TIBIA

(In an effort to save myself from embarrassment, I wasn’t going to share this story. When I realized that I was embarrassed even without everyone knowing, I thought it was useless to keep it to myself. Besides, I think it might make one or two of you laugh…and isn’t laughter one of the best forms of therapy. Lori, I think you will love this one.)

“Take out a sheet of paper and number 1-10.” Oh, those are the probably the most dreaded words I can remember from high school. No matter how well I thought I knew the material we were covering, I always felt this overwhelming feeling of incompetence the minute the teacher would say those words.

My, how some things never change.

Last semester, I enrolled in an Anatomy and Physiology I class at a local community college. After 36 years of not knowing what I wanted to be when I grow up, I set out to complete pre-requisites in order to be eligible for Nursing School in the Fall of 2010. I’m not sure I had ever studied as hard in my life. We started with memorizing the bones of the body, then, proceeded with the muscles along with their origin and insertions. Anxiety never stopped building the whole semester.

By December I was trying to catch my breath after having filled every corner of my brain in just a few months. Studying for a final exam had never before been so stressful, especially since I had set a personal goal of making an A in the class. I have no idea what I was thinking. Hmmm, I am a single mother of two, very active children, work full-time, and I expected an A?

A week before the final exam, the professor announced that we would have a quiz for extra points to be added to our final exam grade. There would be a possibility of 10 points. Nothing would be counted against the final if answers were wrong. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, it would have sounded easier had the extra points not been 10 comprehensive questions that could cover bones, muscles, nerves, special senses, tissue or anything we had discussed all semester long.

The dreaded day of the quiz arrived. The professor walked into the room and said, “Take out a sheet of paper and number 1 through 10. I will call out the questions twice. Once we have completed the quiz, we will grade them. (Holding up the leg of a skeleton and pointing) What is the name of this bone.” I was absolutely relieved, because I knew the first answer.

(My professor kept a log of class participation in discussion and encouraged us to chime in during his lecture and gave an incentive of extra points for doing so. Because I had studied myself crazy for class, I made it a point to contribute in order to earn the participation points for the class.)

When the professor asked the final question, I was finally able to take a deep breath and somewhat relax. I had known the majority of the answers and would have several extra points to add to my final exam grade. Whew! I put my pencil down and was ready to grade the quiz. (Holding up the leg of the same skeleton and pointing) the professor asked us to identify the bone. Because I had so consistently participated in class to this point, I confidently answered, “TIBIA!” I was SO excited that I knew the answer!

When everyone’s head turned and looked at me, some giggling aloud, I realized that the professor was asking the quiz questions a second time for anyone who might need to hear them again. I had just blurted out, in Tourrette Syndrome fashion, the answer for everyone and the quiz wasn’t over. Immediately, I felt a rush of heat as my face turned some horrible color of red I was sure no one had ever seen before. I’m sure I had not been that embarrassed since the first grade in 1979 (another day, another story). I immediately thought I would probably have to spend the night in the classroom, because I didn’t want to walk out and hear what the other students, 18-20 years old, had to say about some crazy, 30-something year old woman, who couldn’t control herself. I was mortified. I still had another day of class with these students for the final and the thought of coming back into the classroom with them made me nauseous.

Somehow, I did it, though, and still managed to make an A in the class!

Classes began again last week. This semester, I’m taking A&P II. I expect to make an A in this class, as crazy as that sounds. Some of my classmates from last semester are in the class, and they seem to have either forgotten about my outburst or are laughing inside every time they see me.

My professor announced on the first day of class that we would have a quiz every week. The same anxiety from last semester crept into my head and I couldn’t breathe again. Monday, I walked into class prepared for those dreaded words, “Take out a piece of paper and number 1-10.” However, he never gave the quiz. I’m going back this afternoon, and I while I will be anxious and sitting on the edge of my seat, I WILL NOT participate when it comes time to answer the questions on the quiz.