It’s homecoming season, the time when alumni gather to swap stories and reminisce about the good old days and maybe cringe at the not-so-glory-days of youth. I’ve been reflecting on my own education and decided to finally let go of my grudge and honor my alma mater.
Undergraduate Work
Eighteen years ago, I unwillingly went back to school. It was a mandatory program that I had no choice but to complete. The timing was terrible. I had a decent job, and I had just enrolled in a leadership course that would help me move into the career I desired. I didn’t really have time to add more classes to my schedule, especially ones I didn’t want to take.
The first three months were intense; the curriculum included courses and subjects I had never studied or wanted to learn. Having no idea what I was doing and being one of the youngest in the program only added to my nerves. I didn’t know any of my classmates and I could tell no one else wanted to be there either. Someone else clearly mandated their participation.
My instructor assured me it would be a piece of cake – one major exam and that was it. I studied and prepared only to have him postpone it for a week. My patience tested, I worried and fretted and cursed him for blowing it off. The test was much more intense than he initially described and forced me to take off additional time from work.
I joined a study group thinking that would ease my feelings of isolation, but I felt even more out of place as (again) the youngest in the group. Many just wanted to whine and complain about the classes or the teachers. A few were grateful for the opportunity, even though it was challenging and hard work.
For the first time I felt like a loner, not fitting in or finding anyone like me. My classmates were older, studying different subjects and no one seemed to be very friendly. I reluctantly reached out to a few people and I was humbled by their support. By the time the grades were posted, I had a few battle wounds along with my new degree. The doctor was right and I only needed to pass one exam.
Graduate School
Never thinking I would return to that school I was shocked when my boss told me I was required to attend higher-level courses, the ones where professors just wait to see who drops out. The rules constantly changed or didn’t exist and I watched as the seemingly best student failed while the mediocre remained. Lots of people had advice for me on how to pass, but none of it seemed to be what I needed.
Classes became my top priority. They were grueling to say the least, spending entire weeks holed up in a stuffy room doing nothing but homework. I focused on my writing and communication skills, making sure my papers were clear and concise. School and homework dictated my schedule, which also meant I spent less time worrying about my job. I relied on friends and family to not only take care of my dog but to carry my broken spirit when classes were so intense I wanted to quit.
Time off was a luxury and I spent it doing things I loved and with people I cared about. I relished the breaks when I could get outside and hike and feel like a normal human being. Mother Nature soothed my soul and saved my psyche.
Beaten up, worn down, and just plain exhausted, I barely made it to graduation. I saw others fall victim to the mysterious and nefarious system and I thanked the gods and universe for allowing me to finish. I knew I was no better – and perhaps a worse student – but I managed to get a passing grade.
The program taught me a lot and I applied all my newfound knowledge to my job and my life and became a better manager, a stronger leader, a better friend, a better wife, and just generally a better human because of my studies. I felt invincible.
Postgraduate Studies
The boss decided I needed continuing education credits to maintain my credentials. Angry and frustrated, I went kicking and screaming, dragging my heels back into the classroom. I knew it was the same wily system with no rules, no bell curve, no syllabus or concrete objectives; the weed-out process even more cunning than before. Only a year had passed and the thought of going back to that school made me nauseous.
Knowing the precariousness of the program, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to put in the work given the fact it may not pay off. I could get kicked out at any moment. Dropping the class was not really an option, and I knew my friends and family would be disappointed, so I harnessed my natural stubbornness and pressed on.
The assignments were a little easier but no less trying. Throughout the six-month course I wondered about the whole purpose of the program and how it would help me in my job. The classes started pulling me farther away from my initial goals and I began dreading going back to the office. Worried that work may require even more classes, I felt trapped.
My high grades surprised most everyone, including me. The instructor told me most people get by with a C or maybe a B, and I got an A plus. Somehow I managed to sneak through the system again, feeling like Indiana Jones and his many narrow escapes. After the third diploma I vowed to do everything in my power to avoid having to go back to the classroom.
Multiple Degrees
Looking back on the experience I see more clearly the school’s value and the purpose of the system and its vagaries. Life is filled with unknowns and hidden rules, faulty advice and false promises. My completion was not entirely dependent on showing up and doing the work but rather some random algorithm determined my fate. Worrying about the outcome would not change the result nor would doing more. Instead I must trust the process and enjoy the ride.
I discovered a secret well of expertise, one filled with grace and humility, overflowing with gratitude and optimism. My eyes opened to dreams I had previously sworn off as out of reach and revealed new skills that begged to be used. I made new friends and deepened old relationships as I shed old skins and broke down walls. The school shattered myths while restoring my faith and hope in humanity. The gains far outweighed the losses.
Extra credit classes or another degree are not on my list, but these things are hard to predict. For now I celebrate as a proud alumna of an elite school, one with a global network of illustrious students and teachers whose loyalty to the institution and its learners is unmatched.
I am a graduate of the University of Cancer. Class of 2001, 2013 and 2015. The hardest school I’ve ever attended, and the one of which I’m most proud to call my alma mater. Here’s to my fellow classmates far and wide.
Epilogue
I think in metaphors and I need an analogy or some image with which to connect and describe my experience. The cancer war or battle scenario doesn’t really work for me, nor does the term survivor. Wars, battles and survivors feel static and stoic, as if I lived through one big event and moved on, head high and chin straight, confident and impenetrable.
Cancer is more dynamic than one crisis or one “battle.” My cancer journey has lasted years – eighteen so far – and included major and minor catastrophes, but mostly eye-opening lessons about life and myself. I decided my cancer journey is more like the long path to a PhD, hence the school metaphor. Although I didn’t choose to major in cancer, I have been trying to write my dissertation ever since I enrolled.
If you go back and read the post and replace school or training program with cancer, you’ll see how the journey unfolded from the first melanoma diagnosis when I was 27 to stage four and the recurrence. From being a nervous freshman to an aspiring doctoral candidate. Classes were treatments. Diplomas were clean scans. Instructors are doctors. You get the picture.
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