I was in treatment again. Seven years down the drain. As I restarted the process of trying to restore my self to sanity, I continally mourned the loss of my clean time. I started attending groups and meetings again. But, in my heart of hearts I seriously doubted that I would ever see seven years clean time again. While I fought my way back, Nikki stayed by my side. She supported me and would visit me on weekends. I gradually began to be my old self again, and after I completed my 28-days of treatment Nikki brought me back home and I returned back to Day Hospital and Peter Harris. He helped me get plugged back in and had me laughing again.
Things between Nikki and I started to change though, we tried to make things work, but the arguments began to take off. We would be home alone, but not talking and avoiding each other a lot. No couple could survive this phase, we even took a shot at couple's counseling, but it wasn't working. We decided to break things off and gave the apartment up. I went to the local branch of Social Services to get housing help. They helped me secure a small studio apartment. I then applied for vocational services and support from an agency called VESID, who accepted my application for state aid. After consulting with my assigned vocational counselor who put me through a battery of aptitude tests, we discussed my entering the nursing program at Rockland Community College. I was going to take a shot at becoming a Registered Nurse.
I jumped into the program with both feet. I applied for additional financial aid, brought the required expensive ass books and supplies, got two white nurses uniforms with green trim and a pair of rubber-soled white shoes. I looked in the mirror before heading out to start the semester and smiled. I was looking good! I started attending classes and was surprized to run into Peter Harris who also was taking classes at the college, so we hung out alot in the gym, library and cafeteria. I initially did well with the workload, getting decent scores on exams. There was a rule in the nursing program you could only take a course twice. If you failed a course and retook it and failed again, you were out! No exceptions. This was because they wanted us to be the best of the best.
I excelled and began doing clinicals and practicals in the geriatric unit of The Pomona Health Hospital. I was walking around with my stethescope and taking blood pressure readings, and being shown how to treat giant decubitis ulcers, the scourge of the bedridden. I loved working with the old folks, geriatrics was going to be my field of endeavor. I loved them because they would tell me great life stories as I changed their bedding and wound dressings. I learned how to draw blood, viewed slides through microscopes, worked side by side with skilled nurses and physicians. It really grew on me. I found my niche. I kicked ass in every phase of my curriculum, until I ran into the bane of my existance, mathematics. I hated math!
Enter Pharmacology, with its micro-grams, drams and goddamn minums! I did well in this course in the beginning, but shockingly I couldn't navigate the intricasies of the measurement formulations. I was in a heap of trouble by mid-semester. Then the worst happend, I failed the course for the first time. During my second go-around, I winded up missing a key practical because someone stole my uniforms out of the dryer at the local laundromat and you had to be in full uniform for all practicals. Then, after grueling cramming sessions for the Pharmacolgy finals, I failed. Two failures and I was out!
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