I think I may not be smart enough.
I think I might not be young enough, or energetic enough, to keep up.
I think I might make a huge, irretrievable fool of myself.
I think I might just lie down and take a nap.
I think I will have to be tougher than I've been in a while.
I think my idealism could take a beating.
I think what I've learned up to now will do me no good at all.
Oh, my blessed, I am anxious. I am frightened. I am doubting myself and my good sense and my gut, which has so far never steered me wrong (when I've actually chosen to listen to it; the low point being a day that involved a big white dress and a minister that mispronounced my name): I mistrust myself.
My strengths lie in talking to people who are conscious. They're in the personal-relations side of nursing, the "caring" side.
I'm not going to be doing that much any more.
I am sore afraid. What if it's all a huge mistake? Can I go back to acute care without looking like an idiot? What if I decide this isn't right, eight weeks into the fourteen? What if they hate me? What if I can't get Swan-Ganz catheters right?
Four days until the day I start, and this is worse than beginning the first time, because I *know* what's at stake now.