Lessons Learned from the ER

-One never ends up in the ER when they have freshly-shaven legs, smell nice, or look good.  Every doctor, nurse, and tech in the place, however, did see my nicely-matching green-with-blue-polka-dots bra and underwear.  But then again, as a retired bra specialist, I ALWAYS have nice undergarments on.

-Going to the ER alone, when every one of your friends is legitimately out of the area and your one family member close by is sick, can be scary.  It can also be empowering.  Hell yes, I survived the BIDMC ER BY MYSELF.  I’m tough.  Don’t mess with me.

-No one in the ER is in good shape, but it always helps to see people in worse shape than you.  Also, many are crazier than you and you win points with the staff for being polite.  The award for craziest probably goes to the man who walked in, looking totally fine, immediately began complaining about wait times, then called other ERs to find out if they could see him sooner.  This genius decided to drive cross-town to Mass General in hopes of cutting down his time in the ER.  Little did he know Beth Israel was actually pretty speedy last night.  What a tool.

-IVs suck.  The getting the IV part is fine, but having a plastic thing in your arm really does hurt.  You’re also tethered to one spot and can’t easily move to pick up your phone, glasses, and book that you knocked on the floor, thus eliminating all means of entertainment and communication with the outside world. 

-When the health professionals tell you the drugs may knock you out, they ain’t kidding.  I don’t normally fall into a deep, 13 hour sleep and have dreams about my great-aunt eating a whole pig.

-It’s amazing your reaction upon waking from above-mentioned medically-induced sleep.  I woke up with my hospital bracelet on, bandages aplenty, and nicely decorated with my EKG stickers, not knowing where I was but utterly convinced I had to go to work.  

-Spending a friday night alone in the ER is not exactly fun but it’s worth it when you end up with the knowledge that you are not, in fact, dying.

Now I Shall Never be a Naughty Nurse

I had the distinct pleasure on Monday of spending $75 on my size XL black cap and blood red gown in preparation for BU’s commencement.  Regardless of the fact that I’ve been done with class for almost four months and my diploma has been in my possession since January, May 18th has been weighing heavily on my mind.  As of that day, the BU chapter of my life will (more or less) be officially closed.  Moving on to the next adventure has been something I’ve been looking forward to for ages.  So why have I been so stressed?

For the past year or so, my post-college plans were solely focused on making nursing school a reality.  I became certified as a nursing assistant (or, as my sister calls it, an enema tech), made spread sheets of different nursing programs, and have been spending my weekends dissecting pigs and playing with chemicals at community college.  I’ve allowed my intellectualism to take a break, while I’ve slaved at a miserable, lowly retail job ’cause it allowed me the flexibility to take classes and leave at the drop of a hat to start nursing school.  I’ve been such a good pre-nurse that I failed to recognize something kinda important:  I no longer want to be a nurse.

Nursing’s been my plan on-and-off since I was 14.  I even applied to transfer to nursing programs during my freshman year at BU.  Being wishywashy, I settled instead on staying at BU and pursuing a very practical and marketable degree in history.  Following a few unexpected run-ins with the medical field and my internship on the Mildred Creak Unit in London last spring, I re-devoted myself to nursing and searched for a fast-track to a job in psychiatric nursing.  That’s where I’ve been ever since.

People were generally supportive when they heard I wanted to pursue nursing.  Typical responses included “wow! that’s important work” and “you’ll make great money.”  Now I’m a little bit dreading telling everyone “oh just kidding!”

I recently realised what that strange feeling I’ve had for the last several months is: dread.  Life has been like one huge panic attack and I didn’t even know it until I admitted I didn’t want to be a nurse.  I’ve been dreading not really starting my career for another 2,3,4 years.  I’ve been panicking about moving home.  I wasn’t thrilled about entering a profession known for eating their young.  But most of all, I was dreading being a nurse.

I have a few things working against me.  Being the clumsiest person alive may come in handy when my lack of grace makes people laugh.  Dropping a patient or sticking myself with an AIDS-infected needle…not so funny.  Also, I’m kind of a hypochondriac.  Wait, remove the “kind of.”  I’m a huge hypochondriac.  As in, I have a paralysing, all-consuming fear of sickness.  And I am severely emetophobic. Ask my sister Emily about how good a nurse I was when she had the flu a few years back (She asked me to make her oatmeal and then almost got scalded by it cause I basically threw it at her, for fear that I’d catch her sickness if I got too close). Wait, why did nursing seem like a good fit for me?

I think in a perfect world, I’d love to be a nurse.  In reality, I think I’m setting myself (and my future patients) up for failure and it’s just not practical or wise.  With the help of some good friends and family members, I’ve discovered I can do what I’ve always wanted to do (be involved in the mental health field) without going to nursing school.  As Amelia wisely pointed out, it’s the helping people in need aspect that appealed to me, not the drawing blood and changing adult diapers.  

So that’s where I am: realising there are other options, exploring related fields (social work, perhaps?), taking some time, looking for a place to live, and generally reveling in life’s uncertainty.  The best part? Now that I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m way less stressed than when I thought I did!  

For the near future, I’ll be focusing on catching up on sleep, imbibing alcohol in the sunshine, and searching for the perfect graduation dress.  You know, the important stuff.