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.