***Would you be kind enough to critique my short rough essay





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Discus: College Admissions: 2002 - 2003 Archive: October 2003 Archive: ***Would you be kind enough to critique my short rough essay
By Jlq3d3 (Jlq3d3) on Friday, October 17, 2003 - 01:27 pm: Edit

This essay is for stanford. They ask to attatch a picture of importance and write about it. I will attatch a picture of me and my uncle. I just finished it so it is rough with some uncompleted lines and I am not sure if its long enough (422 words) bc they dont specify how long it should be:

I walk into room 5604 to say hello to Fred. Instead, I take careful notice of an I.V. bag filled with a dull crimson chemotherapy. My eyes are drawn to the label like a (i dono what); it reads Adriamycian. As I continue towards Fred’s bed, I am again compelled to look elsewhere. The monotonous chirping of the E.K.G. machine comforts me: his pulse is a steady 86 and his blood pressure remains at 141/90. My voracious hunger to understand what is happening is satiated. Now I can say hello to Fred, who manages to wear a wide grin.
Fred was my developmentally disabled uncle. I had always been close to him and he had always been close to me. Countless calendars adorned his walls, keeping a record of my visits. Fred’s anticipation emerged frequently: “When is Jeremy coming? When is Jeremy coming?”. At the bowling alley, I knew that the thundering boom of Fred knocking down pins would bring about defiant smile to his face. His eagerness made my visits all the more rewarding. Even though I was younger than Fred, I was a parent and a friend to him. I realized that I did not have to be with someone who was the smartest or coolest. I could be with someone whom many look down upon. I found a satisfaction in making someone feel wanted.

The realization that Fred contracted a virulent form of cancer hit me like a boulder falling out of a clear blue sky. It would have been easy for me to remain under the safety of the hideous boulder and block out the unfolding devastation. After asking question after question about his specific disease and cancer in general, I came to the realization that it felt better to face a problem with courage and a desire to learn than to try to run away from unpleasantness. Learning about the blood test results, vital signs monitors, drugs, C.T. scans, and M.R.I.s made me fell that perhaps I would have a better understanding and thereby make at least a small difference. The strength I gained during this hardship impacted everyone around me. I remained a tall pillar during the time of crisis that my father and grandmother could lean upon. Taking control and initiative while faced with an environment and problems I had never faced gave me a sense of confidence and power.

As I stared at the endless drops of orange chemotherapy descend into the I.V., my Uncle became progressively nauseated. With a basin in my hand, (I will finsih this todya)

By Jlq3d3 (Jlq3d3) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 02:11 pm: Edit

bump, heres the updated version

I walk into a half-lit room to say hello to Fred. Instead, I take careful notice of an I.V. bag filled with a viscous crimson fluid. My eyes are drawn to the label like a hawk focusing in on its prey; it reads Adriamycian. As I continue towards Fred’s bed, I am again compelled to look elsewhere. My eyes scanned the rest of the hospital room, observing until I discover the E.K.G. machine. The monotonous chirping of the E.K.G. machine comforts me: his pulse is a steady 92 and his blood pressure remains at 138/90. My hunger to understand what is happening is satiated. Now I can say hello to Fred, who manages to wear a wide grin.
Fred was my mentally retarded uncle. I had always been close to him and he had always been close to me. Countless calendars adorned his walls, keeping a record of my visits. Fred’s anticipation emerged frequently: “When is Jeremy coming? When is Jeremy coming?”. On our trips to the bowling alley, I knew that the thundering boom of Fred knocking down pins would bring about a defiant smile to his face. His eagerness made my visits all the more rewarding. Even though I was younger than Fred, I was a parent and friend to him. I realized that I did not have to be with someone who was the smartest or coolest. I found a satisfaction in making someone whom many look down upon feel wanted.
The realization that Fred contracted a virulent form of cancer hit me like a boulder falling out of a clear blue sky. It might have been easy for me to remain under the safety of the hideous boulder and block out the unfolding devastation. After asking many questions and learning about his specific disease and cancer in general, I came to the realization that it is more effective and feels better to face a problem with courage and a desire to learn rather than to try to run away from unpleasantness. Learning about the blood test results, vital signs monitors, drugs, C.T. scans, and M.R.I.s made me feel that perhaps I would have a better understanding and thereby make at least a small difference in Fred’s. My desire to learn about medicine did not come to a halt even after Fred’s death. The strength I gained during this hardship impacted everyone around me. I remained a source of strength that my father and grandmother could lean upon during a time of crisis . Taking control and showing initiative while faced with an environment and problems I had never encountered gave me a sense of confidence and power.
As I stare at the endless drops of chemotherapy descend into the I.V., the forced smile on my uncle’s face disappears. Even though Fred begins to feel nauseous,...

By Lisasimpson (Lisasimpson) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 05:04 pm: Edit

i'm no essay reading expert or anything...but should the first couple of lines be in the present and the rest in the past? i dunno, it just sounded funny to me

By Jlq3d3 (Jlq3d3) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 08:32 pm: Edit

i was wondering that too. i thought putting the hospital(first and last paragraph)part in present makes it more active.

By Brianp (Brianp) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 08:45 pm: Edit

My long essay is 800 words. It is eleven font and barely fits on the space allowed. My shorter ones are at least three hundred each (10 font). I'm guessing mine are too long and yours are too short. I would critique it, but I have no idea what a good essay should look like. Mine are way less narrative and descriptive than what you have, but at the same time mine have more content and less fluf. (although they might like fluffy writing)

Sorry I can't help you.

By Neo (Neo) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 08:51 pm: Edit

It sounds affected, bro.

By Jlq3d3 (Jlq3d3) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 08:51 pm: Edit

I want to write with less description, but all the essay books I read say to do it like this and give examples like this. I hate this method. I wish I could just write strait fwd without making it literary. Thats why I like short answer questions, bc I can give info without being too creative.

By Jlq3d3 (Jlq3d3) on Saturday, October 18, 2003 - 08:52 pm: Edit

wat do you mean by "affected"


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