For as long back as I can remember, I wanted to be a nurse, but I have no idea why.
Perhaps it’s because my grandmother was a nurse, her best friend was a nurse, and her son, my favourite uncle, was also a nurse. All I wanted was to be a nurse too.
Perhaps I wanted to be part of the ‘family trade’. I really have no idea, however, all the subjects I chose to study in high school were geared towards being accepted into nursing.
Sadly, or not, I failed chemistry – most spectacularly – and even though chemistry wasn’t a required subject all those years ago, because I took it and failed it, I was not accepted.
(Go figure! I do take pride in having passed biology with high flying colours despite missing four months of my last year of school (Grade 12) due to illness.)
Now, there was a short period of time when not being accepted into nursing made me sad. Ok, I was cut up over it for quite some time, but . . . knowing how squeamish I am these days when it comes to blood – and all manner of other things I can’t even put into words – perhaps nursing was not the right career for me after all.
There’s no love lost and, although I never worked in the same job for any great period of time, I’ve had a colourful, varied working life that’s put food on the table, paid for a roof over our head (more than once), and provided enough money to raise three children.
I couldn’t have asked for more than that.
–⋅ o ♥ o ⋅–
Anyway, while I’m talking about having a job and earning money to pay for ‘things’, when I went back to work after having our babies, we were able to afford our first family holiday and drove 3,000 kilometres (1,864+ mi) to play in the snowfields of Victoria.
Read more about Bloganuary here.