Semester Three, Week Five

I had a better outlook on life this week.

For one, my test score for pharmacology was adjusted, so I passed. Barely now, but I passed.

Pre-adjustment, I met with my instructor who asked me what happened, because I "bombed" the exam. and not only that, I was the only one who failed.

I had a lot of company over this week, and it was fun, but exhausting.

Another exam in psych came and went. I passed, with a B. It's okay; class average was 78% (a C), so whatever I can take grade wise, I will grasp.

Somehow, I adjusted to clinicals, and while I don't feel totally safe on my locked unit, I feel semi-comfortable. There are so many mentally ill clients, and at the block party held for said clients, my heart broke a little. Watching these individuals who are held captive by their illness getting food, shuffling, some looking semi out of it, others looking trapped, scared, miserable. Granted, there were still some clients who had the time of their life at this party, but my heart hurt knowing that there were so many individuals present who are locked in their minds.

I've connected with one client, and most of the time they seem so "normal" that I forget that they are hospitalized, that they have a documented mental illness, that they have a long battle ahead of them. What separates "us" from "them"? What happens in their minds?

I had a glimpse today of my future. (Or at least what I want my future to look like.)

I was at work and was encouraged to go to the ER on a trauma alert.

I asked the attending physician if he felt comfortable with me observing. Waiting for the ambulance to arrive, the old feelings of years past resurfaced; the nervous anticipation, the sheer thrill of being present in an ER; a time of reflection of how far I've come in the years since I was a baby EMT with no experience and a false confidence in an effort to make an impact.

The patient presented; I observed. Generalized trauma from an accident. Observing EMS, the physician and nurses once more confirmed: this is what I want. This is who I want to be.

The thrill of being in nursing school *this close* to obtaining my dreams, being in this field that has truly changed my life, reflecting on personal growth, taking in the sights, and sounds.

Nursing is my dream, my goal. I am honored to be called to this profession, honored to serve and treat people.

Praying for progress.

Semester Three, Week Four

A year ago, I was in the throes of heartache. A relationship with someone I could have very well fallen in love with had ended a few months prior, and I am anything but quick to get over someone. I've been reflecting on how vastly different this school year is than last, and even this week, I've had a wonderful house-guest; the sister of the man I once thought I loved. This wouldn't have been fathomable or even feasible 365 days ago, and I'm so grateful for healing hearts and for time that truly does heal all wounds; just not always in the way we anticipate or hope for.

~

Anyway. This week sucked. I mean, I flat out hated it.

I failed my first pharmacology exam at a 76%. Passing is 77%.

Awesome.

I don't know what happened. For one, I got panicky with the damned math questions (I think I got them though) but I was way too nervous, and blanked. I literally knew nothing.

I feel like I am losing it this semester. Test wise, the anxiety I fought for years to overcome is coming back, and my fingers literally get numb now on exams, I can't breathe, can't think, my stomach sinks, and I lose all hope.

All. Hope.

It's bad. The worst I've ever experienced.

I wrote to my instructor asking to meet with her.

Her response:
"We can meet prior to class Monday or after class, if either of those times work for you. I would like to speak to you to see where you had issues, as this test was mostly a review of previous content, and you had a note card. I would like to know your thoughts regarding your grade and where you had difficulty."

Awesome, again. I am feeling like a winner. Not only did I fail, I failed the easiest test of all time.

I feel like a freaking idiot.

When I went to get the oil changed on my car the day after my fail, I almost began crying to the mechanic when he asked how I'm doing. Same when a kind woman in a bookstore inquired; I was rubbing my eyes furiously, willing the tears away so that my already diminished self-image would not be further beaten down.

Then I had my first round of psych clinicals. We've all seen movies where a psychiatric hospital is depicted. May I just say from personal experience, the movies are accurate.

I kept feeling like I was dreaming, walking the halls of this psychiatric hospital, seemingly out of place, heading to my destination where there is no escape.

I wish I could document more on what my clinical experience is like. It's challenging; dealing with the mentally ill when I can't comprehend what they truly are experiencing. Hallucinations, you say? All I know is mental health is on a continuum, and supposedly we all are just one break away from "snapping" if you will and having our own mental health crisis.

I have this fear that I'm going to be attacked or killed. These clients walk around their milieu, and who is to say that their command hallucinations aren't going to command them to kill me? I'm just saying. I guess I don't feel safe, but have to pretend that I'm totally at ease with clients threatening to lose it and demonstrating signs of deescalation.

A shout out to those who work in the mental health profession. It takes a level of dedication and patience most do not have.

Nursing school is a journey, and right now, while I am not thankful for it, but am dreadfully hoping and praying that I pass, I recognize, too, this is a time to cherish, because one day, I won't be a student. And I'll bet you anything, when I've worked my umpteenth twelve hour shift, I'll be looking back fondly(ish) at these days and wishing I could do it all over again. Ish.

Semester Three, Week Three

Another week down.

Of course, I only had actual class one day, but still, there was plenty to be done outside the classroom.

We had exam two on Tuesday, and it was a real doozy. Even my instructor announced that this one was a higher-level application kind of test. Awesome.

After the test, we have the opportunity to re-take the exam within a learning group (a group of my peers) and open-book the exam, together. We have an opportunity to earn three extra points. So weird.

My group got along really well the first time we had test review but this time there was a lot of friendly arguing, so I checked out. You could call that derealizing, if you wanted ;)

Exam scores were released when I was on a long walk with a classmate; by the grace of God, I earned another A.

Lecture on bi-polar, depression, and other affective disorders, but for some reason, my mind wasn't really there, so I took a lot of notes without comprehension.

Wednesday brought about a visit to an AA meeting. First, it was in a scary ghetto-like part of the area, where my classmate and I thought we were going to be killed. Second, AA meetings are a bit like I expected them to be. "My name is _____ and I'm an alcoholic." These fine people shared their stories and years of sobriety. It was in fact, impressive.

Wednesday continued on with more of the blasted pharmacology project, and ended nicely with an unexpected dinner invite from friends.

Thursday, I stepped away from the student role and met with a dear childhood friend of mine. She has cancer, but she's more than "just" a cancer patient. Nursing school has taught me to recognize that patients, whatever they are hospitalized for are not "The guy in 234 with diabetes" or "The old lady with dementia" patients are, in fact, people.

So, as I was spending time with my friend, a brief reminder of the drama I was encountering last week re-surfaced, and I recognized that sometimes, life is going to be painful. People will hurt you. My responsibility is to live as a Christ-bearer and maintaining peace, so long as it depends on me. Other's actions are their responsibility; they own it.

Seeing that, I chose to dance my troubles away with three little girls who have stolen my heart.

Next week, we have ourselves the start of mental-health clinicals!

Semester Three, Week Two

My worst nursing school fears realized: I couldn't do the math.

It was about 3:00 in the afternoon. I received my re-do exam, only having to complete two problems.

Two.

First one, easy.

Second one. I couldn't get it.

My heart, already racing, raced more. My fingertips became numb. My thoughts scattered. My hands began to shake. My thoughts were irrational, all over the place, nonsensical. I do know, repeatedly, I heard the words "This is it. You're done. You're not progressing."

My hands shaking so badly, I couldn't compute with the calculator. Finally, I arrived at an answer. I submitted my test. My instructor marked it wrong. I back-peddled, tried to explain myself. She re-wrote the problem, re-wording it. My hands continued to shake. My mind blanked.

I couldn't get it.

She tried again. Told me to breathe. Nothing.

Over, and over, extending patience.

I can't describe the anxiety; feeling, knowing this was my last call. There were no second chances. My instructor guided me. And then, after too much fumbling, I got the answer. I feel like a screw up. She passed me, telling me I have to get tutoring.

I know this. I know math. I worked too hard for this. How can it be? How can this be? What the heck happened? Hours after the catastrophe, I figured out the problem. It was ridiculously simple. I had just psyched myself out, acting out on what I've been afraid of for years.

Mental health is making me mental.

There's a project for advanced pharmacology (I like saying advanced; I sound like a genius, ha!) that a partner and I have to work on. It is going to be killer. This assignment is the worst one to date thus far. Hideous. Abysmal.

I've been taking some time to reflect upon my life in the last two weeks of this semester. Introspection is valuable, and as much as I don't want to make this blog about my personal life, I think this is worth writing.

I saw a picture this week of 15 people. I knew everyone in the photo, some better than others. Of the 15 people, I counted: I've burned bridges with 7 of them.  Seven. 

I've had a lot of personal growth in the last three years, but I hate looking back and seeing who I was. It doesn't matter how much I've changed, repented, turned away from the old me. The damage is done, and that's what eats away at me, daily.

Anyway, I'm in a situation currently that is begging me to burn some bridges, and it's eating away at me. I'm trying to remind myself that who I was is not who I am today. I don't need to burn bridges, even if it seems most logical. Even if I have to fight myself.

That's all. I had to get it off my chest. Now resumes Sarah, nursing student, whose main goal in life is not to fail nursing school.

Til next week. There's another psych exam.