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I've been spit at. I've been kicked in the groin. I've been called many bad names. I've seen a 19 week old fetus, small enough to fit in a vomit cup, twitch and die. I've seen a lady fall over in a seizure and violently bang her head against a wall. I've had to call security to help me hold someone down while I drew their blood. I've held an old woman's hand because she was alone and afraid. I've listened to schitzophrenic ramblings. I've listened to drug addicts and drunkards relate events that made them turn to alcohol or pills or needles. I've had to help a homeless man take off his shoes and socks for the first time in after 6 months. I've wiped asses and changed diapers.
You know, I've committed myself to take the MCAT in a couple weeks and again in the fall, but I'm really not so sure anymore it's a path for me. I've looked into the mouth of madness. Should I venture all the way in? Disney will cleanse my palate, we'll see where I stand in January. I thought I was made of sterner stuff, but maybe I was wrong. Uncertain, the future is.