Monday, August 10, 2015

The icy fingers of fog blossom into flowers of hope*

I sort of forgot I had this blog. Heh.

It's been a little over a year since I launched. My last year at my old job was particularly unpleasant, what with a unhappy manager, gutted department, persistent gossip, and the gnawing feeling of not doing enough in the world.

So now I make less than one-third of my old salary as a CNA in a nursing home. Even my worst days, of poop and death and yelling, are better than my old job.

I'm applying to PA school, and if I get in this year, it will be on the strength of my essay more than my grades or healthcare experience. I made this decision relatively late. Most PA students are young whippersnappers in their 20s. I'm guessing that more than half say, with all sincerity, that they want this path because they want to help people.

This path chose me.

There have been a few times in my life where I just knew. Sometimes that knowing was crisp and sudden, like the time I went to a caucus and just knew I wanted to be a delegate--and somehow made it to the national convention. But this PA thing took a while. The idea crept in ever so gently--through a crack in my mind* that wasn't there until the moment I watched George's heart stop, then start again.

You know how you feel like you're looking at the world, then it changes 1/360th of a degree? Like that.

This is why I am not the novelist I sort of wanted to be way back in the day.

*metaphors--I abuse them.

No comments:

Post a Comment