P/NP: Not the Question

"Students," Prof. S. addressed the class, "Get out a piece of paper for tonight's Reading Quiz. Write 'RQ' #7 on the top of your paper. Do NOT forget to write your NAME at the top of your paper. There were TWO students who failed to put their NAMES on RQ#6. That is a way to FAIL the quiz. Eyes on your own paper. Question #1..."

The reading quizzes put the fear of God into the class. They represented a substantial part of the final grade, and to obtain a perfect score (which I only did once), one practically had to commit all the copious (and often dull) reading material to memory. (That week of the perfect score, we just happened to be reading Edgar Allen Poe, who I love, so I didn't mind reading the assignment 3+ times.) Whenever the reading quiz was announced, the class recoiled in fear and horror. Only one student aced them all, but he went to UCSD and was on his way to medical school, and he had to get an A. His future depended on it.

Really, it felt like everyone's future depended on it. But the quizzes were hard. The papers were hard. The in-class exams impossible. It seemed that I chose the absolutely worst class to have a disability in. Over half of the original students had already dropped and a handful of those left were poised to fail.

The miracle: I was passing. I had done well on my two take home papers, which was salvaging my grade, as I was tanking on the reading quizzes (like everyone else.) What I couldn't believe, though, was the change in my performance level. I could read and retain hundreds of pages worth of often tedious and difficult reading material. I was enjoying the in-class films and discussions. Essentially, I had morphed into a normal human being.

* * *

I'm just waiting for Prof. S. to email me my grade.

Now that I can read, concentrate, focus, sit still, stay plugged in, it's hard to look back and remember what a struggle it was at the beginning of the class. I had to remind myself and try to wrap my head around the word "dementia." Was I really that far gone? Could I really not grasp a minute and a half film? Did I feel myself separating from the rest of the world? Was I that profoundly disabled?

Of course the answer is "yes." If it were not for Dr. T. and her medical intervention, I would have dropped out of the class, feeling utterly incapable, and taken it out on myself until the end of time.

The real lesson of the class is this: Symptoms aren't personal, and they can be overcome.

And if I can survive American Literature 210, I can survive anything!