When poopers lurk in the bathroom.

I was smack dab in the middle of 5 years of nonstop nursing school. Or rather 5 years of nonstop frantically-trying-not-to-drown-from-the-pressure-because-they’re-cramming-so-much-into-your-head-that-it-feels-like-you’re-drinking-from-a-firehose-that-never-turns-off. And it won’t stop until you pass your boards. That’s exactly the place where I was that day.

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On wrestling with that ice-cold bucket of Plan B.

These last few months have been full of accepting unwanted realities, haven’t they? Actually, my last few years have been weighted pretty heavily with this, if I’m totally honest. Illness, challenges, pain, disappointments, shock, loss, grief, acceptance … I personally continue to trip my way through this muck of tangles on a daily basis.

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On grabbing hold of some squiggly, wiggly joy.

You can call us crazy, if you want. It’s okay. You can shake your heads with that knowing smile at the chaos that’s certain to become our lives. We don’t mind. You can even think it’s way too soon after losing our sweet Cookie just a week before. That’s fine. We just disagree.

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On encouraging Nurses.

I’ve never been comfortable with nurses being called heroes. Yes, we’ll fight for you – even though we don’t know you. Yes, we expose ourselves to whatever you happen to bring our way – whether physical or emotional. It’s all pretty contagious, actually. And yes, as we’ve all seen plastered all over the news and internet lately … sometimes we work under some pretty grueling circumstances.

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