Across the country, nursing students work eight to twelve-hour clinical shifts for free – while paying thousands of dollars in tuition to do it. At Eastern Mennonite University, this reality feels especially heavy. EMU is a private university with a high cost of attendance, yet nursing students are still expected to complete long clinical days, commute up to an hour each way, and complete pre-assessments the night before… all without compensation, stipends, or even gas reimbursement. This issue isn’t unique to EMU; it is a nationwide problem in nursing education, and too many students are silently struggling through.
Clinicals are not casual observation hours. They are real shifts. We assist with assessments, perform skills, chart, administer medications under supervision, support overwhelmed nursing staff, and meaningfully contribute to patient care. Sure, maybe we just get in the way and aren’t helpful at the beginning of our journey. However, in our final year, many of us move into 12-hour clinicals/preceptorship shifts identical to those of “real nurses.” Before even stepping onto the unit, we complete hours of preparation the night prior or the same morning – reviewing patient histories, double-checking medications, and learning care plans. This is labor. This is time. This is responsibility. And yet it is unpaid.
For students like me, the cost of this unpaid labor is personal. I work two jobs while in nursing school, and even then, I feel financially drained. Rent doesn’t pause for clinical weeks. Groceries don’t become cheaper because I have to wake up at 4:00 a.m. for clinicals. Gas doesn’t care that I’m driving to learn instead of work. When clinicals fall on days I might otherwise pick up shifts, I lose income that I urgently need to keep up with basic living costs. It becomes an impossible balancing act. Do I sacrifice my ability to pay bills? Do I risk exhaustion and poor performance during a clinical shift? The system leaves too many nursing students running on empty. Physically, emotionally, and financially. I’m not the only one navigating this reality.
Senior Marianne Short captured a common tension among nursing students when she told me she has “mixed opinions” on compensation. She acknowledged that other fields also have unpaid practicums, but added that “getting paid would feel like an extra plus for going to clinical, especially when we do a lot of the nursing tasks.” She also emphasized the toll clinicals take on students’ energy and academic performance: “Clinicals tend to be tiring… This tiredness can make studying more difficult and stop me from staying up later to study, which can feel stressful and frustrating.” Even so, she sees simple support options as reasonable: “I think stipends or gas cards could be nice… that would be appreciated.”
Another senior, Caris Lucas, agreed that some financial support is necessary, saying,
“Yes, I feel nursing students should get a stipend… If not paid personally, at least [in EMUs’ case] discount the tuition specifically for nursing students.” She also highlighted a practical solution almost every student can relate to: “Gas cards would be an amazing help because of the clinical sites being one hour away… This would save money for more people than just me, I feel.”
These quotes highlight an important point: students aren’t demanding full wages. They’re asking for fairness, realism, and recognition. Even small measures, like gas cards, meal vouchers, or tuition adjustments, would acknowledge the value of our work and ease the financial strain so many students carry.
What makes this issue particularly frustrating is the double standard across educational and workforce training programs. Trade students are often paid during apprenticeships, even if only minimum wage. Many entry-level healthcare roles offer paid training. Even in retail or food service, employees get paid to learn. Yet nursing students, who face some of the most demanding and emotionally intense training of any undergraduate program, are expected to work for free while actually paying some of the highest tuition costs. Imagine if we told doctors they didn’t get paid for any of their residency? There would be immediate outrage – and rightfully so.
This model isn’t sustainable, and it creates real barriers. Low-income students, first-generation students, and students from marginalized communities often struggle the most. Ironically, the healthcare system urgently wants more nurses, yet maintains the practices that make nursing education financially out of reach for many who might otherwise succeed.
Nursing students aren’t afraid of hard work. We know the responsibility we’re stepping into. We know people’s lives will one day be in our hands. That’s exactly why we need support, not burnout, on the way to becoming safe and competent nurses.
We are willing to learn. We are putting in the hours. We should not have to run on empty to enter a profession that desperately needs us.