dear,’ my mother interjected, ‘the doctor says that perhaps you shouldn’t go to university, it may be too much for you.’
“I looked at them in wide eyed surprise at that statement. Then I felt determination asserting itself in my mind. ‘Mom,’ I said, very emphatically, ‘I do not intend to listen to that doctor now any more than I listened to him in the hospital. I’m going to university, and in four years time I am going to graduate!’
“My mother was awestruck. My father arose from his chair, walked around to my side of the dining table to the back of my chair, put his hands firmly on the sides of my shoulders, squeezed them together, placed his cheek against mine for a second, then kissed me on the face and said, ‘Gilda, you go right ahead if that’s what you want to do, and any way I can possibly help you I will.’
“‘Thank you Dad,’ I said, ‘but this is something I have to do on my own. Your morale support is welcome. You’re financial support I will need, and I want to live at home and commute as I have been doing. Other than that, the struggle is mine. I have to do it on my own.’
“My father rubbed the palms of his hands together with enthusiasm as he returned to his place at the table and began eating his dinner in hurried excitement. It was not often I had seen him that way. My mother was stuck for words. ‘But your health, Gilda - the doctor -.’
“My father spoke up to reassure her, ‘Mother dear, in this case, I have much more faith in Gilda than I have in the doctor. The doctor meant well, but he doesn’t know Gilda like I know Gilda. I think she can do it.’
“Mother quivered a smile. ‘Okay,’ she said, in rather musical tones that were in complete submission to my father’s persuasion.
“I was on my way in life again - like a butterfly. Only this time I would be wary of the hawks who are ready to peck me out of the sky and send me crashing to the ground.
Gilda paused, took a deep relaxing breath, as though a marathon had just ended. Telling the kind of story that most people, including psychiatrists, are not familiar with is stressful indeed. Gilda had no idea of how Dr. Eldren was taking her story. For all she knew, she could, as often happens, be labeled for life for simply telling it as it was to people who may know little or nothing about such matters.
Finally she asked, “can I tell you the remainder of the story now?”
“If you wish,” replied Dr. Eldren quickly, “but your face is flushed with tension. We can wait until next week or you can tell it now.”
“I prefer to do so now if I may,” said Gilda, “while it is all fresh in my mind.”
“Okay,” said Dr Eldren, “but it isn’t easy on a person recalling an unpleasant past. We can have a five minute break to allow you to simmer down.”
They all stood around chatting until Gilda was much more at ease. Then she continued with her story.
“On the Friday of the third week of my absence from university, which was the day after I had revealed to my parents my plans to return to university, I was up and away from home early and heading toward the university offices. I went directly to the office of the dean of the science faculty and asked to see the dean. After a brief wait I was granted an interview.
“He was a neutral sort of man, a scholar no doubt, not unpleasant but neither did he impress me as one who would be in command in a difficult situation. Nevertheless, I told him I had been absent from classes for three weeks with a mild type of nervous breakdown; that I was ready to return now, and wondered whether this would be satisfactory to the faculty. He asked questions concerning my past scholastic record, and seemed pleased with what I told him.
“I would suggest.” said the dean, “that you see each of your professor’s individually. If they each are of the opinion that you can still benefit by continuing after this absence, then I also will agree to your return. You can ask them to contact me.”
“‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, ‘that’s what I’ll do.”
“First I went to the three professors who had not taken a dislike to me, and with whom I had been getting along quite well. They wholeheartedly agreed to my returning, and we discussed ways and means as to how I could best catch up on the work. They were very helpful. Secondly I went to the professor who hadn’t really tried to put me down as far as my work was concerned, but who, you may remember my telling you, had just by her attitudes and related actions, shown a great dislike for me, and had, as I said, snooted and scorned and that sort of thing.
“She was cold towards my approach. I think she thought I was gone and out of her hair for good. When I explained to her my problem, however, she quite suddenly took on a very pitying attitude towards me, which I soon learned was coupled with a very superior attitude on her part as well. Now she had reason to feel superior to me, so she accepted me back, open arms, so to speak, but with an approach that was to not only belittle me in her eyes, but before the whole class as well throughout the remainder of the year.”
“She could look down on you now!” exclaimed Collin.
“Yes,” replied Gilda, “that’s it. From then on she felt she had reason to look down on me because I had been sick. I received fair treatment scholastically throughout the class, but her attitude was always one of pity towards this poor thing who now needed help so badly. She became the pitying mother of this poor helpless girl. Needless to say, it was very humiliating. However, I learned to take her with a grain of salt.”
“What about the professor you referred to as the hawk?” inquired Owen, “how did you make out with him?”
“Oh that’s quite another story,” responded Gilda as she perked up in her chair. “I purposely went to him last. I told him my story, as I had told the others. His response was cold. ‘Well, that’s too bad I’m sure, about your sickness,’ he said, ‘but this is a very difficult course, and I would strongly advise you to forfeit it and perhaps try again next semester. No, you should not try to catch up on this course at this time.’”
Collin asked, “Was that course really a difficult one, Gilda?”
“Not really,” replied Gilda. “Actually it was one of my better math subjects. I felt sure I could catch up, and there was tutoring available.”
Gilda continued, “I insisted to him that I could, and wanted to continue with the course this semester. He took offense and stated that he didn’t want anyone telling him what could or couldn’t be done in his classes.
“Well,” I said, you are telling me what I can and cannot do. Can I not even express what I feel I myself can do and am willing to do?”
“The professor fumed. ‘You are the student, and I am the professor,’ he said, as he stretched his shoulders upward. ‘I have made my decision,’ he snapped, ‘and it is final.’”
“‘We’ll see about that,’ I snapped back, and I turned and headed straight for the dean’s office again.
“I told the dean how four professors had accepted my return and one had not. I told him how the fifth professor had been cold and snappy.
“‘I am sorry about that,’ replied the dean, ‘but he has made his decision, and you will have to abide by it.’
“‘Abide by it!’ I retorted, in a mixture of surprise and anger. ‘Abide by it?
