Greetings, my new UK and US readers! I guess introductions are in order, and then I will quickly (or not so quickly, depending on how things turn out) try to explain what gave me the idea to start this blog. My name is Pete Smith, born and bred in jolly old Putney, London. Up until my 28th birthday, I firmly believed I would spend my life in London, with the occasional excursion abroad. Unlike many people, I love London and Putney overall. But then, life happened – and it was about to take me to a place I never expected to call home for almost ten years.
How It All Started
I graduated summa cum laude from King’s College with a Bachelor of Science in Nursing and specialised further in kinesiotherapy. My first job was at the physiotherapy clinics at Charing Cross Hospital, where I mainly worked with older patients recovering from severe cardiac problems. It was an incredibly rewarding experience, helping people in the same age group as my parents literally get back on their feet and rediscover the joy of life. It also kept me grounded and gave me a totally different perspective on life that very few of my friends had. It would have been preposterous to feel down and whiny when every day I meet people who had had near-death experiences and had to grapple their way back to normalcy.
However, the most important thing that happened to me while I worked at CCH was meeting someone who would turn my world upside down. Charissa was two years older, a travelling nurse from Sacramento, California. A fierce, independent workaholic with inexhaustible energy, Charissa was the most amazing nurse I had met so far in my life. When it came to motivating the patients, she was like a bulldog who would not let them despair or procrastinate. She knew when to push and when to ease up, how to talk to patients of different ages, cultures, and ethnic backgrounds, and how to deal with their overprotective or demanding relatives. She swept me off my feet, and I fell head over heels in love with her a few weeks after we started working together.
As I mentioned, Charissa was the consummate professional and workaholic, and her job was above all else. But when I started taking extra shifts just so we could spend more time together, she finally realised there wasn’t an ounce of quitting in me and agreed to have a cuppa outside the ward.
Our romance hit off instantly because we shared a similar life perspective, goals, and almost identical value systems. There was, however, one glaring difference – Charissa had absolutely no intention to settle in London. “Don’t get me wrong, I can tolerate the place”, she once said during our shared lunch break. “But the weather is miserable, the traffic is even worse, and I miss home. It was a place I’ve always wanted to visit and take a stab at the NHS to see if I can work in such a system. But I’ll head home sooner than later.”
By this time, I knew her well enough to understand that there was no changing her mind. The only alternative was to change mine—about never leaving London. I started looking for options in California, not sure whether I would find the guts to pull it off if push came to shove. Then, serendipity intervened.
How Did I End Up Nursing In Sacramento
During a chaotic, aimless browsing for job openings in the Golden State, I stumbled upon a postgrad scholarship for international students and registered nurses at the US Davis Medical Center, Sacramento. My antennas peaked, and I feverishly started reading through the requirements. Bachelor in Nursing or 18 months of experience as a registered nurse—check; a certificate for proficiency in English or being a native English speaker—check; cover letter and letters of recommendation from your medical university or previous places of employment—easy to obtain.
When I told Charissa the news, her eyes got as big as saucers. “Oh my God, you really plan to do this, don’t you?!” I am not going to lie, the undertones of unrestrained joy and surprise were music to my ears. A week later, I applied for the scholarship, and a month or so afterwards, I got approved. Long story short, the scholarship was a breeze. I think it was intended for a bit younger guys and girls than myself, but surprisingly few people had applied. Ten days into my work at UC Davis, the staff treated me as one of their own, mostly because Charissa’s mom was the head nurse, and she had the place running like a drill sergeant.
Even before the end of the scholarship term, I knew I would be offered a permanent position as a senior physiotherapy assistant at the Rehabilitation Center. Ironically, the decision was not mine to make—sort of. It depended on the answer to a question I asked on a bended knee, and when Carissa said yes, I knew Sacramento would be my new home for a while.