Probie To Practitioner

I’ve officially passed in my last final. The backseat of my car still has my duffel bag full of extra scrubs. A dozen or so textbooks and study guides are still sitting on the kitchen table. A few beat up notebooks full of lecture notes are still loaded into my backpack. My laptop is still loaded up with old PowerPoints. And my brain is still guilt-tripping me for indulging in fun things. But, slowly, it’s starting to dawn on me that the year has come to an end.

I’m still reflecting over everything that’s happened. Obviously, I’ve learned a lot about physiology and nursing care. But, as cliche as it may sound, I’ve learned so much about myself, and I’ve grown into a much stronger person.

At the beginning of the year, I found myself crying. Like, a lot. There were two main reasons for this: academic work, and social challenges.

For the most part, school has just been something I’ve been fairly good at. Some people can learn in a classroom, and others can’t. I could, and without too much difficulty. For the first time in my life, I’ve had to really really work at something academically. I couldn’t breeze into the lecture hall on exam day and crank out a decent test score. I spent hours upon hours of studying, hoping to get a grade that would somewhat reflect all the work I’d been putting in.

Like I’ve ranted about so many times before, many of the students were just plain mean. As a pretty sociable person, I’d always been able to make at least one friend wherever I was. But for much of that first semester, I was struggling to even find people to be friendly with. Nursing school was far more cutthroat than I’d anticipated. It ranged from petty name-calling, to blatant verbal attacks. I’m a pretty sensitive person…and suddenly, there was all of this stress and drama, and I had no one to lean on. Well…no one to lean on but myself. But I didn’t realize that at the time.

Many all-nighters, tears, and near-breakdowns later, and I find myself almost finished with this year. One day, right before lecture started up, a few students asked the professor about an assignment that they felt was being graded unfairly. I’ll spare you the boring details, but it basically boiled down to a discrepancy in the rubric. I attempted to help explain the confusion to the professor. As I was the last one who had spoken, the teacher looked directly at me, and, in front of a lecture hall full of students, said this:

“You know, it’s a nurse’s ability to look at the tiny details and draw conclusions. It sounds to me like you’re unable to do this. I don’t know, but I’m not sure how you’re going to make it in the real world without that skill.”

The entire classroom went silent. The professor probably felt attacked, which was totally unintentional. A few months earlier, I would have probably teared up right there, and bowed my head in an ashamed silence, panicked self-doubts running through my head. But, for some unquantifiable, unnameable reason, the past few months had built me into a stronger person. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but it all culminated in that moment. The moment when a crooked half-smile pushed onto my mouth, and I evenly said:

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Somehow, my skin had gotten thicker. My doubts, while still there, were quieter. The process by which this happened was painful. It was exhausting. It was draining. Worse, it wasn’t just that way for me, but for anyone who knew me. Anyone who I trusted enough to share the details of my crippling doubts. To many, I boldly declared that I wanted out of this school; this program that I worked so hard to get into. I came up with a thousand reasons why I didn’t belong, why I couldn’t do it, why I’d never be good enough. I lunged at these opportunities to work in another field, quickly polished them up, held them high and said, “No, this is what I really want to do. I’d much rather do this. I’m going to quit nursing school and do this instead.” But these confidants, they knew me better. They calmed me down. They smoothed out my ruffled feathers. They pulled me into their strong shoulders and let me cry. They listened to me rant about all the “mistreatments” I’d been “enduring,” and spew out self-pitying statements. And, they gave me some little thing to hold onto. They gave me a little push, a little spark, to keep me going just a little bit further. Just when I’d swear I was through and wouldn’t budge one more inch, they’d convince me to take one more baby step. Soon (probably not soon enough for them), I was taking these steps by myself. I’d tell a story or two about school when they asked, but not much more. I learned to rely on myself. I learned to motivate myself, believe in myself, and get through this on my own. And I can’t thank those people enough for what they’ve done. You know who you are.

To all of you who stayed with me throughout this crazy year, to all of you who posted an encouraging word, to all of you who liked or shared one of these posts, and to all of you who contacted me privately…thank you. You’ve helped me grow, strengthen, and change in ways I’m not sure I could ever truly explain. You guys are the best.

As I decompress over the next few days and start to soak in my newfound freedom, I’m sure I’ll come up with more self-examining posts. It’s been a hell of a ride so far, and I haven’t beaten this dead horse nearly enough.

So, again, thank you.