To her professors at FEU Manila, she is the girl who stayed five minutes longer to hold a patient’s hand during her clinical rotation at the Philippine General Hospital. To her peers, she is the study group leader who shares her coded notes during exam hell week. But to Cherry Mae, the white uniform she wears is not just a requirement for duty—it is a second skin, earned through sleepless nights, tears, and a faith that refuses to break. Hailing from [General Santos/Cavite/appropriate hometown], Cherry Mae’s journey to FEU’s Nursing program was never guaranteed. “I remember walking past the Nicanor Reyes Street gate for the first time,” she recalls, her voice soft but steady. “I thought, ‘This is where dreams either take flight or get crushed.’ I prayed mine would fly.”
During the pandemic, when online simulations replaced hospital duty, she practiced NGT insertion on a rolled towel and listened to heart sounds via YouTube. When face-to-face classes resumed, she was the first to volunteer for the difficult cases—the combative patient, the dying grandmother, the infant with a fever of 40°C. cherry mae cardosa feu nursing
She never does.
She showed up the next day. And the day after. That, her peers say, is the essence of Cherry Mae. Beyond the grades, Cherry Mae has become a quiet leader in the FEU Nursing Student Council, advocating for mental health debriefings after critical incident exposures—a radical idea in a field where “toughing it out” has long been the norm. To her professors at FEU Manila, she is
For Cherry Mae, the hardest lesson was not clinical—it was personal. “I lost a patient during my first rotation in the ICU,” she admits, her eyes glistening. “A lola who reminded me of my own. I did everything right. But sometimes, doing everything right is not enough.” When face-to-face classes resumed, she was the first