July 31st, today, is my last day as a nursing instructor at Essex County College. Although by contract I get paid until August 31st, today is the day. I had the miserable task of going in to clean out my office and complete all the "Okay you can leave tasks". Besides loading up all the books, papers, and wall decorations I had to make my way around the campus, like a scavenger hunt, and obtain signatures from various department heads. They'd only sign if I didn't have any outstanding books or equipment out, turned in my keys and ID's, and was all current with my time sheets and employment paperwork.

Offices are more than just a place to dump your stuff and have computer access, especially in the nursing department. They are more of a therapist's office then anything. Between those walls students entrust and share their innermost dramas and traumas of life in-between the thrills of victory and agony of defeat following exams or the hard conversations of dropping or potentially having to repeat a semester.
My office walls were filled with pictures of my students over the years, diplomas and stuff from when I attended there 30 years ago, and some inspirational sayings pinned around that old beat up striped bass mount that I found at Allaire Flea Market some 10 years ago.

As I packed up I have to say I was a little bummed. Was I doing the right thing? Was I leaving for the right reasons? Would I be doing more bad than good by leaving? Well, I can say this, during this semester there was a lot of college management "intervention" regarding exam content and difficulty, subsequent exam scores, and who passed the semester. Once you question or intervene you jeopardize the standards and integrity I'm out. So for that reason alone I'm good with leaving. Nursing schools today aren't those of old. I can remember, even as an adult working as an EMT and a Newark fireman during nursing school in the early 1990's, being petrified of my instructors and my readiness for the day and the quality of submitted work. Those days are long gone. Respect is out the window. Entitlement is the now what was once hard work and acceptance of one's performance. Not all, but some.

My fondest memories came from what we did in Room 204. It was there I held my first lectures, labs, and pre-clinical sessions. I'll always remember that red line down the center of the classroom. I used it demonstrate blood vessels, usually the big ones, when talking about intravascular and extravascular spaces, and how fluid moves in and around the body.

I'm leaving a very comfortable and familiar place for the unknown, well kind of. Capital Health sits in the heart of Trenton, another inner city with all of the challenges that inner city health care, and nursing programs, bring. The program is in the rebuilding phase so it's spread out between two buildings separated by five miles. There's also an additional hospital campus in my hometown.
But what I'll miss are the kids. The diversity was amazing. Not only in color but in culture and life experience. I tried to make that a point everyday, sometimes at the expense of an accent or different interpretation or understanding. I'll also miss the hangs, and there were many, either
after school or clinical we always found some time to break bread and share a drink. Some would say that's not appropriate. Well this nursing school, not high school. These are adult learners. Big boys and girls.
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Class of 2025 pinning |
My last group (below) was special. Either special in my heart or just special ed. That last semester had 78 students in the NRS 114 class, which is a doozy, and, a class that historically filters out either those just not ready at the moment and the fakers and the frauds. This crew was good. Unfortunately 18 of those 78 weren't moving forward, until they were, and are. You can read between the lines on that.
They, well the ones that didn't wish me for dead, were gracious enough to send me off with a surprise party. That was topped off with a present that came in a long narrow box, an Orvis Helios 9ft 10wt, which is my go to fly rod. Of course there were dishes from around the world and drinks, which I only realize now, may have contained fluid with an extra little something in them.

Before I left I took my shingle down and closed the door. During my scavenger hunt for signatures I bumped into one of my ex-students, and it was nice to see him, but sad for me in a way because I won't be able to witness the last leg of their journey up until pinning in May 2026. But I will be there for sure.

I left office number 1161 better then I found it four years ago. Hopefully it will serve the next Professor as well as it did me. There were times where I just went and shut the door and took a break. At my new gig there's no set office for me. I chose to not take their full-time offer as they work 0830 Monday to 1630 on Friday, a true Monday through Friday job. I've haven't worked Monday through Friday since I was an ironworker in the late 1980's. I'll be working almost full time hours but picking and poking through the holes to help out.
As I traveled east on 78 past the airport I thought to myself how the one thing I won't miss was the daily commute. Titusville to Essex County College was 71 miles and to Clara Maass Medical Center was 78. Now it's 6 miles to the Trenton campus and 2.2 miles to Hopewell.
That commute started between 4 and 5 am each day. I was always early and never lost at sea. In four years I was late one time. It was my first day. As soon as I got on the NJT at Exit 7a there was a double fatal accident and I was landlocked between exits. The only days I missed were the times I was admitted to the hospital following hypertensive events after getting the Covid boosters and flu shots, and Bobby's funeral last November.
As I drove I thought, "Wow, another chapter in the crazy-ass book of Colin Archer's Life". Then I soon met Phillip. But before all of that. During our week in Cape May we were getting the
beach stuff out of my truck which became the beach stuff staging area for our time at Congress Hall. My sister and Dad asked what was in the side compartments and I told them fire extinguishers, some hand tools, and some first aid jump bags. I always say I carry them to at least give someone a hand or a shot at life if shit goes down in front of me. I don't want to be that person, like I saw yesterday, who just drives by just after something happens, or brings out water bottles to pass around. I love when people offer up water to trauma patients. I'm just poking fun, but do they need water at that moment?

So I was driving south on the Turnpike a little after 130 when the front tire of the above truck blew out causing it, and Phillip, to overturn. It was a violent accident and I thought for sure there
would be some serious injuries and possibly heavy entrapment. After getting my kits from my truck and playing Frogger getting from the inner lane to the shoulder of the outer roadway Phillip had already self-extricated himself and there were people who had stopped to lend a hand. He was a mess, cut-up from the floor up and in need of some help to stop the bleeding.
He was just a nice guy. All he wanted to do was call his boss and tell him what happened. He was so conscientious about the responsibility he had to his employer. He wanted to call him before he called his wife in the Bronx. So he made us call his boss and asked me to snap a picture to send as proof. While we waited for the Trooper's and EMS we joked a bit to pass
the time. I told him he would be on the blog and he laughed. While the bleeding from various sites was slowed, my concern was his belly, which was tender and tight. Most likely something, the spleen or intestine, was lacerated and leaking. I'd bet he wound up in the OR for a look or a quick stitch inside.
After I reported off to the Troopers and EMS they stopped traffic so I could get back over to my truck. Just like any other kind of incident I reflected on how it could have gone better. Well, there was some critiquing to do. With two bags in front of me I couldn't find what I needed when I needed it. I couldn't quickly place my hands on a set of gloves, couldn't find the shears to cut off his shirt, and the Kerlex gauze dressing I need to pressure wrap to to stop the bleeding wasn't where I thought it was. So as I packed up there was stuff, dressings, tourniquets, Band-Aids, and a few boxes of Narcan laying on the ground. It all looked amateurish.
So when I got home I organized the bags. I came up with a Bag 1 and Bag 2 system. Bag 1 gets opened first, gloves, tourniquet, trauma dressings, baby delivering stuff, and Narcan, along with a BP cuff and stethoscope. Bag 2 is more first aidy along with extra supplies. Every now and then I should hold a drill and familiarize myself, and check the fire extinguishers as well. Yes there are two.
My world after the Ireland trip will really exist within the confines of Mercer County. Live, work, and fish all within a say 10 mile radius. That's not bad. Easy for time management, good for the mental health, and easier on the wallet in terms of gas and tolls.
But there's alway's the fall run. Titusville to Sandy Hook is 71 miles. But a few times traveling there in the fall won't be so bad.