Don't freak out

It's the first week of nursing school. When I hear the professors say we are "student's" I can immediately identify with that. When I hear them say we are "student nurses" I have to remind myself they are talking about us, about me. The first two days were filled with anxiety and symptoms of the flu. The office is out sick today and a lot of the students are coughing and ill. I promised myself to take the stairs but when I get to the top I can tell I'm a little sick too. Our Professor made us repeat out loud our phrase for the first week of classes- "Don't freak out". The reminder is working, along with a prayer on the way to school. God I need Your peace, thanks.
I am surprised by my response to finally getting here. I thought I'd be ecstatic, full of energy, ready to take it all in. But instead I find myself more like a nervous child peering in to the deep end of the pool, wondering if when I jump I'll come out alive.
I know I will. I have tenacity. I have passion. I love learning.
I'm not waiting to be pushed in, to flail around and splash water everywhere. I am going in headfirst any minute now.
I told my boyfriend I bought my stethoscope today. We were on the freeway and it was loud in the car. "It was $100" I noted.
"You bought soap for $100?" He asked, incredulously.
"No! A STETHOSCOPE."
He turned and looked at me and smiled. "Ohhhhhhh. It's really happening. You are really becoming a nurse."
It seems comical that it takes a material object to help penetrate a deeper understanding of where my life is heading, however I can completely relate. Like a marathoner at the register buying her lightweight aerodynamic running shoes, or the chef-to-be purchasing his first nice knife set, these things set the mind in gear. They are tangible evidence that something big and different and exciting is going to happen. They are also tools of measurement.
The man at the store explained that the stethoscopes in his hand were expensive for a reason. (obviously) "Go ahead" he said "buy the cheaper stethoscope for 20-30 bucks and you'll be fine. But once you graduate and start making more money you'll probably come back and get this one." He held up the Litman Classic II S.E.. It wasn't the best, but it was a lot better than what I could afford, and it sang loudly of newness and promises and superiority the way coveted items usually do.
I looked at my new nursing student friend. She wanted to go for the cheapie. It was dangling off a hook and she was eyeing it with a resigned look in her eye. But I liked the idea of delivering babies as a certified nurse midwife with a well worn, well traveled, well loved Litman Classic II S.E. light blue stethoscope slung around my neck. I liked the idea of seeing it and occasionally reflecting on where we (the instrument and I) both originated from and all that it took to get us here, almost like a medical wedding ring.
At least for the next 15 months, I am heavily involved with my professional dream. But because I am already certain I want to marry it, that I want it to be a part of my life, a part of me, for the rest of my life, I charged up the $100 with a very clear picture in mind and without a hint of regret.

I was at the front of the class, lecturing about really exciting subjects like resumes and cover letters. Half of the people were engaged, and the other half needed some caffeine, sleep, or interpreters.
I also couldn't help but be distracted by the Congolese woman who cringed and gripped the the rim of her desk every few minutes. She didn't seem to be bothering anyone else, but her facial expressions looked too familiar to me.
I took her to the side and asked her what was going on. She said she was in labor but could wait until lunchtime to worry about it, she really wanted to finish her resume. I asked her how many children she has had and she said five. I politely suggested that being a grand multip and waiting any longer might not be beneficial for her or the baby, even though it would have made for an incredible story. she smiled, waited through another contraction, and told me she knew what she was doing. she'd been through this before.
I didn't see her for 2 weeks until she came in to let me know she was sorry that she didn't finish the job club training. I laughed. "I'm sure you had more important things to tend to. And any way, when DID that baby come?"
"Right after class." she said.