The hanging occurred on a Friday afternoon, so my family saw no reason to disturb my catatonic state for the weekend. I don’t think I was capable of doing much more than sitting in the same chair I had dropped into after returning from my latest life-shattering event. By Sunday night the saying “success is the sweetest revenge” came into my head, and I decided that I would go back to school the next day and take care of business. That included dropping the rest of my nursing classes, and finishing up my transferable statistics and nutrition classes so that I could graduate with a general studies associates degree and transfer to a university where I could get a bachelor’s degree in nursing instead of just an associates degree – so there!
This was another time I would realize that stress would cause me to have to increase my prednisone dose; something I found dreadful to have to do since it would set my withdrawal back, but I had to be able to get out of the chair (or bed) somehow.
I also decided to try to get back to work at the hospital, but working as an EMT in the emergency room with the likelihood of working with evil Kittie again was out of the question. I talked to the ER director and she agreed to transfer me to the surgical unit where I would work as an orderly. It wasn’t nearly as fun as being an EMT, but at least I was far away from Kittie.
It was funny how I wanted to be a nurse; how I really wanted to be one of them, even though I really didn’t like the way most of them behaved. One day a nurse who knew I was well qualified to monitor patients and take vital signs decided I would be better suited cutting breathing hoses with scissors. My damaged hands (from too many years as a typist) became more damaged and painful and I saw my doctor. She prescribed hand therapy where the therapist said that therapy wouldn’t do any good for my advanced damage, and I was referred to a “top-notch” hand surgeon who visited my area once a month. He said the bones at the bases of my thumbs (called trapeziums) were arthritic and should be removed with some kind of tendon transposition. Recovery would be three months.
About the same time a pre-surgical nurse accused me of deliberately withholding an oxygen tank from a child’s recovery bed. Now why in blazes would I (or anyone for that matter!) deliberately withhold oxygen from someone’s bed, let alone a child’s? I guess I had “failed nursing student turned serial killer” written on my head. Now on a higher dose of prednisone, it was more difficult for me to control my temper, especially with this ridiculous accusation and responded with anger rather than an explanation. When I was called into the supervisor’s desk (what a surprise) I explained the truth – that somehow the gurneys got mixed up and I had nothing to do with the stupid nurse using a gurney that didn’t have an oxygen tank on it and I realized I hadn’t handled the situation professionally but, oh well, and by the way I needed three months off to have left hand surgery. I think she was glad to get rid of me, and she readily granted me leave.
I was able to finish my community college studies and graduate with a general associate’s degree which was fully transferable to the local university. I wasn’t sure about my rehabilitation after my hand surgery even though my hand surgeon said I would be able to type cautiously, and since I would have to have my right hand done three months later, I enrolled in an online program in health sciences at Northern Arizona University to start in June. But first I had to have a left thumb ligament reconstruction tendon interposition surgery.