Tric Kearney: I wasn't the most diligent of scholars...I can only imagine how I'd perform today, with temptations such as Facebook and Love Island

Today is the final day of Leaving Cert, 2018. I know many finished days ago, but some poor souls actually chose subjects such as Italian, Japanese, and applied maths.

So, I’d like to welcome these newest members, to the ‘Traumatised by the Leaving Cert’ Group.

I did my Leaving when we still had an Inter Cert, when you didn’t need a downloadable app to work out how many hundred points you got.

Back then, a skyrocketing maximum of 30 points was on offer unless you fell for the bribe to do honours maths, in which case you got two points more. All that work for two points? Definitely not enough to tempt me.

Truth be told, I wasn’t the most diligent of scholars, being easily distracted. I can only imagine how I’d perform today, with temptations such as Facebook and Love Island calling me.

I think the English system might have suited me better as the only subjects I actually studied were history and English.

Unfortunately, my favoured career was nursing, so in hindsight, it might have been advisable to have spent a little more time on biology.

Perhaps I’ve a selective memory but I’ve no idea how many points I got, although I may have told my children it was mostly As!

Whatever I got it wasn’t enough and all doors to nursing banged shut. My only option was to re-sit the Leaving, something unheard of at the time.

However, being the trailblazer I am, I did repeat and got what I needed. Unfortunately, the experience has left me so traumatised that every June I continue to re-sit the Leaving Cert, in my dreams. And it never goes to plan.

Each dream begins the same way. It’s the night before my exam and unlike in real life, the me of my dreams is a wonder.

“No thank you Mum, I’ve no time for dinner. I’m too busy studying.”

The following morning I’m quietly confident, but one thing after another goes wrong and in the end, I race to my exam with the clock ticking. Sitting at my desk, mid-way down the packed exam hall, I try to calm myself as I open the exam paper.

Dear God, what’s this? It’s not maths. It’s Irish! Every time, it’s Irish. In my panic, I can’t even read it. Just as I’m about to explode, I wake up in a sweat.

I suspect these nightmares are compounded by the many occasions my approach to an exam was possibly a little too relaxed.

I remember one in particular. I was a trainee nurse in Dublin and commuting at every opportunity to Tralee, where a certain gentleman, affectionately known here as ‘yer man’, was living. I’d enjoyed, perhaps a little too much, my two days off and returned to work the afternoon shift a little tired.

Concerned I’d no clean uniform, I went to the locker room early to check. It was a hive of activity, with many from my class buzzing about.

“What time is your oral,” asked a classmate.

I looked behind me unsure if she was addressing me, as I’d no idea what she was talking about.

“The doctor’s oral anatomy house exam. What time are you on?”

Unfortunately, I’d thought the exam was the following week. Fifteen minutes later I was dressed and facing three men, none of whom looked like a friendly doctor. With no preparation of any sort, I did my best to answer as many questions as possible, smiling at their stern faces in the hope I’d melt them a little.

Perhaps my strategy worked as I passed and went on to become the nurse I wished to be.

Would I choose nursing again? Yes, although I suspect my Leaving Cert points would say, no.