Not Enough Time

Nov 1: Books open everywhere but nothing seems to make it from the page into my brain. I study all day on Sunday. I get my homework done for the week and try to read ahead, but now, now it seems like I’m always behind, trying to catch up  on the weekends. But I can’t care anymore. After studying a week or so in advance for my last exam only to do worse on it than the first broke me. I’m done. I told my teacher this, that I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t know it all like they seem to think we should. “As a nurse, you know that the answer should be this, even though according to your text book and everything else you studied it says this, because that’s just not realistic,” she said to me when I tried to argue my way into getting another point on the test. I just said, “okay” when I really wanted to tell her “I’m not a nurse yet, I don’t have your experience.” But she’s brilliant and young and so successful I find it daunting. Here I am, a girl who started the Nursing program with a 3.8 and now it’s dropping every quarter. I’ve never felt so stupid. So I tell myself, okay, well, lets study. But I don’t learn that way. I never have. But here I go again.

 

Nov 2: “Patient has an altered GI status AEB frequent, loose, brown stool and complaints of abdominal discomfort. Will continue to monitor the patient and assess levels of comfort. “ It is things like this that I spend my time writing these days. Patient this, patient that, and quite frankly, I’m horrible at it. Something I find rather funny considering I’ve always been a great paper writer, etc. But no, when it comes to filling in boxes of this and that I either write too much, too little, or get off topic. Mostly because I’d rather write things like, “Patient has crazy red hair that flies around her face like a candle flame.” Or “Patient’s grandson would not stop flirting with me and asking his grandmother to push the call light so he can once again feign a question about his grandmothers problem (ie what is edema again?) to only really want to chat about how he loves sports and has tickets to a game, and do I like sports?” But no,  it’s all technical and boring and that’s just how it goes. I hate reading charts because all I see are facts and nothing else. There was nothing about how she went weeks without proper treatment because she kept getting told to take some tums. Everyone assumed she was too old to have any real problems. But yes, this is what I’m studying to do, condense people into pathologies and treatments. 

Nov 3: Bonnie is the name of my mental health instructor and sometimes I feel like having her admitted to the hospital because she’s a danger to my sanity. Mostly, she tries to blame me for all the things she messes up, like nursing facts and common terms. Just today in class a phone started to vibrate, she starts telling us to shut them off, that they aren’t allowed in the building. People start to check, but it doesn’t belong to any of us. So I tell her it sounds like it’s coming from her bag. “No, I turned mine off.” But she opens it up and I see her shut it down. I just wanted to look her right in the eye and say, “Yes, it was, and I saw you shut it off, so don’t lie to me, shame on you.”  I didn’t, I kept my mouth shut, but only because I know I’m on her good side. Not sure why, considering I’m always arguing with her, mostly because she accuses me of this and that and I never appreciate being treated like I’ve done something I haven’t. But yes, I’m passing her class. In fact, I’m at the top of her class, no thanks to her. I just find psychology and mental health absolutely fascinating. Maybe it’s because I grew up with a bipolar/schizophrenic father and haven’t been miss sunshine all my life myself. I really enjoy it. I learn so much about life and different perspectives and myself really. It’s sad sometimes, really sad, to think about patients who seem to be doing so well and only find out later that they tried to kill themselves again, it’s hard. It makes me feel like I’m not doing my job right, but there’s only so much I can do, and the rest is up to them. And sometimes, sometimes I think that these mental illnesses are just as bad as any terminal illness. They are manageable, people can live with them, but they are not generally fully treatable. Just think of having all these big dreams and high hopes and then to suddenly start hearing voices and realise that your entire life is going to have to change. It’s like a balloon  floating up up up, only to burst and fall into tiny little pieces. That’s how I imagine it anyway.

 

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