This is part 1 of a two-part series. Check out part 2: College Kids Think I’m Old Already, but I Just Know I’m Wiser.
I remember my first day of college like it was yesterday. I was quite confident as I approached the beautiful campus at a small liberal arts school in Northern Wisconsin. My notebooks were color-coordinated, with folders labeled with the course, time, and my name and phone number in case they got lost. I had glitter pens, too—a connection to my childhood.
I’d attended freshman welcome week, signed up to join various clubs and met new friends. I’d already met a guy—with an uncanny resemblance to Jordan Catalano from the 90s TV show My So-Called Life—who remained my crush that entire year. I knew where the closest Starbucks was and approximately how long it took to walk there and back. I was ready for this new chapter in my life.
I sat in the front row of a required freshman class that was fairly unique to my school. All professors on campus taught it, and the subject matter varied from Shakespeare to Richard Dawkins. The professor for my class was a motorcycle-riding Buddhist from a small town. He explained what to expect and finished his speech by saying he’d failed entire classes before.
There had been required reading for the first day of class, and the professor pressed us with the question, “Why?” I responded to that question, and he followed up with, “Well, why is that, Sami?” But my 16-year-old brain could not wrap itself around conceptual thought, and I left that class with tears in my eyes. I grabbed my phone, called my mom, and explained that I was certain I wasn’t going to make it through college. I would inevitably grow jealous of my peers whose classes got to discuss books over cups of coffee. In the meantime, I spent hours getting tutored in my writing, as my “unique” random train-of-thought essays did not work in the academic context. It wasn’t until I went on a failed date with someone, who then sat down for a few hours to teach me how to condense my thoughts into readable essays, that I became confident in my writing. (Thank you, Pete.) I did make it through that class, but it was challenging. I came down with severe bronchitis halfway through the semester, giving me a crash course into handling health issues during college.
As I developed more random health problems, I became despondent. It was tough trying to figure out how to get the correct accommodations for my needs at school. I picked a college close to home but hadn’t considered whether the campus was prepared to deal with someone who had health issues like mine. For example, the emergency room was two hours away, as were all of my doctors. I started receiving infusions of IVIG again because I was getting constant infections. That meant I had to schedule an infusion day during the week each month, hopefully one that didn’t conflict with my classes.
I’d already scheduled my classes so I’d only be on campus three days a week. I changed majors a few times. I was happy with political science until my favorite professor, who was also my advisor, left the college. I eventually became a theatre major, and to this day, I am still happy I chose the arts field for my degree.
Eventually, I realized that the university I had spent three years attending is a phenomenal school, but it was not a good fit for me. It was a small university, and options to meet my needs were limited. I wish I would’ve known this going in, but it’s difficult to plan for these sorts of situations. A student wants to go to the best school they can, and this means considering more than academics.
The school I transferred to—the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee’s Peck School of the Arts—had a much larger program, with a vastly different type of disability program. Instead of having to continuously submit information on necessary accommodations, and having to in a sense “reapply” each semester, I met with the disability staff once. They gave me a paper listing my needs, which remained the same each semester. It helped relieve a lot of stress for me. The head of the theatre department was going through some health challenges herself, so I felt a sense of solidarity with her.
At this school, my doctors and the hospital were just minutes away. And the professors were understanding of my needs. There was some concern that the large theatre history lecture class required for my degree might make me susceptible to an infection from being around so many people. Because of this, the professor was kind enough to alter his class plan to include a one-on-one class with me over coffee once a week. I learned so much from that class. I was able to take online classes, which I breezed through, given the fact that many were at my own pace. And I got credit by having an internship at the local museum. It was a great fit.
When I first went to college, I didn’t realize all that would need to be considered in selecting a school that would be the best fit for my needs—academically and medically. It’s easy to just look at campus activities and potential for academic success. I’m glad that I was eventually able to find a school that provided the accommodations I needed, but in retrospect, I wish I would’ve known then what I know now.