My childhood

My time at the hospital

Part two

Between 1992 and 1993 My mother's best friend (whom I looked up to as a father figure growing up) had help my mother move our family from Oklahoma to Texas where we could receive the best medical care for my sister -along with escaping the wrath of my biological father.

Because of my sister's medical care, my mother couldn't work, so we had to survive on government assistance for housing and food. Many places wouldn't accept the stipend, so our options were limited, but for my sister we made a decision as a family. Moved into a house that was about forty minutes to an hour away from the hospital (if my memory serves me correctly).

This was her last chance of survival. She began receiving medical care at Cooks Children's Medical Center. This is where I had spent a lot of my childhood at. Kimberley would be in and out, often spending weeks to months there for various reasons. It was because of this; my education was all over the place.

​Even with the amount of education I had missed, I was given an opportunity that most didn't get to have. Being at the hospital I was able to experience first-hand the stress, frustration, and fear both child and parents had. Not knowing if one can afford treatment, the loneliness of being isolated, or unsure if tomorrow will exist (I would travel to the hospice or palliative care ward).

Many children were left alone through 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.​

As a child who wasn't ill, I had a lot of time on hand. I took this opportunity to learn as much as I could on patient care. From learning how to take blood pressure, taking detail notes of how the patient was feeling, keeping track of when patients took medication, answering patient calls.

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​To help take their minds off their daily struggles, I would host birthday and holiday parties. From Halloween to Easter and everything in between. I couldn't stand watching others feel isolated. It broke me. I took the time to include every child within the ward.

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​Even though I learnt much from the staff at the hospital, I still struggled academically. I have memories of sitting at the front desk in the ward, working on educational booklets I had managed to find lying around.

One of the biggest struggles I was facing was learning how to read. Learning to take detail notes had helped, but I still struggled.

It wasn't until one day, my mother's best friend would come visit and while my mother was speaking to nurses and doctors, he would sit me down on his lap and would read to me books he had. During this time one particular book he was reading was Stephen King Cujo. I would follow along with my eyes as he read.

He would come in the early days, and I would sit with him and together we would read. Soon I began reading on my own. My mother was so busy focusing on my sister she didn't know what we were up to until she heard me reading out loud. She was nonplussed. I think she even cried from joy just a little.

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When things were quiet, the staff would take the time to help through the workbooks. Once a week, a tutor would come to the hospital and work with children who couldn’t attend class. He would allow me to attend the lessons he provided and participate in assignments and homework he provided. To this day, I wasn’t sure if he was paid, or if he was allowing me to sit in out of the kindness of his heart.

This went on for a bit, until it was said that my sister was going to spend majority of her time at the hospital.

​My mother wanted to enroll me in school closer to the hospital, she believed being closer would make things easier since she wouldn't have to travel far from the hospital to get me, however it became difficult because we didn't have a home address within the school district. During this time (not sure if it is true today) you couldn't sign up to go to any school, you could only attend school in the zone your home address was in. I can't recall how it was managed, but I was able to be enrolled at a school close to the hospital.

While I was attending, I had taken the book my mother's best friend have given me to read during play time and other "personal" time. It was Anne Rice "Interview with the Vampire" or it was Stephen King "Cujo"

Either way, they may have been too advance for me, however I was still reading. The teacher was appalled by this. A young child reading such books was forbidden. She took it away and called my mother.

My mother, of course, had lectured the teacher about the importance of reading. Even if I was reading something that may not have been age appropriate, at least I was reading. I never took another book with me to school again.

I had discovered many books while I was with my mother grocery shopping. Stephen King had led me to Dean Koontz. This is where I found my passion of reading suspense novels.

I began searching for novels every time I went out. It was an escape from the reality from the everyday nightmare we faced. Wasn't long when I started writing my own suspense novels -never published of course.

My writings had grabbed the attention of the school's staff and not in a good way. Sadly, I had to hide my writings from that moment on.

For a little while, it worked out. Until my sister had taken a turn for the worst.

Kimberley had a stroke that had left her in a coma. A expected my mother distraught. News had reached our family in Oklahoma. Without warning or planning they had piled up and drove down to be with us. I, however, was in class when all this was occurring unaware of the situation.

I remember sitting in class when I was called for an early dismissal. I knew my mother wouldn't come get me unless it was an emergency. When I got to the office, I saw my relatives standing there. I was happy to see them, though I didn't realize at the time was happening. I didn't have enough cognitive development to question.

The school had released me to my relatives, and we drove up to the hospital. My mother, surprised to see everyone was more shocked than anything to see me enter the room.

The school staff never verified with my mother about being released early. No calls, no messages. Nothing. This had caused a great deal of stress and anger for my mother. Rightfully so. She called the school demanding to know who allowed me to leave the school premises without her authority. The staff had no good answer. The adult knew who I was and the situation of my family, so they assumed it was fine to release me.

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​I've never seen my mother so angry. The fact that anyone could pull me out of school was alarming. Just imagine as a parent, not knowing the school would just release your child to anyone is a terrifying thought.

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For my mother it was especially scary. She had divorced my biological father because he was a very dangerous person, both him and his family. The very thought of one of them pulling me out of school, potentially kidnapping me shook her to the core.

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​Without a second thought, she pulled me out of school right then and there. The funny thing was, they didn't have any records of me. No attendance, no grade system. Nothing. So, leaving school was easy. Because they didn't have records of me, there was nothing to sign off on.

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However, not being in school meant police and child protective services could get involved. With our situation, child protective services could easily remove me from my family. This had left my mother in a very difficult situation. Though regardless of the consequences, she was adamant never sending me back to that particular school again.

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She struggled with what to do with me. This is where my family had stepped in. They had offered to take me back to Oklahoma with them for a while. At least until things settled down. Mind you, my sister was still in a coma during all of this.

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Against my mother's feelings, she reluctantly agreed but only for a short time. A week maybe two max. She didn't like the idea of being separated, but she feared she didn’t have much of a choice.

I had spent a decent time in Oklahoma. Long enough to make friends, be enrolled in school (though I still question how any of this was possible.) I was living my best life, though I wasn't fully aware of what was happening.

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But behind the scenes it was much darker than I had imagined. I thought I was a child living her best life, but the reality was, I was playing the role of a daughter with another family who may not have had any intention of letting me return home. Manipulating the situation to keep me with them rather than my mother.

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​​​I didn't know at the time how my mother had felt. I very rarely spoke to her during my time in Oklahoma. Back at home she was dealing with one daughter being in a coma, not sure if she would ever wake up, and the other daughter was starting to erase her from her life. Now as an adult, I can't imagine what that must have felt like.

It came to a point where my mother demanded I be returned. So, I went back home. I can't recall how I felt, but I was happy to see my mother again. We stayed by my sister all saying our goodbyes to her, when (as it was told) my cousin had a conversation with Kimberley, it was a deep emotional conversation she was having, her words had woken Kimberley up. Everyone was shocked and elated. This was a miracle.

During her recovery, I would sit up with her in bed and would read out loud. I remember making silly voices and using my hands to express emotions.

When I wasn't reading, we were making silly stories together. This started our journey into obsessing over books and journals.

Since then, Kimberley had to have her books and journals in bed with her. If she didn’t have them, she would either become angry, or she would cry. From that day on, she would sleep with her books and journals. Otherwise, she wouldn't sleep.

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