Personal Statement: A Career As A Career

What do you want to be when you grow up? This question is posed in every part of our childhood and adolescent life. This question is asked by teachers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and our parents alike. Everyone wants to know what you want to be. Is it a ballerina? A police officer? A doctor? A lawyer? A city office worker? As the question is asked by different people so are the choices of career we choose along the way. I had my mind made up when I was in primary school and despite the ups and downs known as life, I continue to work towards that goal.

The question was asked by my teacher for a career day assignment. When I was in school these were a big deal because your mom or dad got to come in and speak about their jobs. Before

all the parents came and spoke with us we had to draw a picture and write a couple of sentences about what we wanted to be when we grew up. My parents were both in the United States Navy so I had been to drill weekends and saw some of what they had done none of that interests me. My father was in school and so was I, so being a career student at the time did not sound as fun. What did interest me was what my mother did and she was a nurse at a hospital.
She would come home in the morning after Dad had woken us up and drink her instant coffee with a lot of creamer. Her eyes were as dark as the coffee some mornings but she always told us how her night went. She would drink her coffee and I would eat my cereal and drink a big glass of milk and hold onto every word she said. I would close my eyes and picture the sirens and lights, hear the voices as they yelled out codes and instructions. I always wanted to hear more but it was always time it seemed as she got to a really good part that the bus would pull up and honk the horn. Off to school we went and I would wait for the next morning to hear another adventure about the hospital.
As I sat at my wobbly table with a fat Ticonderoga pencil and a full box of well used Crayola Crayons I filled out that paper and drew what I thought was a nurse. As I drew the picture I tried to add as many of the things that I could remember about what my mom would tell me. Looking back on it now that picture of the nurse probably looked like a doctor on a spaceship. I then scribbled out in my best handwriting what my picture was and what a nurse did according to me at primary school age. My teacher came around to all my classmates and cheered us for our efforts and encouraged us to be that career.
When I got to high school a guidance counselor had asked me what do you want to be when you grow up?

What career field interests you? I thought back to those crayons and instantly came up with nurse again. So from that point I was tracked in high school to go into the medical field. I got to study biology, chemistry, pharmacology and other classes with -gy and -ly on the end of them. I went to vocational school and got hands on experience and took college courses I loved every second of it. I got to dissect pigs and frogs and compare the body systems to humans. I had to practice taking blood and finding the veins in volunteers arms. I am still very good at this aspect of nursing and would make a fine Phlebotomist. Fast forward four years and I hear my name called at the Nutter Center for graduation. The voice said “Heather Wickman Allied Health” I knew at this point I was going to be a

nurse.
In high school I had learned that all nurses and careers were not the same.

Some liked working in the ER others in pediatrics. I had to start somewhere and for me that start was a group home and home health care for developmentally disabled adult women. Now I had stories of my own that may top some of my mom’s from the breakfast table. I really enjoyed helping those women with simple day to day life things as well as during the difficult and stressful times. That is where I learned that patience that my mother must have had when working those “crazy nights” as she would call them. After about a year of working in a career that I had come to love, I shifted gears and careers and moved to Italy.

When I got to Italy I did not do much with nursing. I had become a nanny for an American family and my nursing skills were only needed when one of the children managed to fall and scrape a knee or get a stomachache. I traveled throughout Italy from Venice to Rome and everywhere inbetween. Despite being worldly I knew I had to get back to being what I have always wanted to be a nurse. I moved back stateside and needed to save some money for college. So that I could earn my bachelors in nursing and finally live out that crayon

dream.
I began working at a couple of restaurants and was making great money but then life happened and threw me a couple of curveballs. I have since been in the restaurant industry. My nursing skills do get some light work as I help cooks who cut their hands or bandage co-workers who need them. At the breakfast table my mom always talked about helping people and well I got that opportunity and am glad for all the training and continued training I have received up until this point.
A man was enjoying some chicken wings with his wife and all of a sudden I hear “He is choking someone help him!”. I threw down whatever tray I had in my hand and went immediately to work on him. When I got to the table with the slumped over man who was turning blue I yelled “someone call 911” everyone was in shock still in the restaurant. I yelled again “SOMEONE DIAL 911!” He was much larger than I and so I moved him to the floor and began the Heimlich Maneuver on him. Another co-worker began back blows as I instructed her to do so. As the EMTs showed up we had got the man breathing again. He had a chicken bone caught in his throat and went by squad to get checked out. Customers and co-workers were amazed at how I handled myself and I finally had another “crazy night” story for people.
Despite being in the restaurant industry currently. My crayon dream is still alive. My dream job or what do you want to be? Has not changed since primary school, I want to be a nurse. Now my fat Ticonderoga pencil would write different sentences and the Crayola Crayons would color a different picture as I know more of what I want to do. In a year and half come have a big bowl of cereal with a glass of milk or some coffee and I will tell you my stories of the “crazy nights” or “crazy days” just like my mom did.