"I can't believe it's two weeks until I finish this semester."
"I can't believe it's a week until I finish this semester."
"...two days..."
"It's my last day!"
My cheeks ached from smiling so widely as I left being a Fundy's student, stomping out into the spring rain to my car while pulling my rain drenched shirt slightly away from my back. So many things I wasn't going to miss!
I glanced back in the rear-view mirror as I drove away (still grinning like a cat), but that was it. No twinge of guilt, no icicle of regret chilling me - just driving away, looking forward.
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It's been two weeks since I last took off my blue, polyester student-patch scrubs. All my care plans are folded, shoved in a bottom drawer, out of sight and far out of mind. I don't have process recordings looming over my head anymore, the last minute typing of med lists and assessments are over and done, I'm not automatically waking at 5:15am every morning.
I'm counting down to my final for this semester on Wednesday. In August, I bought a plastic tray of felt pens in a tumble of colors, my favorite brand and style for taking down notes and highlighting paragraphs, a splurge and a want. Running my fingers over the plastic cover sent tingles and chills tumbling everywhere, as the reality stepped closer. I'm actually doing this. The pens now scramble around in the messenger bag I received (durable, loaded with pockets, for-free-dear, as another amazing benefit from my work), besides the sponsored program that gave me entry to nursing school, brilliant instructors, and a future racing towards me with its arms wide, incredibly open.
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I've crossed a bunch of stuff off my To-Do list, cheerfully ignoring others. Fundamentals of Nursing clinicals were a cranky six weeks, since then I've been productive and relaxing by turns, reveling in the opportunity, then sprinting around knowing time is growing short before summer semester starts a new dance. Fourteen days of freedom, wanting to bike and swim, the itch increasing as I'm waiting, practicing and failing patience with a happy heart and dancing in the kitchen.
May 21st I'm in school again, fine to dive straight into Medical-Surgical Nursing 1700 (Med-Surg) and compulsory clinical and lost wanderings between buildings, able to sprint and feel the sweat and ache of muscles pulling any strands of worry and anxiety from my shoulders, to sing loudly as I run forward.
Anticipation is delicious, like brown sugar and cinnamon and laughter tied with star dust.
