the test.

My early morning drive to clinicals.

 It's 6:30 on a Wednesday morning and today is the day I have been dreading for months. Yes, months. Even before I started my first semester of nursing, I had heard stories about the test. The dreaded test. The test that would determine my entire future. If I didn't pass this test with a 90% or better, my standing in the nursing program was jeopardized. I would have to start all over. I would be forced to withdraw and reapply for next semester. I feel strangely calm as I had since the night before, but the room is a buzz with nervous tension. Thirty nursing students. One test. As the dosage and calculation tests are passed out, everyone scrambles to write the conversion table that they memorized to the smallest painstaking detail. I write my table out, and say a quiet prayer for the task ahead.

  As I turn my test over, I am suddenly filled with nerves. My stomach feels nauseous and my ears ring. I complete the first problem and move on to the next. I stare at it for what seems like forever, uncertain where to start or exactly what it is asking. I force myself to skip it and move on to the next problem, but I am having a difficult time concentrating. Panic sets in and I wonder if I should just give up. Then, from deep inside, that still small voice says, "You can do hard things."

   I complete the rest of the test and go back to the problem I skipped. I glance at the clock and can not believe that the forty five minute time limit is almost over. As other students start to hand in their papers, and the number of us left to complete the test dwindles, I start to worry all over again. Again, the reassurance appears when I need it most. "You can do all things through Christ that gives you strength."

   I check, and double check my problems until time is called. I hand in my test and walk outside. I feel like throwing up. The hall is alive with whispers of "what did you put for question five?" and "I think I did okay." I walk away from the crowd and sit on a bench by the front door. I feel like running away.

  I sit through an excruciating four more hours of clinical. I try to concentrate as I practice injections and checking blood glucose. Is this all for not? Will I get the necessary 90% I need to pass the test and stay in the program?

  Finally, the time comes to hand the tests back. My name is called and I am shown my test. 95% in red at the top of page. I passed. I still feel like throwing up. I am happy. I get to stay in the program. I can finish what I have started.

I can do hard things.