The dilemma
There was no question, this was going to be a long year. Aside from the issues with Dad’s molestations, there was also that whole “get-a-job-after-school” plan that ran into major issues shortly after I got to the main campus.
I had identified my path to a job — hospital laboratory work — particularly in clinical microbiology. My connection with the lab at the University of Connecticut Health Center in Farmington offered a strong job possibility when I was done with college. So all I needed was to switch my major from biology to Medical Laboratory Technology. But that ran into a major roadblock in the form of the dean of that school. She didn’t want to hear it.
One of the downsides of having been at the Torrington branch of the University of Connecticut was that they were not really up to date on the logistics of making that program switch. For one, there were some courses I needed that I’d not been aware of. But even more problematic was that the number of slots in the program was limited.
At that point in time, you spent three years on campus getting all your sciences and distributed requirements, then for the last year of your degree, you actually spent twelve months at one of the hospitals in the state that worked with the UCONN program to train you. It meant twelve months of classes and actual hands-on laboratory work at that hospital. Each of the hospitals that collaborated with UCONN had a set number of slots. Since there were already other students in the program who were vying for those slots, I presented a problem for them.
I was already a junior, which meant that they would have to fit me into a slot the very next year, something that might be hard. And it was something the dean didn’t want to even consider.
The “double-no”
I argued that I’d been poorly advised at the branch, but was willing to do what I needed to make up those classes. Also, I had a recommendation letter from the Health Center in Farmington about my work there. And I explained I had no money for an extra year. But she wasn’t willing to hear anything. Her answer was a flat-out, “No.”
When I told this to my father, his answer was also “No.” No, he didn’t have money he could give me for an extra year, and no, he wasn’t willing to co-sign for an extra year of school loans, which was the only way I was able to afford that year. His answer was to go back and MAKE them put me in the program.
So, I was caught between a dean and a dad, neither of whom cared about the predicament. Why he wasn’t willing to help and thought all you had to do was go tell people to do what you wanted, I can’t explain. Maybe it was ego. He had worked full-time and gone to school full-time back in his youth, and he succeeded even when the school thought he would fail. So, maybe he expected me to do the same thing.
The “trick” compromise
I was scared. I wasn’t willing to give up getting my degree. That represented my best chance for someday being free of his control. But I had no money.
Someone told me about something called an “ombudsman,” a person at the university who could mediate problems between the university and a student. Given that UCONN was huge and no one really cared about an individual’s problems, my friend thought this might be my best bet. So the dean, the ombudsman, and I met.
For over an hour, they argued back and forth. She was unwilling to find a compromise, while he argued that I’d been poorly served by the college and had money issues. Finally, she gave him a compromise – IF I could make up the classes, AND get myself a spot in one of the hospital programs, she would let me in the program.
This sounded reasonable, and we all agreed. There was only one problem. The information I need to achieve this — the list of hospitals and the program coordinators — was not available. Only students already in the program could get the information. So when she made that offer, she knew I wouldn’t be able to succeed. And the ombudsman was not going to fight further.
Battling the odds
Knowing I had no choice, I had to try. So, I started by registering for a totally heavy load of science classes and the extra lab sessions, which was going to be a challenge in itself. Add in that I was a transfer student who was totally ill-equipped to succeed at a much larger campus, so getting good grades was going to be a struggle. And the last issue — “HOW was I going to get that program slot?”
I tried going into spy mode to somehow obtain that precious list, all to no avail. However, I had a friend in the program who, when she heard my issue, shared all the information with me. I wouldn’t have stood a chance without her. Thank God for her to this day.
But now it meant I had to cut classes and lab hours — time I did not have — to drive all over the state to the eight or ten hospitals and plead my case. With no choice, I set up appointments for the next few weeks to visit the hospitals. I was hoping that maybe I wouldn’t have to visit them all. And of course, there would be the other issue of, even if I got a slot, I would need a place to live for those twelve months. Again, I had no money and no willingness from my father for help. But, first things first — get the slot. Maybe he would change his mind then.
Over the next few weeks, I cut classes, went home during the week to borrow a car, and then traveled to my appointments. Then I’d go back to Storrs to try to make up my classwork. Then repeat again and again. Needless to say, my schoolwork piled up, and my grades sank. And meeting after meeting, I got the expected response — “No.” I was flunking out of school and failing to get an internship slot.
A gift and a big problem
Finally, I was down to the last hospital on the list. It was a hospital in Bridgeport. The coordinator there was a powerful figure, both in person and personality. She listened to my predicament. I was ready for the final no, but she, instead, asked a few questions. What classes did I still need? What was my plan? Did I think I could handle it?
Somehow, I must have said something that satisfied her. She then told me that her program actually ran TWO cycles of internships, one starting in June and one in October. She said that if I could get all my classes made up in time and pass them, she would guarantee me a slot in the October class. And she put it in writing.
Needless to say, I was over the moon…and the dean was irate. But the dean had set the terms, and the hospital coordinator agreed to admit me. I still had to meet with the dean a few times to try to get her to sign off on this. So, every time I met with her, I stood in front of her and wrote down every word she said, which made her very nervous. Finally, she signed off, probably to be rid of me.
I won’t bother to go into the reams of red tape I still had to negotiate to get the proper forms signed off by several other deans, including one who no longer existed — something I discovered after I’d visited three different buildings looking for her. Including the building that still had her sign and an office for her. But in the end, I got my internship.
However, now I was drowning in backed-up work and exhausted. I fell asleep during one chemistry final exam and woke up with only a half an hour to go. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. It fueled a panic mode that let me rush through the exam and finish. I got through that course with the lowest possible passing grade – a D. I did poorly on a couple of other exams, and passed the remaining one. And for my efforts, I got a letter during Christmas break saying I was on academic probation. I had one semester to pull up my grades, or I was out of college.
Repent
That precipitated the party, I don’t remember. We had all returned to campus after break and initiated the spring semester with a drinking game. Given my academic probation and everything I still faced, I was in the mood to drown my sorrows.
After a certain point, I lost track of anything other than a blurred memory of being in the shower. My roommate, who had known the whole story, took pity on me and had shepherded me out of the game and into the shower, then bed. The next morning, I had the absolute worst hangover of my life…so far…and spent all that day sick. I went back and forth between the toilet bowl and watching a preacher on TV tell me to repent. Suffice it to say, after that day, I did.
While I wasn’t stellar, I managed to rearrange my classes the next semester to a more reasonable load and get good grades. So I recovered from the academic probation. And I then arranged to attend the nearby University of Hartford for the entire summer to get the rest of the class credits I needed. All summer, early every morning, my father dropped me off at that school on his way to work. Then I spent full days for the two summer sessions getting those grades. I finished just in time at the end of August. Which meant I had a month to get ready to move to Bridgeport for my all-precious lab internship.
Still in the game…
And where to live? Well, that was the most interesting thing. Given that it was Bridgeport, Dad arranged for me to spend the next twelve months living with his parents in Stratford. Yes, the same parents who created him…I had come full circle.
But it didn’t matter to me. I was still in the game. I had completed three years’ worth of courses, including summer school, with passing grades. This was the home stretch. Mostly.
All I had to do now was survive twelve months with my Dad’s parents, pass all my hospital classes, then pass a state registration exam, and I would finally be a free, self-supporting adult…hopefully….and maybe his assaults on me would stop.
I could do this…I WOULD do this. It was my only shot.
Soul Mosaic 
Leave a comment