Semester Three, Week Six

I almost drowned this summer.

I remember bobbing along in the wave pool, both my legs having an untimely muscle spasm, while I was rendered helpless.

All I could do was float, hold my breath as the waves sucked me under and replenish my oxygen supply when I graced the surface before being pulled under again.

I remember having no fear, knowing the situation was precarious, dangerous, life-threatening.

I remember grasping on to the hooks on the side of the pool but being swept away by the waves with each attempt.

That's what this semester is like for me, I've finally realized.

I'm drowning.

I failed my psych exam this week. The content on substance abuse got me good.

But I still have hope: I have an 85% in the class, and all that's left is a final.

The exam was like the tidal wave; I think "I got this" when really, I'm powerless to the current underneath me, sweeping me away.

Next week is anxiety provoking: Psych final, Pharm test #2, begin med-surg, and another clinical exam coming my way.

I can do the math. I swear up and down that I can. I've been practicing problems. I know what I'm doing, and yet this week, the anxiety of my future was momentarily overpowering.

I was studying pharmacology and simply overwhelmed by the content. Adrenergic? Cholinergic? Sympathomimetic? What. The. Heck.

I almost took an over the counter anxiety reducer (who knows what it would do)
I almost took a shot of alcohol (I don't really drink, but I rationed; maybe it'll help)

My heart was racing, my stomach was sinking, my thoughts were rampant. Am I losing my mind or what?

It's the drowning sensation.

I realized the only thing I wasn't doing, and the only thing that would help was to lie in surrender to my Maker. To pray Scripture out loud. To surround myself with the One who knows me, who created me, who has not given me a Spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love, and self-discipline.

It was eye-opening, humbling.

This battle isn't mine. I just think it is, act like it is. This battle is the Lord's. If He wants me to become a nurse, in His timing, I won't be, can't be stopped. It's His will, after all.

Naturally, surrendering is challenging. But I find my life when I lay it down.

Why, oh why, can't I remember this with every breath that I am?

~

I finished my psych rotation today. Termination, as they say, is hard. This rotation, though, taught me about mental health, and mental illness. I'm really sad for the milieu I leave behind, knowing that for them, their lives are (for the most part) going to be a continuous battle.

One client I connected well with, (we'll call him John) taught me that just because you have a mental illness, it's not what defines you. It's not what makes you. It's a part of who you are, but it's not your definition. John and I spoke today about being sensitive, and what that really means. He said it's actually being "connected" and I liked that, one, because I've been called sensitive my whole life, and two, it was practical.

John has great ambitions for life, and I wish I could follow his story in the months and years to come. But, I can't. So, just like the residents I "left behind" during my first semester, so too, are the clients I leave behind at the mental health hospital.

I hope to never forget what the milieu was like; the clients talking to themselves, getting irate over their meals, having hallucinations, security needing to be called on a daily basis. The 9 am meetings, where the clients rated their overall well-being on a scale of 1-10. The stretching led by clients that often involved very little stretching, but did include random body movements. Their coffee break; watery coffee served in small Styrofoam cups. Shadowing a physician as he held individual meetings with the clients, and taught me therapeutic communication, reading lab work, and deciphering fact from fiction. Group therapy, where hallucinations and interruptions abounded, and hours of conversations held at the small round table in the corner of the milieu.

It was an experience that expanded and stretched me, as a student nurse, but more than that, as a human being.  

I liked mental health nursing a lot more than I thought I would, and I think I'll miss it, too.

Mental health is a continuum, as they say.

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.

Semester Three, Week One

I am an emotional masterpiece. Or wreck. Or whatever you want to call it. Or, perhaps in mental health terms, I am labile. Whatever it is, I am a ball of mania.

This week was emotionally, cognitively, and physically taxing. For one, I failed my clinical math exam. Yeah, that's the one that you have to get a 100% on, or you're done. I made a stupid error on two problems, miscalculating the dose. I have one more try on Monday. I have not come so close to losing it as I did on Wednesday. I feel like I can correct my error(s) and progress, but a little part of me doubts this.

I progressed on. My instructor would refer to this as utilizing my coping skills in reference to the crisis I was facing.

I have felt all week like I am going to fail. Fail mental health. Fail math. Fail nursing school. I was imagining what life would be like, failing. How I'd tell friends, family, co-workers, the random people who know how desperately hard I am attempting to complete and pursue my dream of becoming a registered nurse.

But I got to tell you, God spoke to me twice this week. Great, you think. She's making it spiritual.

Hear me out.

For one, on Wednesday night, in the throes of full-blown panic and anxiety regarding my impending first exam, I was invited to a Bible study. I replied to the invite that I couldn't; heck, I had a test to study for and that was clearly the priority.

And then, in a whisper, God asked me:
"Who's your Master?"

Well then, the choice was clear, and I attended and left feeling slightly refreshed and having things in better perspective. It didn't totally stop my mania, but it sure helped.

And so, I studied in the days to follow. And studied. And studied.

(P.S. My new living arrangements are beyond fantastic.)

Last night and this morning, the old fears came back in force, and I felt like the end of my nursing school career was coming to a rapid end. I imagined an impossible exam, unable to process higher application questions, slugging through, and failing.

I studied this morning before the test, which is uncharacteristic of me, but the pressure was real, it was on, and I had to give this my best effort.

So, I was freaking out, stopped studying because I had to be realistic; I either knew the information or I didn't. No other way around it. There I was, in a secluded area of school, and I spent a moment with God. I was panicking. My anxiety was palpable.

And there, in the calm, and in the quiet, I heard the Holy Spirit whisper, like a passing wind, "I am with you." In in that fleeting moment, there was peace.

I took the exam, nervous, shaky. I didn't know the first answer. The second was dicey. And then, it started rolling together, smoothly, and the fear became replaced with confidence and I submitted my exam.

Class policy allows us to then re-take the exam with our peers, in pre-formed groups, open book, open note. When our group went over the exam, I saw that I had missed only 5 or 6. And, so long as you have independently passed with a 77%, taking the group exam allows for three extra points to be added on to your grade.

Class average: 79%
My grade: 93%

It is here in the calm, the quiet that I have yet to find a way to release my anxiety. I still feel tense inside. So nervous I could puke. Optimistic. Cautious. Aware that this is only the beginning.

Progression.

Semester Three--It Begins

I'm one day away from beginning third semester.

I graduate in May 2016.

It's been a busy summer; I completed two online courses to progress in pursuing my BSN, and thankfully earned A's. I also had a "medical" summer with a definitive diagnosis and treatment of the knee problems I bemoaned over all last year. Turned out to be a simple tracking issue, and after three hefty injections under my knee cap, I am more or less cured.

I also had my wisdom teeth out, which turned out to be the medical disaster of 2015, with dry socket and infection.

I briefly dated someone, but that ended nearly as soon as it began once I realized how incompatible we truly were. It still sucks, though. Break ups always do.

I worked full-time on a med-surg unit and am really incredibly grateful for such a wonderful, challenging, educational experience.

At academic advising on Thursday, my advisor told me this is reportedly the most difficult semester yet. Upon inquiry, I was told that more is expected from a third semester student, knowledge is to be already a given (ie: they're not teaching you what you should already know) and my skill set is taken up a notch with more acute care.

The first eight-ish weeks of the semester are mental health, a course in which I have absolutely no background in, There's also advanced pharmacology and then later on, in October, advanced concepts of med-surg.

Initial thoughts are a) fear of failure b) fear of the unknown. I go through this every semester, and thus far, I've successfully convinced myself all throughout that I am going to fail. There's no other way to look at it. I am the future Miss Nursing School Failure. (Have I mentioned that I'm neurotic?)

Clearly, my trust in God is lacking, because even though He's brought me this far, I doubt He'll continue on in His faithfulness. (Awesome).

I received multiple grants and scholarships, so it looks like I'll be graduating with no debt, which is fantastic.

I'll be house sitting for third semester for $200 a month (another answered prayer) and hopefully having an abundance of time to devote to my studies.

I cannot exactly anticipate what this semester holds. I'm just ready to jump in and (hopefully) pass.

Off we go.