GregoryFisher
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- Nov 23, 2010
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Please can you check these paragraphs for part of my essay and if there are any grammar or punctuation errors please can you correct and identify them please.
much thanks.
Summer was not enjoyable. Gran and I were set to go to London at the beginning of the school break. Naturally, this had to be postponed since Gran’s condition began to swiftly deteriorate when June approached. Unlike most teenagers, I regretted that summer was long. Every hour I lay at her beside, each moment was a privilege that I desperately embraced. Yet, this wasn’t how it used to be; this was all muddled. I now had to be the full-grown, mature adult who was nurturing the child. I felt alone; no one to guide me. However, despite all this, I was certainly not prepared for the following incident that was about to occur on that balmy summer’s day.
It was a typical day: Doctor Miller had arrived at his customary time, with a fresh supply of medication and updates for my uncle and I on Gran’s progress, which to say the least was declining day-by-day. From the onset of Gran’s illness, I had essentially taken on the roles of homemaker and caregiver, overseeing the everyday tasks of the household. I had to, it wasn’t optional, there was no one else. I was a prisoner; freedom was a privilege. Though, even if I could have left her side, my mind would have remained there. I vividly remember this day: it was the day my Gran died. I remember the dialling of 999, the three numbers which before were a ‘no-go’ zone. I remember Gran being connected to all different wires and tubes as she was hastily rushed on the trolley to the ambulance, with its luminous blue lights spanning the distance of the street. I remember the hospital – the wait, the unending wait. The nurse slowly leading me to the ward, where I was to find my Gran. Dead. Gone. I remind myself of the screech that bellowed from my lungs, a screech I had never heard before. I relive the nightmare. I relive the fear of letting Gran go; the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I reflect on what scared me most – being alone.
much thanks.
Summer was not enjoyable. Gran and I were set to go to London at the beginning of the school break. Naturally, this had to be postponed since Gran’s condition began to swiftly deteriorate when June approached. Unlike most teenagers, I regretted that summer was long. Every hour I lay at her beside, each moment was a privilege that I desperately embraced. Yet, this wasn’t how it used to be; this was all muddled. I now had to be the full-grown, mature adult who was nurturing the child. I felt alone; no one to guide me. However, despite all this, I was certainly not prepared for the following incident that was about to occur on that balmy summer’s day.
It was a typical day: Doctor Miller had arrived at his customary time, with a fresh supply of medication and updates for my uncle and I on Gran’s progress, which to say the least was declining day-by-day. From the onset of Gran’s illness, I had essentially taken on the roles of homemaker and caregiver, overseeing the everyday tasks of the household. I had to, it wasn’t optional, there was no one else. I was a prisoner; freedom was a privilege. Though, even if I could have left her side, my mind would have remained there. I vividly remember this day: it was the day my Gran died. I remember the dialling of 999, the three numbers which before were a ‘no-go’ zone. I remember Gran being connected to all different wires and tubes as she was hastily rushed on the trolley to the ambulance, with its luminous blue lights spanning the distance of the street. I remember the hospital – the wait, the unending wait. The nurse slowly leading me to the ward, where I was to find my Gran. Dead. Gone. I remind myself of the screech that bellowed from my lungs, a screech I had never heard before. I relive the nightmare. I relive the fear of letting Gran go; the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I reflect on what scared me most – being alone.