It truly was a fantastic, memorable summer. Eventually, though, August inched towards September. I said my good-byes to Mert and Mary, Denise and Brian, Jake the Donkey, Boone and Babe the Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, Ginger the Greyhound, and Wolfgang the Wolf/Malamute. I drove into Denver and spent my last night in Colorado with Blondie, and in the morning I got back in the Camry.
Denver to St. Louis, St. Louis to Atlanta, Atlanta to Miami. Biking in some of most beautiful places on earth turned to books and studying very quickly. My brain had difficulty down-shifting gears.
The scary class of the Fall semester was Cardiac and Pulmonary. Heart and Lungs. Two fairly important organs. The students from the class ahead of us warned us that it was a difficult class. They were at a disadvantage, though, because the professor that typically taught the Cardiac and Pulmonary class was out on medical leave their year.
Professor Linda Crane, PhD in PT, had been diagnosed with breast cancer the previous year, but now she was returning to work. My classmates and I were relieved, because we had always heard that she was the best professor in the entire PT program.
I’m not sure which PT class gave her her nickname, but before any of us had ever met Professor Linda Crane, we already knew that her nickname was the Walking Risk Factor. Remember, she taught the Cardiac and Pulmonary class. However, she was morbidly obese, and she smoked cigarettes. Go figure.
Regardless of her personal habits, all of us agreed that she was a great professor. She had a way of explaining complicated medical issues in a very simple way, and I went into our first major exam with a lot of confidence. So much confidence, that I barely had to read the exam questions at all! As soon as I glanced at the questions, I knew the answers. I was that confident. It was like I was still in Colorado, pedaling up the highest paved road in the country, dating a beautiful woman, living in a fantastic part of the country. I walked out of the exam knowing that I had aced it!
A few days later we got our test results. I failed. I failed in a really big way. I don’t remember what my actual grade was, but it wasn’t good. And remember, in PT school, if you failed a class, you were out, gone, expelled. Good luck re-applying to next years’ class. And of course, don’t forget about the non-refundable $10K you already dropped on this semesters’ tuition.
My mile-high summer came to a screeching halt! In the past three months I had been hit by a car; passed out in a supermarket clutching a box of condoms; got lost in the woods; and pedaled up the most difficult climb in the world. Now, though, I was in a panic! Professor Crane took pity on me and gave me a 75 on the exam, but I actually scored closer to a 50. It was the first time I ever failed an exam in PT school, or even came close to failing an exam. But there I was, staring straight ahead at failing out of PT school.
I went to her office immediately. She sat me down, told me not to panic, that we would work through things together to make sure I passed the class. But I was in full panic mode. I explained to her that going into the exam, I was very confident in my knowledge of the subject matter. She took out my exam and reviewed each question with me. And sure enough, I did know the subject matter. But I was over-confident. My head was still in the clouds of Colorado. When I actually read the questions with her in her office, and slowly considered each possible answer, I did very well.
What a putz!
I often wonder what my life would be like if Professor Crane had not shown compassion towards me, had not fluffed my grade up to a manageable level so that I would have a chance of improving to a passing grade for the semester. Would I have failed the class and not become a PT? Who the hell knows? But it is amazing how another persons’ kindness and compassion can shape the course of your life.
Sadly, several years after I graduated PT school, Professor Crane lost her battle with cancer. May she rest in peace.
GLENN SLOVES 