Way back in the day when I grew up I wanted to be a nurse. I don't think the calling was to 'save lives' or 'heal people', I think the calling was really about the money.
Of course, after being accepted to nursing school and in the process of quitting my full time job, hubby accidentally fell three stories from a building and I became a non-paid nurse maid for about a year. Since I instantly became the sole bread winner and we had a mortgage, a couple of car notes and two kids, quitting was just not an option. So I postponed it and eventually continued to postpone it until it was too late and too much of a distant dream.
I do believe that the Good Lord was sending me a clear message. I was not to become a nurse, it was not the job for me. How do I know that this was the message? I've learned it by several million different ways.
I cannot stand the site of blood, it makes me want to vomit and then pass out - ditto needles. I'm not very compassionate with the sick and the lame, I wish to tell them to 'buck it up and get over it.'
This has been quite evident in the past couple of weeks dealing with the FIL's knee replacement surgery, the impending surgery of the MIL's hernia and today's favorite of all, the 'caregiver' to my mother before, during and after her colonoscopy.
Besides the fact that I had to get up at 4:30 am to pick her up and have her at the surgery center at 6:00 am. And besides the fact that I was actually having to answer questions for her while she completed her paperwork, like why it was necessary to sign her name and then print her name and how exactly she was the 'self' in the relationship to the person signing the form. Actually, that one didn't turn out well, because I said "That would be YOURself" in response to this question and that is exactly what she wrote in the blank - 'yourself' - arghh... and having to explain why all these 'unnecessary' forms were not stupid but important.
There were those things and the part that I was being forced to force her to awake after the surgery and to remember to breathe or they weren't going to let her go home. That and the fact that she kept asking me the same questions over and over and over and I tried to be patient and answer them over and over and over again until I finally just ignored her and she'd fall back asleep. Then there was the pleasure of seeing her completely BUTT naked and having to put her panties on as well as her other clothes. There were ALL of those things that were irritating me and I wasn't very compassionate.
But there was always the worry. The worry that she was really incoherent and babbling nonsense, not just a she's on drugs nonsense, but almost a dementia nonsense that floored me. Then once I got her home and discovered that she had turned the air off because it was 'so cold' yesterday. It was 102 degrees yesterday... and a mere 80 degrees in her house this morning. Also the state of her disarrayed house which is totally out of character since she has always been OCD about a clean house, was disturbing and yet there were tons of dirty dishes stacked in the sink, the counter was filthy and looked like it hadn't been wiped in a long time. The dog food that was scattered all around the kitchen floor, a pair of shoes in every room, the only food in the house was about 20 cans of green beans in the pantry with nothing in the fridge or freezer. These curious things just went on and on. It screamed "SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT HERE!"
But there was also the fact that even after I finally got her home and in bed, that she couldn't stay awake. ALL. DAY. LONG. Even though I left her alone, which made me physically ill to do, and even though I called the little brother and made him swear to check on her in the afternoon and take her some lunch and even though I called and woke her up two times in 3 hours to 'check' on her, it worried me and made me uneasy and made me realize that I was never cut out to be a nurse. God works in mysterious ways but this mystery has definitely been solved...