A rude awakening

Lately, as I have had plenty of time to contemplate my life and the direction I am headed, I thought that I had finally settled on something that I want to do when I grow up. As many of you know, I have a passion for health and the human body as well as caring for other people. Why not become a nurse? I questioned myself. I talked myself through the fact that I may have to clean many a dirty bed (which had held me back from considering this option sooner), and resolved that I would just have to grin and bear it, because all the other work I would be doing would make it so worth it. Finally I had found direction! You have know idea how exciting this is after you have been floundering around in a sort of limbo for the past five months! I began researching schools, financial aid options, prerequisite requirements, and so on. It felt so good to be working towards something.
Well, all my plans and dreams were rudely interrupted and cut short this morning as I was reminded of the fact that I don't do well with blood. I never have been able to stomach it, and fear that I never will. Heaven help me when I have small, adventurous children who will surely sustain scraped knees, cuts, and possible broken bones. . .
My mother cut her finger while working out on the deck yesterday and asked me this morning to help her find any possible slivers that may have remained in the wound. Looking at the cut alone already made me feel a little queasy, but I decided to face my fears and help. My job was to peel back the skin with a pair of tweezers while she dug around (literally) in her finger to find stray pieces of wood. The cut started oozing blood and, much to my dismay, I just couldn't handle it. I was absolutely no help to my mom and had to leave the room. I could hardly stand without feeling woozy. Pathetic. I was reminded of similar instances where that same feeling would flood through my body, like the time I tried to help my dad remove stitches from the horse, or when I had to have blood drawn, or even times when I would cut myself shaving in the shower. Super pathetic.
Now I am back to square one trying to figure out some other medical career that piques my interest and that does NOT involve blood. I am open to suggestions . . . .