10.14.24

Every shift in the ICU starts with a deep breath—because no two days are ever the same. Working in a high-acuity, low-income hospital serving a largely minority population means I’m not just a nurse—I’m an advocate, a translator, a hand-holder, and often the one voice of calm in chaos.

My day begins with report. I take over care for patients who are often sedated, intubated, or critically unstable. I review labs, imaging, and notes, but I always go to the bedside to lay eyes on each person myself. That moment of human connection—touching a hand, brushing hair off a forehead—is grounding.

In between titrating drips, managing ventilators, and coordinating care with physicians, I’m also educating families. Many of them are scared, overwhelmed, or unfamiliar with the medical system. I make it a point to explain everything in simple language and never rush them. It’s one of the most important parts of what I do.

Working in a resource-limited hospital also requires creativity. I’ve learned how to MacGyver just about anything, to advocate fiercely for my patients, and to rely on my team like family.

I leave every shift physically tired but mentally full—because even in heartbreak, there’s purpose. And that’s why I keep showing up.

01.01.25

Mentoring wasn’t something I set out to do—it just naturally became part of who I am as a nurse.

Over the past six years working in fast-paced ICU and ER settings, especially in a high-acuity, low-income hospital, I’ve been the go-to person for students, new grads, and fresh hires. Whether I was training a first-year nurse or guiding a college student through their first shadow experience, I realized quickly that mentorship is about more than just teaching—it’s about building confidence, trust, and a sense of belonging.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that mentorship starts with listening. New nurses and students don’t just need instructions—they need encouragement, validation, and a safe space to ask, “Am I doing this right?” I remind them often: you’re not supposed to know everything on day one. What matters most is that you care enough to ask questions and grow.

I’ve seen how mentorship can change lives—especially for those who didn’t think they belonged in medicine. As a nurse who works in a largely minority and underserved community, I’ve mentored students who told me they had never seen someone who looked like them in leadership before. I don’t take that lightly. Representation is powerful, and being part of someone’s journey into healthcare is one of the greatest privileges I’ve had.

Mentorship has also made me a better nurse. It pushes me to stay sharp, be patient, and lead with grace. It reminds me why I chose this profession in the first place—and why I’m so passionate about becoming a CRNA. I want to keep mentoring throughout my career, lifting others as I climb, and helping build a more inclusive and empowered healthcare workforce.

04.14.25

Becoming a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist (CRNA) isn’t just a career goal for me—it’s the next step in a life of service.

After six years in critical care, including time spent in underserved communities and on the road as a travel nurse, I’ve seen the gaps in our healthcare system. I’ve seen how pain is under-treated in minority patients. I’ve seen fear in patients who don’t understand what anesthesia even means. And I want to be the provider who meets them with empathy, clarity, and skill.

With an MBA in business, I also understand the systems behind the scenes. I want to bring that knowledge into healthcare leadership—to advocate for equitable access, improve care delivery, and support policy change.

As a CRNA, I hope to be more than just a provider in the OR. I want to be a mentor, an educator, and a voice for patients who are too often unheard. I want to continue working in under-resourced communities and help build a pipeline for future CRNAs from diverse backgrounds.

To me, anesthesia is more than sedation. It’s protection. It’s peace. And I want to bring both—every day, for every patient, no matter where they come from.

6.21.25

It was in the heart of a rural hospital in Uganda that I first heard it. Not with my ears, but deep in my spirit. God’s whisper.

The room was bare, the surgical tools limited, and the atmosphere heavy with both urgency and scarcity. I stood at the edge of the operating table as a patient underwent a bowel resection. What struck me was not just the surgery itself, but the ache of what was missing. The patient lay there with inadequate anesthesia, without the skilled presence of a dedicated anesthesia provider. Pain lingered where relief should have been.

In that moment of tension and helplessness, God spoke to me with a clarity I cannot forget:
“You will come back here as a CRNA.”

It wasn’t a loud command. It wasn’t a dramatic vision. It was a whisper—steady, piercing, undeniable. A seed planted in my heart.

I realized then that anesthesia is not only a science, but a ministry of mercy. It is the quiet gift of guarding life, of easing suffering when the body is at its most vulnerable. And in that Ugandan operating room, I knew God was marking my path.

Since that day, every textbook, every exam, every late night of study has felt bigger than me. They are steps toward a promise. Steps back to that place where I first heard His voice.

Becoming a CRNA is not just about fulfilling a career goal. It is about obedience. It is about answering the whisper that called me in the most unlikely of places.

And one day, I will return. Not just to see the same hospital, but to bring with me the skill, the compassion, and the calling God planted in me there.

“You will come back here as a CRNA.”
And I believe Him.

9.1.25

I still remember my first few months in the ICU. Everything felt new and overwhelming. The alarms, the constant rhythm of urgency, and the weight of responsibility filled every shift. One night, I was hanging a new bag of propofol for a patient who had just been intubated. My hands trembled as I checked the order again and again, terrified of making a mistake. My preceptor stood beside me and said softly, “You’ll get it. Every nurse does.”

That simple reassurance stayed with me. It was the first time I truly understood that nursing is not about knowing everything. It is about being willing to learn, every single day.

Learning at the Bedside

The ICU became my greatest teacher. Each patient, each code, and each quiet moment between assessments offered lessons I could never find in a textbook. I learned how fragile and resilient the human body can be. I learned how to stay calm when everything around me was chaos. And I learned that sometimes, the most powerful thing I could do for a patient was simply to be present.

When the unit was quiet late at night, I would pull out my notes or look up medications I did not fully understand. No one asked me to. I did it because I wanted to. I started noticing a pattern among the nurses I admired most. They were always learning. They asked questions. They stayed curious. They were humble enough to admit that there was always more to know.

That realization sparked something in me. It was then that I began thinking seriously about becoming a CRNA.

Stepping Into the Unknown

Deciding to apply to anesthesia school was one of the hardest choices I have ever made. I knew it would push me to my limits. It would challenge not only what I knew, but who I was. There were nights when I questioned if I was smart enough or strong enough to take that next step.

But every time the doubt crept in, I reminded myself why I wanted this. I thought about the patients whose lives depended on skilled, calm hands. I thought about the trust that is placed in those who care for patients while they sleep, completely vulnerable. And I thought about the incredible feeling of watching someone wake up safely after surgery, knowing that my learning and preparation helped make that possible.

What Lifelong Learning Really Means

Over time, I have come to understand that lifelong learning is more than just earning degrees or certifications. It is a mindset. It means asking questions, staying curious, and being humble enough to admit that you do not have all the answers. It means reading the latest research, seeking mentorship, and constantly reflecting on your practice.

But it also means growing as a person. Learning how to listen better. Learning to forgive yourself when you fall short. Learning that caring for others starts with caring for yourself.

As nurses, and especially as future CRNAs, we are entrusted with people’s lives. That trust demands a commitment to continuous growth and self-improvement.

The Journey Continues

When I finally walk across the stage as a CRNA, it will not be the end of my learning. It will simply be another beginning. Medicine is always evolving. New drugs are developed. New techniques are discovered. New challenges arise.

I want to keep learning, not because I have to, but because I love what it represents. Every bit of knowledge I gain becomes another way to keep my patients safe and provide the best care possible.

Looking back, I started this journey nervous and uncertain. Now I understand that being a lifelong learner is at the heart of nursing. It transforms fear into confidence, uncertainty into curiosity, and experience into wisdom.

That is the kind of nurse and future CRNA I want to be—one who never stops learning, growing, and striving to do better for every patient I meet.