24. Isaac
Chapter 24
Isaac
“ T hanks Dr. B, I appreciate your help.” A student from my Intro to Neuroscience course erases the dry erase brainstem drawing from our office hours meeting. The first round of exams are quickly approaching, thus the back to back appointments with students today.
“Take care, Jameson. Good luck on your exams!”
My email box dings with a notification as Jameson exits my small on-campus abode.
Dr. Britlyn,
Congratulations! We are pleased to invite you to the 32nd annual California Medical Researchers Forum education conference in Sacramento, CA.
Your abstract titled, “Memory and Learning: Tailoring Medical Education to Student Needs,” has been accepted by the program committee for oral presentation at this event.
Please confirm that you will attend the conference to present your paper. A member of the CMRF committee will be in contact for details regarding submitting your completed presentation after we have confirmation of your attendance.
We are looking forward to hearing from you. Once again, congratulations!
I quickly breeze through the remainder of the email before my eyes flick to the door where my next student has just knocked quietly. Well, this is certainly unexpected. When I submitted my project, I assumed I would maybe get accepted for a poster presentation if I was accepted at all.
Guess I’m going to Sacramento.
Alone.
Guess I’m going to Sacramento alone.
What am I doing here? Giving up an attending physician job in the Neuropsychiatry Clinic at Mass Gen was not on my bingo card for this year, but when I found out Jo was back at MMCI, I had to be here. I had to give it another shot.
“Come in, Shelly. How are we today?”
Before the young woman even takes her seat opposite me, tears begin spilling out of her eyes and down her blotchy cheeks.
Shit. I’m not great at tears. But don’t worry, I’m strapped.
I lean to my right, yanking open my desk drawer to reveal my secret stash of supplies. Kleenex? A necessity. Chocolate? Never know when it’s the only cure. Ibuprofen? Headaches be gone. I offer Shelly a box of tissues and she grabs one, blotting her under eyes.
“Talk to me, Shelly. What’s going on?” I set a few pieces of chocolate on the desk between, us and she snatches one before speaking.
“I don’t think I can do this, Dr. B.” Though I’ve only been here for half a second, I’ve fallen into a routine. I’ve also noticed a trend amongst first-year medical students. I vividly remember the feelings of inadequacy. The pure fear of failure. Failing myself and my whole family.
“Why do you say that?” I push another chocolate candy her way. “What makes you think you can’t do it?”
A few more tears fall from her eyes, following the path of previous droplets. The path of least resistance. “I just study and study and study but I never know as much as my classmates. I’m just not smart.” She takes in a deep, shaky breath, settling into the office chair.
The afternoon sun shines through my office window, pummeling the side of my face with warmth. I take a swig of my third coffee of the day before climbing up on my ever-popular soapbox.
“Okay Shelly, I can offer you three paths here. One, I sit and listen and let you get all these feelings off your chest.” She nods, clearly intrigued by my words, but still fighting back tears. “Two, I can give you a motivational pep talk. Or three, I will give you my long answer as to how you need to whip it into shape.”
She cocks her head at me, contemplating.
“I do have to warn you, number three is not for the faint of heart.”
For the first time since entering my office, Shelly laughs. Dimples appear in both of her red-mottled cheeks. Though most of my students are less than ten years my junior, they still feel like children. The program is unbelievably difficult, and many of them have no solid support system at home. Many take care of families of their own. It hurts me to see them hurting.
“I think I choose number two,” she adds hesitantly.
Leaning forward in my chair, I meet her hazy gaze. After that email, a little motivation might be as much for me as it is for her. Over fifteen minutes and almost an entire bag of candy, I explain all the reasons that Shelly is well-equipped to be here. As the sun continues to sink in the sky, the light returns to her eyes, and the vice grip around my heart releases.
“And in conclusion,” I chuckle. “You can do this.” She grabs her bag and hoists it up onto her lap, readying herself to stand. “I see so much potential in you, Shelly.”
She stands from her chair, sliding her arms through the straps of her backpack. “I definitely came in here just to ask how many questions are on the midterm.” She shakes her head. “But apparently I needed something else.”
“I understand. My face makes most children cry, too.” She laughs wholeheartedly, turning around and grabbing the door handle. “And fifty, it’s fifty questions.”
“Thanks Dr. B, you’re the best.”
The door closes behind her and I take a deep breath, glancing at my watch. Five p.m. Jo should be leaving about now. Perfect time to stage a run-in in the hallway. She’s been ice cold since that day at the faculty meeting and it’s fairly clear that I’m going to need to put in the work. And rightfully so after all I’ve put her through.
But my office door opens without so much as a knock.
“Dr. Zin! Come on in,” I stand, ushering my boss into the small office space. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He gestures for me to take my seat again, and he leans against the arm of the chair across from me.
“A beautiful afternoon to be an MMCI faculty member, don’t you think?” I nod, pure confusion speckling my face.
“Uh, every afternoon is?” I search for some hidden meaning in his words, but I come up empty-handed. Maybe my Dad is right. Maybe I do have anxiety, because this just isn’t sitting right in my stomach.
“You read your email, I presume?” Dr. Zin extends an arm towards my computer screen, finally planting himself fully onto the cushion of the chair.
Oh, duh. The conference. He’s probably here to congratulate me. Brilliant Dr. Britlyn. The only faculty member accepted to the prestigious CMRF. “Oh, uh, oh.” I stumble over my words just slightly, still recovering from that spike in anxious energy moments before. “Oh yes, yes I did! I’m thoroughly surprised I got an oral presentation.”
A pleased expression washes over Dr. Zin’s face. “Your abstract was brilliant. It deserves a platform.” Awkward silence fills the room as he nods, so I grab my coffee to fill the void.
“You and Dr. Carello will certainly make us proud out in California.”
Coffee is expelled from every single facial orifice, splattering my papers and computer screen. I clear my throat, attempting to dab up at least the majority of the nose brew with the sleeve of my suit jacket.
First item on tonight’s agenda: panic.
Next item: the dry cleaner.