Why I Chose Nursing School

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.