Nursing School

Tomorrow is the day that I am applying to nursing school.
I finally received my official transcripts in the mail, so that I can submit them to the the Office of Records and let the people who choose my fate (aka. the school of nursing board members) have access to "my identity." (aka. my grades.)

It's just such a limited and narrow view of who I am though.
But in this dirty business called Nursing School, it is ALL that counts.

My grades. It shows my ability to focus and navigate the world of college...which is impressive in that it show that I am adaptable. But most people are.


But really? Grades: They're not an accurate gauge of "what kind of nurse I will be."

Today while I was at work, I had a crystal clear moment of exactly "what kind of nurse I will be" as I was cradling one of those precious babies that I love so so much...as I was caring for the family who I spend more time with than my own family. The family who comes to me to ask "where something is" because I'm the one that moved it there and keeps things clean and orderly. Making the babies laugh and when they're so upset or won't sleep, soothing them in my own special way that works even when their own mother can't get them to calm down.

They NEED me. And it's such a good feeling...but even more so, I NEED them.

I think back to when it all started. The suffocating, all consuming self-loathing.

I was 13 the first time I truly contemplated suicide.

I sat in my parents sunny living room...right in the center patch of sunlight that always illuminated one square area on the carpet as light shone through the window.

I sat there because I was cold and just wanted to feel the warmth and light on my skin. I sat there holding bottles of pills...my 13 year old mind trying to calculate what does would "do the job."

Why you ask? Because by 13 I knew that the world truly did not make sense and so far, it had dished out more pain and ugliness than my sensitive heart could stand.
It had already taught me that great injustice would prevail and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. It took away from little brother's childhood and cast a dark shadow over the entire family.

And then? The doctors said it was starting to happen to me.

So what's a 13 year old to do when she daily sees her potential future in her deteriorating brother? Sees her parent's incremental shattering as they try desperately to hold the pieces together?

She implodes.

However, the implosion doesn't completely happen for years later...not until the 13 year old makes through high school and gets to college. How did I make it?
I took care of him.
I devoted my entire adolescence to taking care of him and others.

At 16, my daily schedule consisted of waking up at 4:30am. Getting myself ready for school. Then, waking him, getting his breakfast made and brought upstairs to him. Dressing him. Helping him shave and with his hygiene. Getting his socks and shoes on. Down the stairs. Our bags packed. Loaded into the van. Wheel chair in the back. Get us to school by 6:00am for band practice. Transfer him from his manual chair to his electric chair which we stored at the school in a locked closet that I had the key to. Be done with practice by 8:00am. half a day of school and then leave for either the hospital or nursing home where I had an internship and worked half a day there taking care of residents and patients (bathing, dressing, feeding, shaving. etc.) 4:00 pm Rush back to school. Pick him up and take him home. Get him upstairs and situated with a snack and then rush off to my part-time job where I worked in a childcare taking care of little kids. Get home by 10 pm.

Repeat.

I had NO TIME to think about myself or to contemplate the escalating and building self contempt that was infecting my body and mind like a tumor.
Sub-consciously I knew it was there. I welcomed it and feared it all at the same time.

Then college comes. It all stops. I have no one to take care of but myself. The girl I hate more than anything and KABOOOOOM!

I implode. The next 3 years is the picture of a girl making up for years of potential self destruction time. She goes from 0 to 60 in a matter of nano-seconds.

And I did it well. I was so successful in fact that I nearly destroyed my life several times over.

And now I've come out of it on the other side...For a multitude of reasons, but I know a big reason is due to those babies. That family.
They needed me. But I needed them more.

I need to be a nurse.

Why? Because taking care of others is the only thing that keeps me sane. Keeps me centered. Makes me happy.

Makes me feel like I can do SOMETHING good in a world that isn't good.

I wish the school of nursing board members knew that.
But since my "precious" transcripts don't tell that story...I must go study.

I have finals this week.
MY FATE RESTS IN MY GRADES!
ah!