed.

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

It turned out that my godmother wanted children, but she couldn’t have any, 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.

In that 12-month period, I found myself enrolled in my fourth 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 mother. She had one daughter in the hospital who wouldn’t make it, and the other daughter didn’t want to come back home. It became too much, and my mother demanded 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. Being bored, I began exploring the hospital more. I was bouncing around from floor to floor, wing to wing. Meeting lots of peers (kids my 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, unfortunately, they 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 going and I would visit with as many as I could. We did many activities, from drawing together to sharing stories and dreams. I also volunteered my time helping nurses feed 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, 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 because of some complications.

I was all over the hospital, doing so many 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 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 with joy. They kept my sister in the hospital for a while longer.

My sister got better and was released. Because of being in the hospital so much, we ended up losing our home. So, we had to find another one. 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 for 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 stepfather took me to see it. I was so engrossed in the movie. He realized before I did 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 storm, I would run outside and watch the clouds swirl around in the sky. I would call my stepfather 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. Many activities kept me busy during school hours. Though I wasn’t busy enough; I started my club outside of school that focused on weather and cloud-watching.

I’ve accomplished so much over the years, and I was very proud. It wasn’t a major loss for being held back; I wasn’t where I should have been academically, but it didn’t stop me from trying. In the mid-1990s, I was placed by the school in a program created for students who had fallen behind. It was the “special” class. It was supposed to be a class to help us catch up on our weak subjects.

We were made fun of for attending these classes. Those who didn’t attend said this class was for the “special” kids, meaning they were for the retarted kids. I was pretty upset by that, but I didn’t say or do anything. I kept my head down and attended the class like I was supposed to.

There was nothing special about these classes. All we did was read and write. Very few times did we actually do any math or science in the classroom. So, we were still falling behind.

The school participated in the Drug Abuse Resistance Education, also known as the D.A.R.E. program. We would sit down and write an essay about drugs.

I wrote my essay about my experience at Cook’s Children Medical Center. The infants I cared for, and the pain I endured watching them suffer. It was then I decided I wanted to be a nurse so I could care for them. My essay won me second place; I was coerced into reading my essay to the entire assembly.

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. I had many kids talk behind my back, whispering and starting rumors. No one knew what I had gone through, not even my mother. This was my first experience of what bullying was like.

My childhood went downhill for me after we had settled in

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sarah@sarahmwong.com