It still doesn’t feel real. This long road—the one I started what feels like lifetimes ago—is finally winding toward its end. May is circled on my calendar, not just a date, but a promise. A lighthouse cutting through the fog. A finish line waiting at the edge of exhaustion.
Excitement. Relief. A strange, quiet kind of panic. It all collides in my chest as I count down the days. Because this hasn’t just been a journey—it’s been a war of attrition. The kind that wears on your bones, turns caffeine into blood, and replaces sleep with sheer willpower. The kind where doubt creeps in at 2 AM, whispering, What if you’re not good enough? But I push forward anyway, because every sleepless night, every test, every shift has been carving me into the kind of nurse I refuse to stop becoming.
Exams, Kaplan, and Running on Fumes
If nursing school had a final boss, this would be it. Kaplan tests. Final exams. The never-ending grind of trying to shove an impossible amount of knowledge into a brain that ran out of space months ago. I study, I cram, I question myself, and then I do it all over again. Because it’s not just about passing. It’s about proving to myself that I’m ready.
One day soon, real lives will depend on what I know. My hands. My judgment. My ability to stand steady when everything is coming apart. That thought alone makes every test feel heavier, every late-night study session more urgent.
So, I push through. Flashcards, review sessions, the desperate search for clarity in the chaos. Some nights, exhaustion wins. Some nights, I stare at the same notes for an hour, unable to make sense of a single word. But I remind myself—this is just another step. Just another fight. And I’ve never backed down from a fight before.
Night Shifts at North Memorial: Controlled Chaos
As if nursing school wasn’t enough, I also work nights as an ED Tech at North Memorial. Class all day, emergency department shifts all night, and whatever scraps of sleep I can steal in between. I wake up not knowing what time it is, sometimes not even what day it is. But the work is real. And it keeps me grounded.
The ER is its own kind of madness. One minute, I’m restocking supplies. The next, I’m pressing down on a bleeding wound, feeling the pulse of a life in my hands. Some nights, it’s slow—the kind that drag on, heavy and endless. And then there are the nights where time doesn’t exist, where the seconds blur between heartbeats, where the adrenaline takes over and you move because there’s no other option.
I’ve learned more in those hours than I ever could in a textbook. I’ve learned what panic looks like when someone realizes they might not make it home. I’ve learned how to stay steady when the walls feel like they’re closing in. I’ve learned that sometimes, all you can do is hold a hand and let someone know they’re not alone.
Some nights, I come home carrying things I don’t know how to put down. Some nights, I leave knowing I made a difference. And every night, I leave knowing I’m one step closer to the healer I want to be. The one I’m fighting to become.
Counting Down, Holding On
I won’t lie—some days, I just want it to be over. The stress, the pressure, the exhaustion that wraps itself around my spine and refuses to let go. The constant feeling that I should be better, that I should know more, that I should be stronger.
But even in the hardest moments, even when it feels like I have nothing left to give, I know why I’m here.
Because this isn’t just about graduation. It’s about the miles I’ve run to get here. The sacrifices. The lessons. The nights I thought I wouldn’t make it but did anyway. It’s about becoming the kind of healer who doesn’t crack under pressure. The kind who shows up. The kind who makes a difference.
So, for now, I’ll keep grinding. Keep studying. Keep showing up, even when I’m running on empty. Because every late night, every test, every shift is shaping me into something unbreakable.
And I’m almost there.
Leave a Reply
Your email is safe with us.