Once upon a time in a land of coffee-fueled discussion posts and clinical logs yet to be logged, there lived two Walden FNP students: Jamie and Casey.
Jamie and Casey were in the same cohort, taking the same online classes, watching the same slightly-out-of-sync Zoom lectures. They both dreamed of one day diagnosing sinus infections and managing diabetes with the poise of a seasoned nurse practitioner. But as summer approached and the talk of clinicals grew louder in the group chat, one thing became abundantly clear: neither of them had secured a preceptor.
“Oh, we have time,” Casey said one April afternoon, sipping iced coffee and casually scrolling through TikTok videos of dogs wearing stethoscopes. “The school said they’d try to help.”
Jamie, meanwhile, had broken into a cold sweat three weeks ago after realizing that finding a Walden FNP preceptor wasn’t like picking electives in high school. There would be no automated signup sheet. No one was handing out rotations like Costco samples. This was survival of the most persistent.
So Jamie did what any desperate-but-determined student would do. She called in every favor. First, she texted that cousin who once dated a physician assistant. Then she awkwardly approached her boss in the break room and said, “Hey, I know you have a sister who’s a nurse practitioner. Does she like…students?”
She messaged five old coworkers on Facebook. She dusted off her LinkedIn password. She even swallowed her pride and asked the clinic receptionist (yes, the one who always side-eyes her lunches) if she knew anyone willing to precept this summer.
And when that only landed one lukewarm maybe, Jamie took the plunge and reached out to an agency — not her first choice, but at this point, she was willing to sell a kidney or name her future child after a preceptor if that would help.
Meanwhile, Casey waited.
“It’s not like they’re going to let us fail,” she said cheerfully in May. “I’m sure Walden has a list of preceptors somewhere.”
Spoiler: they did not. At least, not a list that magically matched you with a perfect NP near your zip code who wasn’t already booked solid until 2027.
June arrived like an unwelcome lab result. Jamie had secured her first preceptor — a no-nonsense family NP at a community clinic two towns over. It wasn’t glamorous, and the waiting room smelled faintly of old coffee and Lysol, but it was real. She had a start date, a schedule, and a signed document. Jamie celebrated by buying herself a new pair of compression socks and cried a little in the parking lot out of sheer relief.
Casey, meanwhile, was beginning to sweat.
“I emailed the school again,” she told the group chat. “Still waiting to hear back. I’m sure they’ll find something soon.”
By July, Casey had entered what is known in FNP circles as clinical limbo. Emails went unanswered. The only callback she got was from a clinic saying, “Sorry, we’re full — and we don’t take Walden students anyway.” Casey began to consider alternative careers. Maybe she could become a health coach. Or start a wellness TikTok. Or move to Bali.
Meanwhile, Jamie was four weeks into her clinical rotation, learning to distinguish between viral and bacterial sore throats and mastering the subtle art of not looking panicked when a patient listed 13 medications.
One day in early August, Casey called Jamie in a panic.
“They said if I don’t secure a preceptor by next week, I have to delay the rotation,” she said, pacing her living room. “Do you think that agency you used would still have anyone?”
Jamie, being the kind-hearted friend she was, sent over the info. But by then, the agency had already filled its summer slots. They were now booking for winter.
The semester started, and Jamie submitted her first SOAP note with a sense of pride (and only minor self-doubt). Casey, meanwhile, was placed in an “alternate course” called “Professional Strategies for Future Clinicals,” which is academic code for we love you, but you’re not going anywhere this term.
Casey eventually found a preceptor — for the next semester. And she did, in time, complete her rotations and graduate, though she learned the hard way that “waiting for the school” is not a strategy, it’s a gamble.
Jamie, however, became the myth, the legend, the one who had her act together. She even wrote a blog post about it titled: “How I Found My Walden FNP Preceptor Without Losing My Mind (Mostly).”
The moral of the story? If you’re looking for Walden FNP preceptors, don’t wait for a miracle. Get scrappy. Ask everyone. Use every connection. And if necessary, get professional help — from an agency, a platform like Preceptor Tree, or that one nurse at work who knows everybody.
Because preceptors don’t fall from the sky.
Except maybe in fairy tales.
And Casey will be the first to tell you: this ain’t one.
