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| A Fuzzy Major Brings Clarity to Life's Challenges |
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Immediately after graduation, I landed a nice entry-level job with the publisher Random House in New York. (Against the current wisdom of the time, I did admit that I typed.) I was appreciated for my editing and organizational skills and received increasingly interesting assignments. I did become an “MRS” two years later by marrying a “fuzzy major” like myself from Fordham University. Paul’s degree is in philosophy … talk about fuzzy. I then worked for IBM for a time until I became an “MOM” in 1991 and left the work force. The breadth of knowledge, skill and wisdom gained from a liberal arts curriculum is too often underappreciated in our American culture that values targeted approaches, business objectives and quantifiable results. Not only did a liberal arts education at Catholic University expose me to a variety of subjects, but my skills in thinking critically and imaginatively were practiced and enhanced, my writing was constantly and constructively critiqued (which, I must admit, felt awful at the time), and my ability to present myself and my ideas to an audience was strengthened. Unfortunately, CUA Magazine doesn’t often feature the nonprofessional ways in which a liberal arts education enriches a person’s life. The fact that I am a stay-at-home mom with a good brain who doesn’t make her own money bothers me. I’m living in America — how can I not be bothered when I see my peers achieving recognition and independent incomes? The notion of attending alumni functions makes me somewhat uncomfortable when all I have to share are the wallet-sized pictures of my husband and daughters. I know I speak for thousands of us with liberal arts degrees who have chosen to put off careers while our children are young. I am not wealthy and my work clothes are jeans and sneakers. That’s very humbling. But after 13 years in the parenting business, with four young “clients,” I have had the good fortune of hearing valuable feedback on how I’m doing. While spending nights in the hospital with a daughter suffering from rheumatic fever and being active in her care, I was told I’d make a great nurse. (Nursing was my second choice at CUA.) A religious-education teacher, after sitting in on a class I teach in our local parish, asked if I was a professional teacher. And my eldest daughter says I could be a therapist. (I really like that one!) These comments are like year-end reviews for me. They confirm that the time and money spent on my college education were in no way wasted when I got married, had children and stayed home with them. About three years ago my life took a nose dive, however. Back in 1985 when I first began dating my husband, he told me an important piece of information about himself. He had been diagnosed with manic-depression, now referred to as bipolar disorder, a few years earlier and was managing it well with mood-stabilizing medications. I admired his courage in being upfront about it and saw how committed he was to maintaining his mental health as well as to managing the Type 1 diabetes he has had since he was a teenager. I soon fell in love with this intelligent, fun and loving man. Fast-forward 15 years. My husband Paul is on a business trip to Zurich when he experiences his first and very serious panic attack. Once he gets to a U.S. hospital, a psychiatrist there wonders if the bipolar diagnosis given to him more than 20 years earlier was a mistake. She suggests he wean himself off his meds with the cooperation of his long-term psychiatrist to “see what happens” — so Paul gives that a try. Fast-forward another eight months. Paul, feeling out of control, checks himself into a psychiatric hospital suffering from acute mania. And I am pregnant with our fourth child. When a manic episode explodes, the patient, even after receiving effective treatment, can expect an onset of deep depression. This happened to Paul as well. He lost his mind, his hope, his joy and his job. I found myself facing the biggest challenge of my life: getting the best doctors, being my husband’s advocate, keeping my daughters informed and emotionally balanced, keeping myself and my baby healthy, managing our finances and a host of other tasks. People ask how I got through those painful months. After my faith in God’s help and the support I received from family and friends, I count my college experiences as an important factor in how I coped. I’ve come to recognize connections between how I handled matters and what I learned at CUA. My reaction to this crisis was anything but “fuzzy.” First, I read many books and studies on bipolar disorder, taking extensive notes. The strain on my mental stamina — keeping my notes in order, figuring out which sources were most reliable, organizing my thoughts before meeting doctors — was not unlike the time I was a senior preparing for my April comprehensives. Second, I used my pen to advocate for my husband. I wrote a detailed chronology of the events leading to Paul’s mania and showed how actions by certain doctors ran contrary to standard treatment protocols I uncovered in my research. I then spoke to lawyers with this information in hand. Despite the legitimacy of our case, we weighed all the time, money, effort and stress demanded of us if we took a malpractice suit to court and compared it to the likely judgment — and decided it would be a Pyrrhic victory. So instead, I contacted a state office, which sent an agent who presented my complaints to the medical facilities in question and recommended specific changes be made. That office will follow up in a year’s time to verify compliance. Third, when our medical insurance wouldn’t cover some $3,500 in extra hospital charges, I wrote a letter to the hospital arguing why we should not be held responsible for payment. I realize now that while crafting my letter, I was mindful of the many elements used in constructing a persuasive argument — something I learned senior year in my Reasoning and Argumentation class. I am happy to say that my letter was effective and the hospital covered 100 percent of the charges. Finally, I have reflected these past years on a simple but important truth about human love that I discovered in a CUA course entitled Religion and the Life Cycle. We were reading M. Scott Peck’s The Road Less Traveled. I was quite surprised by his discussion of Rollo May’s statement, “Love is an act of the will.” People may “fall in love” at first, but staying in love requires one to make a decision to remain faithful to the other, even when the feeling is absent. At the age of 19, “love” for me was romance and roses. Now, after 17 years of marriage, I have seen the seasons of mature love. Just as pruning rose bushes results in a later abundance of flowers, so the harshness we experienced in our marriage brought forth plenty of new hope, good health and a deeper love today. I realize how effective my “MRS degree” has been in doing my job as wife and mother. My marriage is sound and our children are happy, curious, loving and fun. On behalf of all us “stay-at-homes,” I want to acknowledge the contributions we make to our society, church and family. |
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It was in the North Dining Hall of my junior year, fall 1983. I was telling friends that after two years of staying “open,” I had summoned the courage to select a major. I had chosen English, a “fuzzy major” that doesn’t pre-set a person for a specific career (or much money). Upon hearing my choice, an engineering student across the cafeteria table snidely quipped, “Oh, the ‘MRS’ degree.” Speechless and angry, I threw my bowl of granola in his face. Although I have regretted my impulsive reaction, I have never regretted my choice of major.