Monthly Archives: March 2022

Locusts & the Gift of Time

I don’t honestly even know where to start. The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of feelings swirling around me like a swarm of locusts I couldn’t escape. Sadness stinging my eyes, disappointment constantly wisping by, anger rearing its ugly face no matter how many times I tried to shoo it away.

What do I do with all of this? How do I explain this to everyone who’s supported me these past five years? But, more importantly, how do I get rid of the thick cloud of locusts?

Therapy has been constant this past year. I manage my medication cocktail twice a month with a therapist and twice monthly with my psychiatric nurse practitioner. The “locusts” won’t disappear, but my focus and energy will shift over time. The sadness will lessen, the sting of disappointment and failure will dull. The anger with myself, the situation, and what happened will take time but eventually redirect to where I’ll land next.

I’ve given that so much thought. My original plan was to work with hospice patients, oncology once I had enough experience, then wound care certification. But unfortunately, many of those things require a nursing degree, so I have to reshape how this would all look.

I once took a Lyft ride with a woman who chatted with me on the way to my physical therapy appointment after my stroke. I asked what she did for a living, and she said she was a death doula. I had not heard of that. A birth doula was familiar to me, barely, but not a death doula. Some are called death midwives. She explained that she offered the gift (her word) of time, listening, and support through the start, end and post dying process to the patient and their family. I was so fascinated by this. The gift of time. How often had I felt rushed through even just a doctor’s appointment? Too many to count.

Losing my dream of nursing is something I may never get over, but the idea of giving my time to hospice patients and their families is also a dream. The patient dynamic, conversations, and interaction were always my favorite time of day in clinicals. I loved the stories, the human touch, the undivided attention to the patient.

Where am I going with all of this? I’ve just enrolled (thank you, mom and Bob) in a Death Doula program. What better way to wrangle my favorite aspects of medical care into the gift of time and make it a career? I’m excited about it.

The grief comes and goes in waves. I won’t lie and sit here and say I am fine. I am heartbroken, at times feel lost, and cry out of nowhere when reality once again sets in. But for now, I have something to sink my teeth into that makes me happy. I have friends that constantly check in with me for which I’m so grateful.

This blog will slowly morph into something directed at what I’m doing and away from nursing. So stay tuned. And thank you for hanging in here with me. The support and love and messages I’ve received – are priceless.

I can tell you one thing- this will not take on the look of a sympathy card. That is just not my jam or who I am. it will reflect more of a joyful presence, a calming constant. Pat suggested “Bee Bop A Doula,” to which I nearly spit out my drink. His gift- wit, humor, and undying love he’s shown me through all of this.

A Change Is Gonna Come

This is really difficult to write, but I’ve promised transparency about my health or school or mental health, etc. So here goes.

I took my final on Monday. I passed; however, I needed an extra five points to make up for what I missed on my midterm. Before my midterm, I was going through withdrawals from a psychiatric medication for my Bipolar 2 disorder, and had horrible symptoms. Deep depression and feeling so sick, I got a COVID test. It put me behind three weeks with school content. Once this all passed, I worked my ass off to study and get caught up.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough, and I missed passing by 5 points, which meant I needed to make up those points on my final, which did not happen. So I am out of the nursing program. I can not challenge it.

Yes, I can retake the class next year—but- I’d have to pay out of pocket (the last term was nearly $5000) and take the courses before it to keep the clinical skills fresh.

More importantly, there’s also something else I noticed. My retention has taken a nosedive. I had seen it over the past several months. There were things that Pat told me that I didn’t remember him telling me. For example, a friend sitting at my table looked at me funny when I asked her a question about something, and she said I was the one who taught her a funny new pneumonic to remember the concept. I didn’t remember any of that. That happened a few times.

My brain is not retaining as it should. After my stroke, I did not have these issues of this severity during the first year of nursing school. This all started after the swelling brain issue I had last year called PRES. Posterior Reversible Encephalopathy Syndrome. There isn’t much information about it, and I honestly don’t know if that’s what the cause is. But I do know it’s been a very significant issue with studying.

To say I’m devastated is an understatement. I’ve never worked harder for anything in my entire life. So for the next couple of weeks, I plan to rest my brain, maybe visit with family, and regroup. Then think about the next steps. I still want to work with hospice patients, so a Death Doula (aka Death Midwife) program is where I’m looking next.

For now, it stings too deeply to go any further with that. Even looking at my nursing stuff on our table hurts. But I’ll get past this. My amazing hubby reminded me that I am not this exam. I am not this grade. My dad reminded me of how far I got with a brain injury and all my managed mental health issues.

As much as it hurts- hurts- I can’t change it. So, I’m going to figure out where I’ll go next.