If you are going to barf please dont barf on me

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a nurse. I wanted to help people, save lives, make a difference in a hospital or maybe even be a veterinarian. Flashback. High school math class. I was never good at math. Actually, I hate math and always have. I struggled through all of my math classes and could not wait to leave and finish all of my requirements for mathematics required for whatever major I chose. Hence, why English was so wonderful, it didn't have an equation. Math made me feel like failure and science wasn't that interesting enough for passion either. I would cost on through with the pass grades, but then realized I would never get to med school with a C- in Pre-Calculus. I thought hospitals were glamorous. You had the babies, the doctors, the final destination, did they make it, will they live, does this work, game over, but is it really, the so much caffeine I've been working 72 hours look with an I must have no life, will they forgive me if I screw this up, I mean all of it. What I didn't know, is that in reality, I actually am scared of hospitals. Big time. My heart races and I wash my hands a million times, worried that I won't be able to relax until I'm in fresh air outdoors again. I'm not claustrophobic at all, but I do not like crowds, and I despise the smell that place brings. It's not bright, and shiny, it's old, disease infested, dreary, placating happiness, foul smelling, lost in buildings, full of gloves, too many rooms, lots of staff, buttons everywhere, food like paste, gift shops for those who didn't have time for a gift beforehand, sick, dying, lonely, scared people. I only know, because my grandma and grandpa at separate times have been in them. I'm not saying this to plead a case. I'm admitting, I might not actually be able to be a nurse. Even if I forced myself to get tutored or maybe go back for more schooling, I don't think I would be able to handle the stress or possess that kind of strength to keep going when you feel like all is lost and no one is listening anymore or they are blaming you because they can't see their loved one, or that they have to put protective gear on to go into their room, or convince their person that they can't steal jello from somewhere, I don't know you name it. Imagine, these workers deal with helping elderly to toilets, draw blood for blood tests, give birth to newborns, go into surgery for hours upon hours, not sure of results, or outcomes, wipe away the tears, and clean up the mess if someone barfs or pukes. They are the coach who helped one of my friends after she had heart surgery start to walk again and take steps, get herself back and smile. Gosh, if it were me, if you are going to barf, don't barf on me, unless I know you okay, then I'll help. I do know, that my personality exuberates or tries to exuberate, care and love in every way possible. But maybe it doesn't mean I have to put on the scrubs, or the telescope to do it. I worked as an assistant to veterinarian doctors by the way. They were rough old men, and the staff was surprisingly, we were all young women. Kind of creepy, I know. The job wasn't a trip either. I came home smelling of wet dog or cat, poo, or even vomit from the day. I loved seeing the animals; didn't like getting bit by a few or scratched. after that experience, I realized I couldn't be a vet either. I will spare the details, but say this, unless you have to put someone down and it doesn't matter if it's a person or animal (which they are considered people nowadays) then it's a whole different ball game. It changes you in ways you cannot possibly reverse or forget. The first time I put one away, I learned what the term 'bag and tag em' really meant. It meant goodbye and it meant you needed to sit with that person as they hugged you and they didn't even know you. It meant, you needed to give them space when they threw things at you, and cursed the world, the doctors, and anyone who would listen, that their sweet, special person wasn't coming home. That job was rewarding, horrifying, ruthless, joy, anger, sorrow, and close all in one. I am so glad I got to see a glimpse into what may or may not even be as near as a hospital and its team really is, but my eyes were opened. I'm not a doctor, or a pet doctor, or a nurse, or a surgeon, I'm Margo, and my goal is to help in ways I can, from my voice, to my words on the page, to my friendship, to my serving, to my love, to my passions, because those I can really stick to without doubt.