I need some serious proofreading

Response to "Why do you want to pursue a career in the medical field?"

My personal statement is not complete yet...I will then go on to tell why specifically I want to become a doctor. I am not very happy with what I cultivated so far...I need help please!! Thank you in advance...your help is appreciated!

Entering the corridors of Autumn Care feels strangely familiar. Similarly matured faces graciously greet me, though occasional fixed glares of loneliness and tiredness are evident. Yet each of them remains hopeful that their families will visit them, or that they will be released from the constraints of the care center or from life itself. My surroundings look the same and the usual odor permeates the air. However, as I wander down the halls, fresh faces and a new, unmarked layer of light yellow paint polishes the walls. It’s a calming color with ocean, sand and sea grass illustrated on the foreground. I shake hands, hug others and catch up on lost time. They enlighten me on the latest happenings in their home: who has died, who has been released, and who is on their last leg, sometimes quite literally. As I meander my way to room 116, a recognizable voice from the nurse’s station catches my attention. “Ms. Falcone, I’m sorry but Mrs. Laning passed away about a year ago.” “Yes, I know. . . I just came to visit some people, and wanted to see if her roommate still lived here.” “Oh. . . she passed from Parkinson’s disease.” Pausing in some amount of disbelief, I utter, “Oh, that’s a shame…she was such a sweet person.” “Well, in any case, it was nice to see you again.” Smiling, “As was you. Good to see you.”

“Room 116: Elenear Brightfield and Gloria Lin.” A star is placed beside their names to indicate their affliction with Alzheimer’s, and to remind workers to remain alert of their possible wandering from the center’s grounds. I peer into the room for a few brief seconds to observe the presence of someone other than my grandmother, and her roommate in the beds. I walk back outside.

I sit myself down in a white wooden rocking chair found on their front porch. The light from the setting sun is scattered on the patio’s bricks. A small-statured lady, fragile and ghostly in appearance ironically begins to sing one of my grandmother’s favorite songs: “Blue Skies” by Frank Sinatra. I want to believe that my grandmother is singing to me through this woman’s voice. As I sit in the over-sized rocking chair, listening appreciatively to the melodies of the lady, I begin to reminisce. . .

“Oh my God . . . she’s having a seizure!” the nurse cries out in panic as though seizures are very foreign to her. She closely safeguards my grandmother sitting in the chair and within minutes, though seemingly hours, my grandmother regains a normal state of consciousness, though remains extremely fatigued and befuddled. “Her MRI shows that she’s had multiple mini-strokes and this one would be considered moderate” reports the doctor one week later. He prescribes medication as a means to decrease the risk of further strokes. In about a week’s time, my grandmother is back on her feet with the usual help of her walker and tennis balls. We reach the end of the corridor, turn around, and go back. We walk outside to reach the tomato plants, turn around, and go back. We sit outside for an hour, singing classical Frank Sinatra pieces and receive the attention from many. We sit together as she eats her meals slowly, and on occasion, unwillingly. She forgets how to eat every now and then, and eventually forgets how to walk, swallow and even sing. Ironically, she always remembers what year she was born, and her childhood life growing up in Brooklyn, NY. As we sing “Blue Skies . . . smiling at me, nothing but blue skies, do I see”, I can only realize how appropriate that song is as North Carolina skies are one of the most beautiful skies I’ve seen.

to be continued............