It’s my first day on campus at the university since the middle of July. I am officially a third year nursing student.
I walk into the nursing building and say to my girlfriend, Jen, “So do you know where they’re having orientation today?”
She replies, “It’s not orientation. It’s an actual class.”
We get into the class, and when we’re seated, I say to her, “So what class is this?”
“Maintenance? What the hell is that?”
She shrugs and hands me a piece of paper and a pen for note-taking, because she knows I came here armed with nothing more than a bottle of Diet Pepsi, enough money to buy my new pink American Apparel hoodie with faculty logo, and a backpack of textbooks from last semester that I was going to sell back to the bookstore, until Jen stopped me to inform me that we will still be using them again this year (to which she added, “Unless you aren’t planning on doing any of the readings.” She knows me so well. I prefer ‘googling’ whatever I don’t understand.)
The teacher comes in and begins: “This class will require a lot of A&P knowledge.” A&P is short for anatomy and physiology.
“You will need to know what the endocrine system does,” she continues, to which I look over at Jen, and whisper, “I don’t even know what the endocrine system is.” Jen gives me that sympathetic you’re-a-moron look.
The teacher goes on to say, “When I ask you what the liver does, I expect you to know its seven functions.”
I look to Jen. “Seven?”
The teacher continues, “Telling me ‘It cleans out stuff’ isn’t good enough.”
“Well there goes my answer,” I whisper.
“You will need to step it up this year,” the teacher warns.
I snort. Jen gives me another sympathetic look and a shoulder pat.
Now this is the difference between me now and me a few years ago: at the end of this little bootcamp speech, the old me would have handed back the pen and paper, picked up my bottle of Diet Pepsi, and hightailed it out of there. I would have marched myself right to the registrar’s office where I would have promptly withdrawn from the course, and decided that the sociology department has a really hot teacher. I’ll major in that instead of pursuing nursing.
Instead, the new, more mature me, looked around at all the other students.
Nobody was packing up their stuff. Nobody was even fidgeting nervously. Everyone stared straight ahead at the instructor, undaunted by the curriculum.
So I figure if the nitwit in the back of the class with the bleached blond tips isn’t scared, then I can do this too.
I know though that I’m going to have to study with Jen every weekend to bone up on my A&P.
This means sacrificing something.
I have too many balls in the air right now: four kids, my blog, taping and watching General Hospital every day (did you guys know Sonny and Brenda are getting back together! Weeee!) training for a competition, dieting for said competition, which pretty much depletes my brain of the ability to think, never mind thinking about internal organs and their functions. All seven of them!
I’m irritated that I have to give something up. I’m irritated that I have to learn about the endocrine system.
Oh, I know you’re thinking, “What did you think you’d have to learn about if you wanted to be a nurse?”
Well, I want to be a labour and delivery nurse. I thought I’d have to learn about vaginas.
I’m not giving up my blog. I love this blog. I love writing. I love meeting new bloggers. I love the validation. You’re stuck with me.
On that note, I’d like to thank Molly over at “Cynicism Isn’t an Option, it’s a Lifestyle” for giving me the Bloody Brilliant Award.
See, this is why I’m resentful about the endocrine system. And the liver. When will I have time to
stalk catch up on my favourite reading if I’m busy memorizing their functions…like that’s really going to help me out when I’m holding a labouring woman’s legs in the air?