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Turns out, I can’t stomach blood.

Days of practice inserting an IV was a piece of cake when I was using a kit or inserting a needle into an orange. Today was the first day to practice on a person. I inserted that needle into my classmate’s arm but missed the mark, so I withdrew the needle. A drop—a single freaking drop—of blood leaked from the minuscule hole I’d put in her skin, and I lost it. Vomit city.

If I can’t handle a drop of blood, there is no way I’m going to be able to handle a victim with a gushing head injury or a gaping wound. I can guarantee an EMT sees all sorts of blood on a regular basis. There’s no way. This isn’t something I can get over. The reaction was visceral. I hate blood. I’ve always hated it. What made me think this was the correct career path?

The bathroom door swings open, and my instructor’s face of pity finds me through the mirror.

I turn around to meet her gaze.

“You okay?” Ms. Stephens asks.

I shake my head with a frown. “No. I can’t do this.”

“Many people have aversions to blood at first. It’s something you can work through.” She smiles, and her face radiates hope as if she actually believes I’m capable. It’s kind of her.

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah…no. I can’t. I hate everything about this. I hate blood and sick people. I hate needles and other people’s bodily fluids. I hate sweating, and I imagine carrying people around on those yellow stretcher boards will make me sweat. There’s no way. Do you think it’s too late to get my money back for this course?”

She blinks hard and opens her mouth to speak before closing it again. After a few awkward seconds, she smiles weakly and backs out of the bathroom.

“Well, I tried.” I raise my shoulders.

It’s all anyone can do. My intentions were good, but my decision-making was not so much.

* * *

After my personalrevelation in the bathroom of the community college—I walked out, grabbed my backpack, and left without so much as a word to anyone. One thing I’m good at is making up my mind. When I decide something, that’s it. There’s no beating around the bush with me.

I wonder if there’s a job where I can make definite decisions based on my self-interests? I’d be good at that.

The drive to Julie’s parents’ house is quick. I didn’t even attempt to muddle through any life path decisions. I simply blared my music and forgot that I ever attempted to be an EMT.

Jules lives a few blocks away from me. While Cam was always my best friend, Jules was a close second. She, Cam, and I were inseparable back in the day. Besides Cam, she’s really the only person from high school I’m still in contact with.

I need someone to talk to besides my mom, and Jules is the sum of my friendships here. As a twenty-three-year-old who is also still living with her parents and pregnant with her third child by three different men, she’s not usually stellar in the advice department. But who knows? Maybe she has a helpful opinion. It could happen.

Julie’s mom opens the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Higgins. Is Jules home?”

She looks less than pleased to see me, but she opens the front door and invites me in, anyway. “Yeah, she’s in the basement.”

“Thanks.”

I walk through the Higgins’ home, and it’s as immaculate as ever. The moment I open the basement door, I’m hit with a very different vibe.

Julie screeches, “I told you not to hit your sister!”

Two deafening cries sound from below, and I make a mental note that childcare, or anything dealing with children, is absolutely off the table when it comes to career choices. Already learning something, maybe this visit wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Hey,” I call out when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

The basement where Jules and I used to get high and watch DVDs of oldScooby-Doocartoons because that show was both hilarious and terrifying while stoned is completely different.

The fancy leather furniture is the same, only it’s covered in toys, clothes, and used dishes. The plush white carpet is littered with the same. I step over an amoeba-shaped stain that could be grape jelly or shit. God only knows.

“What are you doing here?” asks Jules. Her normally petite frame has been replaced by a gigantic belly and swollen everything.

“I came to visit,” I say as if it’s a normal occurrence. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

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