Today was one of those days that stays with you, and the kind that shifts something inside you, both as a future nurse and as a human being. We started the morning with a walk to the South Campus for our lecture on female genital mutilation (FGM) with Chinenye, and I honestly didn’t expect it to impact me the way it did. I knew FGM existed, but I didn’t understand the depth of the issue, the different types, or the lifelong consequences many girls face.
Chinenye told us this has happened to over 230 million girls globally, which absolutely shocked me because I didn’t know that many women were affected, and walked us through the four types of FGM, from partial removal of the clitoris to the most severe form, infibulation, where the vaginal opening is narrowed by sealing it. Hearing the ages at which girls undergo this, sometimes as young as infancy to 15, made my stomach drop. These are children who should be playing, learning, and growing, not experiencing trauma that will follow them into adulthood.
What struck me most was learning how FGM affects every part of a girl’s life: chronic pain, infections, complications during childbirth, PTSD, sexual dysfunction, and the emotional burden of having something done to them without consent. As a future nurse, especially one who wants to work in pediatrics, this lecture grounded me in the reality that I may one day care for a patient who has experienced FGM. Chinenye emphasized the importance of trauma‑informed care, approaching these patients with sensitivity, privacy, and zero judgment. My role isn’t to interrogate or shame; it’s to support, advocate, and ensure they receive safe, compassionate care. I left the lecture feeling more educated, more aware, and more prepared to be the kind of nurse who can make a difference for someone who has survived something so painful. I believe this should we talked about more in the school system, and more people should be aware of how many young women it happens to.
After lunch, we took the bus to Birmingham Children’s Hospital, and the moment we walked in, I felt this mix of heaviness and hope. The hospital is huge, colorful, and full of life, but you can also feel the weight of what families are going through.
One of the first things we saw was the theatre for children who can’t leave their beds or the hospital. I thought that was incredible, the idea that even when a child is too sick to go outside or attend events, the hospital brings joy to them. They also have a full classroom inside the hospital so kids can continue their education. It reminded me that childhood doesn’t stop just because illness shows up.
We visited the hospital’s church next, and this was the moment that broke me. Inside were letters from parents to their sick children, some still fighting, some who had passed. Reading those messages felt like being let into the most vulnerable corners of someone’s heart. I cried, and I didn’t even try to hide it. As someone who wants to go into pediatric oncology, this hit especially hard. These are the families I want to support one day. These are the children I want to care for. And standing there, I felt both the heartbreak and the honor of what this career means.
Then we visited Magnolia House, a space for families whose child or infant is at the end of life. It’s designed to feel like a home, soft lighting, warm colors, quiet rooms where families can spend their last moments together in peace. I cried again because it’s such a sad concept, but also such a meaningful one. Families deserve a space that feels gentle and loving during the worst moments of their lives. It reminded me that nursing isn’t just medical care, it’s emotional care, spiritual care, and human connection.
After that heavy part of the day, we went upstairs for a short break before heading to the PICU. Seeing the cubicles where critically ill babies and children were being cared for was eye‑opening. Unlike the U.S., they don’t have separate rooms because they need large open spaces for equipment access. It felt different, but it made sense, everything was designed around efficiency and quick response. Watching the nurses work in that environment made me admire them even more. Their calmness, their skill, and their teamwork was inspiring.
We ended the day with a Q&A session with several nurses who explained the different nursing levels and uniforms in the UK. I loved learning how their uniforms reflect their roles, and the staff was so kind, patient, and genuinely excited to teach us. It made the whole experience feel welcoming and meaningful.
Walking out of the hospital, I felt emotionally drained but also incredibly motivated. Today reminded me why I chose nursing. It reminded me that this career is about compassion, resilience, and being present for people during the hardest moments of their lives. And honestly, I can’t wait to be that nurse.