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Showing posts with label nursing school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nursing school. Show all posts
Sunday, April 22, 2012
this week
it's all finals week up in here:
Thursday, March 22, 2012
What Disgusting Thing Did I Do This Week?
This is too exciting not to share.
[ P(re)S: Did I mention I was offered a nurse extern position for the summer? Woot. ]
So this week in clinical, not only did I get to give a bunch of meds for the first time, but I also got to place my first indwelling Foley catheter!
I know it's horrific and gross to most people, but it's a huge scary mountain for us nursing students. Practicing on a mannequin was one thing; just the thought of doing the procedure on a living, breathing, VERY awake patient was terrifying.
But you know what? I followed all my steps, just like I did on the mannequin, and it went perfectly. And then just like that, I'd crossed a huge hurdle.
In four weeks, I'll be starting finals. First year of nursing school, over! Holy hell. Where does the time go?
I got my schedule for fall. I'll be taking Med-Surg and Psych! (OB and Peds in the spring!)
Now, I have some neuropharmacology to read...
[ P(re)S: Did I mention I was offered a nurse extern position for the summer? Woot. ]
So this week in clinical, not only did I get to give a bunch of meds for the first time, but I also got to place my first indwelling Foley catheter!
I know it's horrific and gross to most people, but it's a huge scary mountain for us nursing students. Practicing on a mannequin was one thing; just the thought of doing the procedure on a living, breathing, VERY awake patient was terrifying.
But you know what? I followed all my steps, just like I did on the mannequin, and it went perfectly. And then just like that, I'd crossed a huge hurdle.
In four weeks, I'll be starting finals. First year of nursing school, over! Holy hell. Where does the time go?
I got my schedule for fall. I'll be taking Med-Surg and Psych! (OB and Peds in the spring!)
Now, I have some neuropharmacology to read...
Monday, January 23, 2012
like a bird on the wire
It's funny how you can learn important lessons from the most trifling things.
Evan and I have been watching the show Sons of Anarchy for the past two weeks. We're halfway through the third of four seasons right now, and last night I started putting together some pieces in my life.
One of the show's main themes is recognizing what is most important to you and then doing anything you have to do to maintain it, achieve it, protect it--whatever. And these characters willingly put themselves through hell, throw themselves into gun fire, sacrifice their lives to keep that one thing sacred and to keep it going for the others who care.
I started writing books when I was 9 years old. It was the thing I did above all else, the thing that lurked in the back of my head at all times, the thing I would do after dinner: lock myself in my bedroom scribbling in notebooks. I wrote through puberty, through high school, through the turmoil of college, and through my early twenties up to where you know me now, on the precipice of 26. Almost two-thirds of my life, devoted to writing. The older I get, the dimmer my memory, I'll only remember that I was always writing, always thinking about writing.
And yes, during all that time I always had the far-off thought that one day I'd like to see my name in print. But first, I needed to do this with my writing, and I needed to improve my dialogue, or strengthen my word choices. Always something. As long as I was still writing, still coming up with stories, I was happy. I am happy.
Then I started blogging. And I saw how many people wanted to be published. And I asked myself if there was something wrong with me, that I didn't really think about being published--just writing. Did that make me less passionate? Did it make me a coward, because I hadn't thought about being published yet because I felt like I still needed to improve before I tried to put myself out there, still needed to write a better story, with better characters and better plot and better everything. Was I a coward?
Things started to change. I started finishing novels instead of just starting them. I saw massive improvements in my craft, felt them in my planning process. Saw maturity emerging in my words. So then I thought, yes. I can do this. I am close. I am ready. No more fear: just desire to make myself presentable, to make my words sing, to make them the best I am able.
When I finished my most recent book, I thought: this is the one. I'm going to shine it up and send it out. I'm going to be querying by April, at latest. I'm finally going to do it.
And I thought about that constantly. I thought about the drive to publish, I imagined writing query letters, getting the call, telling my husband that I had a book deal. Fantasy overrode reality.
In nursing school, nearly any student you talk to will tell you that s/he (but mostly she) is going into nursing because of her passion. She feels called to be a healer, to be this profession that is more than just a profession. They all walk around with this enormous depth of drive and well of desire that keeps them going when the cards are stacked against us. When the knowledge seems crushing and the skills are overwhelming and there are three tests around every corner, and everything is pass or fail--they have their passion.
And me? Nursing isn't my passion--I already have my passion, have had my passion since I was nine years old. The thought constantly presses against me: what am I doing in this field where passion is queen, with my passion at home in old notebooks and on hard drives?
This thought was truly giving me a crisis last semester. I finally overcame it by remembering that I will always need a day job, and I chose nursing through the sum of its parts--not the title first. I managed my time a little better so I could write a few days a week, and all the crisis went away.
But then I got the new bug, the publish bug. The query bug. And suddenly nursing school was in the way again. Last semester is a joke compared to this one. I'm learning skills that are honest-to-god life and death, medication administration, starting IV lines, inserting Foley catheters, learning everything I need to know about all the medications I will use in my practice.
In only two weeks, the crisis was starting again.
And then we started watching Sons of Anarchy, and I saw these characters who said: yes, I will go to prison for this thing I did. I won't be in there forever, but I will serve my time as long as I must, and when I get out, things will be back to normal. My passion has been saved because of this sacrifice, and I will live to fight for that passion for many more days.
The understanding started pawing at me pretty quickly, but it wasn't until yesterday that I let myself look at it and feel it and acknowledge it.
Writing isn't the only passion in my life--it's just my doing passion, if that makes sense. It's the thing I'd rather do instead of play video games or play the guitar or paint or photography. I also have passion for learning and knowledge. I crave knowledge. I savor every scrap of new information that I learn and I horde it. It's like those old ESPN commercials: "my knowledge...is greater than your knowledge!"
And most of all, I have a passion for my husband and for our life. Getting into nursing school was a year-long process. School itself is a two-year process. I make a pittance with my day job: he's our real bread-winner. He's the one who's said, "yes--I will put my own soul-searching on hold because I want you to do this, to find yourself through this new adventure." For that, I owe him everything. I owe him my full attention on school, I owe him paying attention to the other elements of my life that can give me happiness besides spending 8 hours a day in front of my manuscript. I can "go to prison" for just one more year, because when I get out, everything will still be here. I will still love to write. I will be a year older, and I will have read hundreds more books that will inspire me and teach me and improve my craft. I will have done my best at what I'm doing, and I won't live with the lingering guilt of I could have done better, if I'd tried harder.
I'm not saying I'm not going to write. I'm saying that the publish bug has been put into stasis. It was a foolish thing for me to obsess about the end, and not the means. I still want to revise and edit my manuscript, but I'm no longer holding up arbitrary words for it like "April" or "by the summer."
I guess passion is meant to burn bright and consume us. I'm not blowing out the flame, I'm just trimming the wick so my other candles can also contribute to the light of my path.
Evan and I have been watching the show Sons of Anarchy for the past two weeks. We're halfway through the third of four seasons right now, and last night I started putting together some pieces in my life.
One of the show's main themes is recognizing what is most important to you and then doing anything you have to do to maintain it, achieve it, protect it--whatever. And these characters willingly put themselves through hell, throw themselves into gun fire, sacrifice their lives to keep that one thing sacred and to keep it going for the others who care.
I started writing books when I was 9 years old. It was the thing I did above all else, the thing that lurked in the back of my head at all times, the thing I would do after dinner: lock myself in my bedroom scribbling in notebooks. I wrote through puberty, through high school, through the turmoil of college, and through my early twenties up to where you know me now, on the precipice of 26. Almost two-thirds of my life, devoted to writing. The older I get, the dimmer my memory, I'll only remember that I was always writing, always thinking about writing.
And yes, during all that time I always had the far-off thought that one day I'd like to see my name in print. But first, I needed to do this with my writing, and I needed to improve my dialogue, or strengthen my word choices. Always something. As long as I was still writing, still coming up with stories, I was happy. I am happy.
Then I started blogging. And I saw how many people wanted to be published. And I asked myself if there was something wrong with me, that I didn't really think about being published--just writing. Did that make me less passionate? Did it make me a coward, because I hadn't thought about being published yet because I felt like I still needed to improve before I tried to put myself out there, still needed to write a better story, with better characters and better plot and better everything. Was I a coward?
Things started to change. I started finishing novels instead of just starting them. I saw massive improvements in my craft, felt them in my planning process. Saw maturity emerging in my words. So then I thought, yes. I can do this. I am close. I am ready. No more fear: just desire to make myself presentable, to make my words sing, to make them the best I am able.
When I finished my most recent book, I thought: this is the one. I'm going to shine it up and send it out. I'm going to be querying by April, at latest. I'm finally going to do it.
And I thought about that constantly. I thought about the drive to publish, I imagined writing query letters, getting the call, telling my husband that I had a book deal. Fantasy overrode reality.
In nursing school, nearly any student you talk to will tell you that s/he (but mostly she) is going into nursing because of her passion. She feels called to be a healer, to be this profession that is more than just a profession. They all walk around with this enormous depth of drive and well of desire that keeps them going when the cards are stacked against us. When the knowledge seems crushing and the skills are overwhelming and there are three tests around every corner, and everything is pass or fail--they have their passion.
And me? Nursing isn't my passion--I already have my passion, have had my passion since I was nine years old. The thought constantly presses against me: what am I doing in this field where passion is queen, with my passion at home in old notebooks and on hard drives?
This thought was truly giving me a crisis last semester. I finally overcame it by remembering that I will always need a day job, and I chose nursing through the sum of its parts--not the title first. I managed my time a little better so I could write a few days a week, and all the crisis went away.
But then I got the new bug, the publish bug. The query bug. And suddenly nursing school was in the way again. Last semester is a joke compared to this one. I'm learning skills that are honest-to-god life and death, medication administration, starting IV lines, inserting Foley catheters, learning everything I need to know about all the medications I will use in my practice.
In only two weeks, the crisis was starting again.
And then we started watching Sons of Anarchy, and I saw these characters who said: yes, I will go to prison for this thing I did. I won't be in there forever, but I will serve my time as long as I must, and when I get out, things will be back to normal. My passion has been saved because of this sacrifice, and I will live to fight for that passion for many more days.
The understanding started pawing at me pretty quickly, but it wasn't until yesterday that I let myself look at it and feel it and acknowledge it.
Writing isn't the only passion in my life--it's just my doing passion, if that makes sense. It's the thing I'd rather do instead of play video games or play the guitar or paint or photography. I also have passion for learning and knowledge. I crave knowledge. I savor every scrap of new information that I learn and I horde it. It's like those old ESPN commercials: "my knowledge...is greater than your knowledge!"
And most of all, I have a passion for my husband and for our life. Getting into nursing school was a year-long process. School itself is a two-year process. I make a pittance with my day job: he's our real bread-winner. He's the one who's said, "yes--I will put my own soul-searching on hold because I want you to do this, to find yourself through this new adventure." For that, I owe him everything. I owe him my full attention on school, I owe him paying attention to the other elements of my life that can give me happiness besides spending 8 hours a day in front of my manuscript. I can "go to prison" for just one more year, because when I get out, everything will still be here. I will still love to write. I will be a year older, and I will have read hundreds more books that will inspire me and teach me and improve my craft. I will have done my best at what I'm doing, and I won't live with the lingering guilt of I could have done better, if I'd tried harder.
I'm not saying I'm not going to write. I'm saying that the publish bug has been put into stasis. It was a foolish thing for me to obsess about the end, and not the means. I still want to revise and edit my manuscript, but I'm no longer holding up arbitrary words for it like "April" or "by the summer."
I guess passion is meant to burn bright and consume us. I'm not blowing out the flame, I'm just trimming the wick so my other candles can also contribute to the light of my path.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
This time 6 months ago I was in the final stretches of finishing up my fourth novel, writing an average of 2k per day and generally not knowing how good I had it.
These days I write 2k, but it's all in the form of nursing notes, care plans, interventions, or papers.
I've actually been continuing to work on my latest WIP, but since school started I think I've eeked out what? 2 chapters? 3? And each one is taking me at least 2 weeks to write, just a few bursts at a time. Since I finished the last chapter almost 2 weeks ago, I've managed to write about 300 words, and it was the night before my second nursing exam. I was so wired from studying all day that I couldn't quiet my brain for sleep, so I pulled out my netbook and wrote an introduction for the next chapter. Of course, as soon as I started that, I got sleepy.
I got so used to having time to write that now that I'm lucky to squeeze in 30 minutes every few weeks, I'm cranky. It makes me resent nursing school, housework, laundry, dishes (let's be honest--I resented those anyway.)
I have irrational fears that the more I stuff into my brain about muscle anatomy and the stages of infection (for example), the more writing stuff is dribbling out. I'm afraid that at the end of these two years, my fiction writing will read like a textbook.
I had my hospital orientation this morning. Have I mentioned how ridiculous our scrub uniforms are? I attend a military university, and our scrubs are very retro-military-esque. PURE white, and I mean WHITE. Zip-up collared smocks with patches and bars on the sleeves. The nursing students are called the "marshmallow crew" by the hospital employees. You can certainly spot us from a distance, that's for sure.
Anyway, I'm assigned one of the big hospitals in the region. And whoa, is it nice! I'm going to be on the ortho/neuro floor for the year (sweet!), and you wouldn't believe the technology that's in these places. Even the toilets are smart.
I'm afraid I won't be able to talk much about my clinical experiences (HIPPA and all that), other than in vague terms. But I'll certainly share anything extra exciting!
So. I have two nursing exams down (A's on both!), two plus the final to go. One final big paper, my dietary analysis for nutrition and a teaching plan on lactose intolerance. My next A&P exam is in a week, and my cadaver lab is next Tuesday! (I also can't talk much about that, because the cadavers are still considered patients with HIPPA rights.)
The semester has absolutely FLOWN by. Seriously, I feel like every time I wake up, three more weeks have passed.
I'm living for December 6th.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
I'm Not Gonna Lie...
The past 2 weeks really have made me question if nursing school was the right choice. Nothing I can specifically put my finger on, and hopefully something that will go away as my knowledge base and skills set improves.
I'm in the critical few days before my next nursing fundamentals exam. Time has shrunk so that each hour only lasts for 5 minutes, and it's exponentially related to how much $*&#% I have to get done by next Wednesday, October 12.
So why the #@$% am I on Blogger? GOOD QUESTION.
Mostly because I need a quick break from typing out my notes on Oxygenation!
So my test on Monday will cover 11 chapters of fundamentals, 3 chapters of medical math, and 3 chapters of medical terminology!
Fundamentals chapters this time around include 3 over community-based nursing, oxygenation in regards to respiratory function, safety, body mechanics and mobility, disaster preparedness, sensory and cognitive processes, asepsis and infection control!
No, these things don't really go together. Yes, it makes it more difficult to remember it all. Sort of.
Anyway, this video sums up how I'm feeling pretty well:
Cheers!
I'm in the critical few days before my next nursing fundamentals exam. Time has shrunk so that each hour only lasts for 5 minutes, and it's exponentially related to how much $*&#% I have to get done by next Wednesday, October 12.
So why the #@$% am I on Blogger? GOOD QUESTION.
Mostly because I need a quick break from typing out my notes on Oxygenation!
So my test on Monday will cover 11 chapters of fundamentals, 3 chapters of medical math, and 3 chapters of medical terminology!
Fundamentals chapters this time around include 3 over community-based nursing, oxygenation in regards to respiratory function, safety, body mechanics and mobility, disaster preparedness, sensory and cognitive processes, asepsis and infection control!
No, these things don't really go together. Yes, it makes it more difficult to remember it all. Sort of.
Anyway, this video sums up how I'm feeling pretty well:
Cheers!
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