It was the night before my first day of clinicals. I had to wake up at 5am in order to leave my house by 6 and be at the site at 7. But that wasn't the nerve-racking part for me to deal with. The nervous part was that I was actually starting down a career path. This was no longer just a class; I wasn't going to just sit in on a lecture and regurgitate the information a few weeks later. This was very real-- I was facing a make-it-or-break it situation. If I don't succeed in clinicals, I am not going to succeed in my nursing program, let alone in the nursing field.
It's not that I felt that I was going to fail. I knew I would do okay. So why was I nervous? Why did I get scared to walk into my patient's room that morning? All I had to do was talk to her. Why was my heart racing?
The bad news is that I have no idea why. It doesn't make sense. I was prepared as anyone else in my clinical group and had the sweetest patient I could have imagined. The good news is that I calmed down as soon as I got started. My patient, Pearl, was amazing-- a very forgetful but incredibly pleasant 96-year-old Jewish lady. She couldn't keep track of her age ("I think I'm 94 or 95, I was born in 1913, you do the math"), but she was very good at letting me know that I'm doing great and "will get an A". Thanks, Pearl.
I'd like to do well in my grades, but most of all I'd like to be a great nurse. And if Pearl thinks I will be a good nurse, then I better make sure she's right.
