In high school I enjoyed words and writing, and had some interest in politics. My best grades were in English. I worked on the school newspaper, and considered going to journalism school or studying political science, but I was afraid. Back then I had very little courage to do anything but take safe and well-traveled roads. I had two younger sisters who would be in college right behind me, so I decided to go to nursing school. It was a guaranteed job; there were nurses in my extended family and neighborhood who encouraged me; and it seemed like a good and honorable choice for a woman who desired marriage and a family one day, which I did. I had enjoyed reading the Cherry Ames series of books as a young girl (she was similar to Nancy Drew, except that she was a nurse). I had no strong fear of blood or gore, so it seemed like a good idea… at the time.

Once I got to college I realized I hated my choice. Despite having been an honor student in high school, I was never strong in math or hard sciences, and I flunked first semester chemistry right out of the gate. I barely passed it on the second attempt. I also barely passed algebra and statistics. I did better in anatomy and physiology, but I was already so rattled by the chemistry experience that I wondered if I had made a huge mistake. I thought things would get better once we got into actual nursing school, and started working in the clinical area. But they didn’t. Looking back it seems outrageous, really, that no adult in my life saw this train wreck coming and gave me some good advice. I can’t remember ever meeting a guidance counselor, not one time. What a shame, because if I were the guidance counselor for the teenaged me I would say, “Honey, I really think nursing is not good plan for you at all. Let’s look at what you do best, and like most, and work from there.”

While in college I had a dorm director who was a law student, and she seemed to be having a ball. I was jealous. I pondered how I could probably be a terrific lawyer. But law school was out of the question — too expensive. I had to finish college on time and get a job, pronto, so my father would not have two daughters in college at the same time.

When I finally graduated, I discovered the nightmare had only just begun. I hated — HATED — almost every minute that I spent working in a hospital. The doctors were arrogant and condescending, and the nurses were mostly passive-aggressive bitches. There was also a lot of race-based resentment of white professional staff from black support staff, so that added a great deal of additional tension to a place that was already filled with it, what with dangerously sick and occasionally dying people all over the place.

When I had a chance to do something else, I jumped at it, even though it was something I never in a million years would have seen myself doing. After four years as a nurse, I became a police officer.

It’s too late to say “to make a long story short…” but I’ll wind things up by saying that I mostly loved being a cop. I was sorry to turn in my badge after over twenty years of stress, a chronic illness, and an unfortunate career-ending smackdown from the administration. The biggest problem with being a retired cop is that it’s hard to do anything else; no one wants a retired cop for much of anything. Most cops retire from one place and then go to work as a cop for another place.

So here I am, all these years later, back to words and writing. I never got married or had any kids (another long story), so this is about all I have left. I’m giving it a try.