I am now nearing the end of my first semester in nursing school which leaves me only five semesters to qualification. The school rumour mill claims that our third year is mostly all practical experience placement with very little contact time on campus, so it feels as if I’m already almost a quarter of the way through the academic part of my degree.
This morning I had my first opportunity to try to think like a nurse. While waiting at the bus stop on my way to school an unfortunate man sat next to me and proceeded to vomit on his shoes. When he first sat down he seemed agitated and was smoking a cigarette like his life depended on it, so I didn’t want to bother him by making a big deal and just gave him a handful of clean tissues. I felt pleased to find that I could turn off any ick factor to the vomit and just see an unwell person in a situation any of us could find ourselves in (I have). Maybe the training works! Maybe I have actually absorbed something positive. One of our lecturers claims to be throwing a bucket of water at us and hoping we’ll catch a mugful. Such optimism!
I’ve now had three essays back, and two mini-report things. The essays have all been high distinctions and the two minis were a distinction and a credit-plus. While I am pretty much utterly thrilled over those marks it’s also adding a layer of neurosis to my education, since I keep wondering when the good marks bubble will burst. Assumedly by then I will at least be au fait enough with mental health that I can counsel myself.
When I told my grandparents about my marks my grandpa replied, “Good! Now when are you getting a job?” Oh, family.