Conflicted Artist and Confounded Scientist

**Just to preface, this was written almost around the beginning of August. I just didn't post it. My feelings have changed, but I figured I'd still post it anyways.**

I'm twelve days away from California and maybe 28ish days from clinicals in a still-to-be-determined hospital. And in three days, some of the people in HR will be holding a meeting for those of us interns who are interested in future employment here. The reality of leaving Mayo, starting my fifth and final year of undergrad studies, and then entering into the world on my own is setting in BIG!

I feel like a kindergartener who feels pressured to stop using training wheels...Except now I'm almost 23 and maybe I should to drag out a toolbox and sort through all the wrenches and sockets and such, and start planning how I will take my training wheels off by graduation in May of this coming year. I've already considered the pros and cons of choosing between Minnesota and California to start off my career, and I can honestly say that I think I would be entirely content, and more probable, happy, living either place, especially if I find a solid church out here.

Now that I've got that of my chest, my next question has to do with what I value in life and about my scope of practice in nursing. To choose one location over the other is to sacrifice proximity with my blood family and my church family versus working at an institution where nursing seems like it's been boiled down into a science instead of an art. Every nursing student learns early on in their education how Florence Nightingale viewed the nursing profession: it is both an art and a science. It is an art in that it requires skill and coordination, in addition to the ability to individualize or adapt care to each patient. It is a science in that it deals with human physiology and how to impact it with different medicines and therapeutic interventions. Basically, I feel really conflicted right now.  I'm an artist and a scientist and to deny one of those facets of me feels treasonous on a psychological level. I don't want to choose between having my cake and eating it. I'm praying for a fresh perspective in the upcoming weeks...My feelings will probably...undoubtedly change by the time I finish typing this post because that's just the transient nature of emotions. My rational side will kick in, I'm sure of it.

In the mean time, though, I've been talking with my big brother and my mom--two people who know my disdain for making big decisions. They listen attentively, reflect back to me what they hear, and then quiet down. Their rationale, ever unspoken, is completely evident to me and reminds me that I'm a conflicted mess of emotions. I'm excited, hesitant, scared, awkward, and who knows what else inside about this next phase. They know I must make this decision on my own. They deny themselves the personal satisfaction of telling me what's best because they know that telling me what to do doesn't ever work. Plus, it's to my advantage that they let me squirm in the discomfort because it's practice for other big decisions I'll need to make. I'm grateful for them and their wise silence (even though it makes me squirm).

Crossroads Townhouse

Welcome to Crossroads!

 

Crossroads College is a tiny Christian college that Mayo is subsidizing and renting to Summer III's coming from out of town. It's hedged in by trees on all sides and has a smallish pond where you can catch glimpses of turtles and frogs. There's also a llama farm next door, too. (That part gets smelly on the plentiful hot, humid days.)

From what I've heard about the previous accommodations for S3's, it is much nicer and safer. Numerous co-workers have remarked to me about the other place being a "dump" and a very unsafe place..."A girl shouldn't walk alone over there" in that upper NE area of Rochester. To a girl who grew up in the suburbs of San Francisco and goes to college in Los Angeles, it's laughable. I think about my memories of sirens and the blue and red flashing lights surrounding the drug house down the street from my childhood home. I think of going into the Tenderloin of S.F. and seeing filthy souls dying on the sidewalk, lying under newspapers and men with PTSD hopping out of bushes and yelling at passersby. Then I think of the horrendous stories of some of my closest friends who grew up in inner-city L.A. Gunshots, drug busts, prostitution, holding a dying friend who got shanked in a parking lot. Crime is relative...To a predominantly upper middle class population, a few potheads, thefts, and beatings must seem scary.

Wow! That took a depressing turn, but then again, that's reality. Now, back to Crossroads...Below are a few pictures of the townhouse. There were six girls living in the townhouse, each with our own room, which provided enough privacy to do our own thing and get sleep when we worked different shifts. It had a living room, kitchen, bathrooms, and washer/dryer. I'm kinda embarrassed to show you just how bare my room is! I figured I'd forgo the frills for practicality. I could only take two pieces of checked luggage so, after considering my options, I thought clothes were more essential. I didn't count on spending too much time in my room, anyways!

The side of my townhouse.

My one window

The desk and chair where all the typing happens.

Closet

The Zumbro River parallels a lot of the trail system that goes past Crossroads. I like to run there because it's very peaceful and away from cars.

Silver Wings

Corn: It's What Grows Here

Before getting out here, I didn't really think about what kind of land Minnesota had. Since getting out here, I've actually been shocked by the miles and miles of corn stretching on either side of the highways. It's been neat to see the shoots hardly higher than my ankles grow into stalks 6 feet tall since I got out here. Another surprise to me when I first got out here occurred while watching the evening news. Instead of Nasdaq and Dow stock updates, the newscaster told me that the price of a bushel of corn had dropped. I think I tipped my head to the side and had to think hard about why that should matter to me. Amused, I remembered, that I was in the middle of ag USA. Of course, it matters to farmers how much their corn is selling for!

By now you've picked up on my fascination with this farming region that lilts my beloved country music from nearly every radio. While at a motocross race this past weekend with my clinical coach's husband, I jumped on the opportunity to ask some questions about Minnesota farming. I figured the man was born and raised in here so he should be a reliable source. (For this post, I checked the facts online.)

The top four major cash crops are, in order: corn (~50%), soy beans (~30%), wheat (~7%), and sugar beets (~5%).

Before you go on assuming that the corn is the sweet kind that you and I pick up at the farmer's market or local grocery store, let me tell you the truth. These rows of corn that stretch in every direction is field corn. It is used in plastics and a bunch of other manufactured products.

Soy beans grow around the southern parts, too. Then there's wheat and alfalfa. Potatoes grow in the sandier northern Minnesota soil. And sugar beats, used to make sugar, grow in the western parts.

Midwesterners are dutiful patriots compared to West Coasters. You won't struggle to find an American flag!