In its literal translation, the Haitian proverb dye mon, gen mon is behind mountains, have mountains. A forlorn person might see it as, to overcome one challenge is to find another looming in its shadow. In April 2010, standing in a field-hospital mere miles from the U.S. Embassy, I felt the proverb’s depth of distress but was later rewarded with the temerity of its herculean hope: I can do this because I’ve been here before. I came to nursing years later, uncertain that I was actually smart enough or able to manage family and school. I'd gotten a call in the middle of the night from a friend that Baby Boy, an infant in an orphanage where she volunteered, wasn't breathing well and was running a fever. I hopped in my car and met this friend and the baby's caregiver at a field hospital run by an American movie star. The site was dimly lit by stars and a few lights connected to a generator, but I could see just enough to realize that here I was, replete with the figurative muscle of the American government, but the nurses bathing the infant and setting the tiniest IV I'd ever seen, were the true heroes and I wanted to change places! It has been 15 years since the Haiti earthquake and every day I hope that I can do for someone else what is needed in the moment, even if it appears beyond all hope. To say the least, I’ve been blessed with an abundance of courage but sometimes I lose hope to a running soundtrack that says that graduate school and trying to start a family all while approaching 47 is too much to bear. That the rigors of a terminal nursing degree are a young nurse's game. If I had stayed in development, I'd be on my way to a cushier retirement and have a salary that matches my academic background. Every gray hair taunts me, and my nightmare is that when I graduate at 50 someone will think that I'm the parent of a student, not the student. Luckily for me, if I've learned anything as a psychiatric mental health nurse, it's that positive self-talk and affirmations can move mountains. So whenever the anxiety-ridden soundtrack starts to play, I take a moment and say: "I see you and I know you're trying to keep me safe. And it might not look pretty but I got this!" As an advanced practice nurse, I want to continue to learn how to manage and lead others and myself when the going gets tough: a busy clinic schedule, a slate of high acuity patients, or service in a disaster! I want the academic preparation to develop interventions that will give my patients the tools they need to overcome their own obstacles and climb their own mountains. And then, I'll retire in peace, and hopefully, still be cute! Thank you for your consideration and my gratitude for your attention to the unique challenges that older than average age can present in advanced education.

I, Tamika, am a community health nurse. My heart flutters with joy when I sit for lunch with a patient at the soup kitchen or make a trip to the local day shelter to make sure Mr. Kwaku made his outpatient appointment. I am a doctoral student pursuing my studies as a psychiatric and mental health nurse practitioner, but I'd come to nursing with daydreams of one day working for Medecins san Frontieres or traveling with the USNS Comfort. I was a Foreign Service Officer with USAID at the time of the 2010 earthquake in Haiti. In the darkest of hours one February night, I received a panicked call from an orphanage director asking for help with one of her charges. I watched in awe while the pediatric clinicians cared for her infant in a makeshift hospital on a golf course and in that moment, I knew that I'd one day pursue a medical or nursing degree. I'd survived a post-disaster nightmare, so training in a hospital should be easy. Right? Five years later, my first clinical rotation would challenge my resolve and bring to bear doubts about my second-career decision. The cacophony of machines and alarms, and nurses and doctors running to and from with little time with their patients, felt unsettling to me. As a development worker, I held meetings with my ministerial peers in other countries, deftly navigating diplomacy and relationship-building. I learned Kreyol in mere weeks so that I could better communicate with children in camps for internally displaced persons. Connecting with people is what I do best but after my first clinical, I'd spend two years listening to professors lament that “good” nurses worked at the hospital to keep up their skills. For two years, I felt I had nothing to contribute to nursing. I didn’t belong. The nursing shortage, I believe, is a reflection of this outdated thinking, such that nursing is misaligned with ever-evolving healthcare trends which necessitate attention to community and population-level prevention efforts. We are also out of step with the realities of the modern student. They are tech savvy, worldly, socially conscious, and replete with dignified acronym lingo! They might also be raising children, caring for parents, working full-time, and like me, our halls of education do not readily make space for these students. I want to take future nursing students well past the status quo. There is a world outside of the hospital where nurses are in desperate need; where, when armed with solid data, they can change the trajectory of population and community health in ways that reduce inpatient admissions. As a nurse educator, I want to teach my students about successful health programs in other countries that could be or have been shown to be effective in the U.S. I want my students to be able to identify community needs based on available data and learn how to present this information to stakeholders, including the people we serve. I have had a wildly successful experience in nursing; I had to make my own way, but now I can show others the path!

I, Tamika, am a community health nurse. My heart flutters with joy when I sit for lunch with a patient at the soup kitchen or make a trip to the local day shelter to make sure Mr. Kwaku made his outpatient appointment. I'd come to nursing with daydreams of one day working for Medecins san Frontieres or traveling with the USNS Comfort. I was a Foreign Service Officer with USAID at the time of the 2010 earthquake in Haiti. In the darkest of hours one February night, I received a panicked call from an orphanage director asking for help with one of her charges. I watched in awe while the pediatric clinicians cared for her infant in a makeshift hospital on a golf course and in that moment, I knew that I'd one day pursue a medical or nursing degree. I'd survived a post-disaster nightmare, so training in a hospital should be easy. Right? Five years later, my first clinical rotation would challenge my resolve and bring to bear doubts about my second-career decision. The cacophony of machines and alarms, and nurses and doctors running to and from with little time with their patients, felt unsettling to me. As a development worker, I held meetings with my ministerial peers in other countries, deftly navigating diplomacy and relationship-building. I learned Kreyol in mere weeks so that I could better communicate with children in camps for internally displaced persons. Connecting with people is what I do best but after my first clinical, I'd spend two years listening to professors lament that “good” nurses worked at the hospital to keep up their skills. For two years, I felt I had nothing to contribute to nursing. I didn’t belong. The nursing shortage, I believe, is a reflection of this outdated thinking, such that nursing is misaligned with ever-evolving healthcare trends which necessitate attention to community and population-level prevention efforts. We are also out of step with the realities of the modern student. They are tech savvy, worldly, socially-conscious, and replete with dignified acronym lingo! They might also be raising children, caring for parents, working full-time, and like me, our halls of education do not readily make space for these students. I want to take future nursing students well past the status quo. There is a world outside of the hospital where nurses are in desperate need; where, when armed with solid data, they can change the trajectory of population and community health in ways that reduce inpatient admissions. As a nurse educator, I want to teach my students about successful health programs in other countries that could be or have been shown to be effective in the U.S. I want my students to be able to identify community needs based on available data and learn how to present this information to stakeholders, including the people we serve. I have had a wildly successful experience in nursing; I had to make my own way, but now I can show others the path!

I came to nursing with dreams of one day traveling with the USNS Comfort or on a humanitarian deployment. I was a Foreign Service Officer with USAID at the time of the 2010 earthquake in Haiti, and in the darkest of hours one February night, I received a panicked call from an orphanage director asking for help with one of her charges. I watched in awe while the pediatric clinicians cared for the infant in a makeshift hospital on a golf course and in that moment, I knew that I'd one day pursue a nursing degree. I came to rugby because of Instagram. A friend knew that I was having a hard time--I had just started school again, this time in my mid-forties and I was doubtful that I could make it through. This friend sent me a post from the Black Ferns of New Zealand performing a haka and it made my heart swell and I felt powerful and strong. I hoped to find that same energy nearby, so I started lifting heavier and building my strength and endurance. Well, I made it through two semesters and as I rounded the corner of the second, I found a crew that was willing to take an older player. I am easily 24 years older than my youngest teammate; I'm slower than all of the players; I'm the only player of color, I'm queer, and I'm a nerd. I can only make one practice a week because I have a house to take care of. Sometimes, I'm just middle-aged, nurse-worn, sleepy. But you know what? I continue to feel powerful and strong and I'm part of a community of other strong people. I don't feel my age (my body sometimes feels otherwise) when I'm with this team. I don't think about my credentials, my patient load, bills, or laundry. I sweat and smell bad and make mistakes and laugh at myself. And I get to see my younger teammates in all of their greatness on the pitch and feel like the world is in good hands off it as well! My rugby experience reminds of nursing. I think the students that come to the profession whittled by life experience make the best nurses. Our non-traditional students might be raising children, caring for parents, working full-time, or maybe they don’t look, speak, or seem to come from the “right” part of town. They got their GED at night, ten years after their age-mates; they have a mamaw and papaw and are the first to go to college; they want to make a difference in their communities and for their families but are tired from a day's work and haven't taken a biology class in 20 years! I was that non-traditional student that worked full-time, went to school full-time, and had clinical rotations every weekend for two years. My classmates were like family and saw me through mid-terms and finals and household ups and downs and helped me stay the course and cross the finish line. I've gone back to school and am much older and have more responsibilities than I did before. My classmates are scattered all over the country and I'll likely not meet most of them. And while I'm new to the sport and my wonderful team, not only do I feel stronger and faster, but I feel lighter than I did all of 2023. I have a group that I enjoy being around and maybe one day I'll see the Ferns in person!