I never wanted to be a nurse. I grew
up in a medical world. By elementary school, I knew all of the local EMTs and
how to operate a defibrillator, but I didn’t know yet that my family was
unusual. My father was born with a congenital heart condition called Tetralogy
of Fallot, a condition that gave him a life expectancy of no more than thirteen
years. I have always known him as a medical miracle.
Because of his unique condition, my
sisters, my mother, and I spent much of our time in healthcare settings with my
father. It was a constant world of learning. With so many lessons about healthcare,
I felt particularly connected to the field and wondered what kind of career I
would have one day.
In high school, I truly thought my
life ran (for the most part) normally. I lived in a small town, I ran student
government, took honors classes, acted in drama club and participated in a
number of other clubs and activities. I was often so wrapped up in being class
president or in the school play; I failed to notice the abnormal patterns that
my mother’s behavior began to present. Soon her long hours in bed and constant
sadness could not be ignored. Without realizing though, I tried to do just
that. I fought to keep the image in my head that things were picture perfect.
That was a fight I could not win. It became clear to me that my family’s
healthcare needs were quite unusual and it was a daunting realization to take
on at sixteen years old. I piled hours upon hours of honors classes, and
extracurricular activities onto my back to keep my mind busy and too tired to
think about how far away my mother felt. She was eventually admitted and
readmitted to psychological inpatient treatment and still to this day receives
regular treatments. This
sparked my interest in psychology enough to take courses and do extra reading
until it was a passionate interest and hobby, but it was not quite enough to
fully process and understand how it was affecting my own life.
High School Graduation!
After graduating high school, I began
college with my heart set on being a psychology major. In my freshmen year, I
struggled to develop a post-grad plan for a career and felt unsatisfied (and
totally anxious) by the options my future degree would offer. My roommates were
both nursing students, and I watched with jealously as they studied for a
future that was so certain and concrete. It was conflicting though. How could I
feel so connected to a field, but have such little desire to be the nurses I
had always watched rushing around hospital beds to take care of my father? Such
confusion and conflict about my future made me feel anxious and helplessly
lost.
However, the feeling of misdirection I
felt about school in my first year was nothing compared to change of direction
my life would take in my second year. My father, the medical miracle and
paternal half of my heroic role model set had a work-related accident and was
once again in a hospital bed. Although
he was in intensive care for being a high-risk patient due to his heart, he was
making a spectacular recovery considering the injuries he was facing. The shock
of losing him to cardiac arrest and his doctor announcing my hero’s death is
all a blur now. What is still vivid is the look upon my sisters’ faces when I
told them the news and the pain in my chest when I was finally able to cry days
later.
The following
months were a flashback to my high school years as I tried throwing myself into
anything available to stay busy. This time though, the burden was much too
heavy to ignore. Losing my father was the final straw of a very heavy load that
broke a desperate camel’s back. The sadness I had buried for so many years
began to surface. I needed help. I began working through my grief with a
therapist. After some time, though, my sadness remained
and weighed me down every moment. She and I agreed to seek out
a psychiatrist to help treat my depression. It was unsettling as I felt
the worst that I had ever been in my life, but there were no providers able to
take me. As if my pain was not worthy.
I am
well educated on the high prevalence of mental illness in our society, and I
still cannot comprehend how there can be so few
practicing psychiatrists in my neighborhood. I was at a loss of ideas until my
therapist referred me to a nurse practitioner. I was surprised (in a very
grateful way) by her suggestion because I did not know there were nurse
practitioners that specialized in psychiatric care. I was equally surprised,
however, when I learned there were just as few available providers in this
domain and that I could not be evaluated by a psychiatric nurse practitioner
for many months.
Time moved slowly until my intake
appointment. I struggled to battle the waves of depression as I got closer to
my life preserving appointment. In the months after my first meeting with this
special nurse, I was able to keep my head above the waves of life and
eventually see beautiful, blue skies.
While this
journey has not been an easy one, I truly believe it has made me an even
stronger and more compassionate person. Overcoming these trials has made it so clear to me now that the answers I
once sought about my future were all within this position. As a psychiatric
nurse practitioner, I will be able to make availability of care more
accessible. Becoming a registered nurse will be a challenge and honor that I
feel blessed to take on in my educational journey and pilgrimage to my final
goal.
Last Semester's Final Exam Material: Cry With Me.
Throughout the painful commute, hours of lectures, hundreds of
powerpoint slides, terrible (and wonderful) clinical experiences, and endless
hours of studying; my motivation remains because of my own demons and
challenges and determination to beat them. Each piece of this messy puzzle has
led me closer to understanding how I can help make a difference in the lives of
others as they aim to feel the peace and see the blue skies that I am now
discovering.
