Loopholes and loss: Why I said no to Harvard
Me with my colleague Steve O'Neill, recording the OpenNotes education module used with first and third year medical students at Harvard Medical School. Steve is not the colleague I refer to in this blog post, although he too is a generous mentor.
Earlier this year I was on a roll. I had just finished chemotherapy (again), and was up for an appointment at Harvard Medical School.
I was ready for this opportunity because nearly three years ago, a person I greatly admire—a well-regarded professor of medicine—put a fantastic idea into my head. He said I could be the first person representing a patient perspective offered an academic appointment at the medical school.
If that great person believed in me, why couldn’t I believe in me too? In the months and years following that suggestion, my life became a meta experience: everyone was a mentor from which I could learn. I was both an academic and observer of academic culture. I was a chameleon at a garden party.
And on top of that, my own health played a starring role when I ended up facing two recurrences of my brain tumor during this same period. Through the eyes of a lifelong learner, I saw my fourth brain surgery as an incredible opportunity to document a unique experience and have it published in a journal. (And I was successful.)
Last year, my CV and a letter of my recommendation was sent for consideration. Things were looking favorable. Anticipation mounted. The academic rank of “associate” was proposed. (Not “associate professor,” just associate.) A colleague mailed me handwritten note of congratulations. (“Welcome to Harvard!” it read.) Another mailed me a t-shirt from the official book store. If felt like a patient perspective at Harvard Medical School just might become a reality!
Except it didn’t. A person in the dean’s office noted my home address was in California, not New England. Those who put me up for an appointment had not realized that after the COVID-19 pandemic the medical school began cracking down on “remote appointments.” I was told there was a slow, but noticeable, exodus from Massachusetts and as a result, remote appointments were no longer being offered. Harvard wanted their appointees nearby, and those who did not plan to return to the greater Boston area were in jeopardy of losing their existing appointments.
Upon hearing this I fell into a period of academic grief, from which I am still climbing out. The Kubler-Ross Model of grief includes bargaining, anger, denial, depression, and acceptance. These phases are not linear, however I have experienced all.
Bargaining: I was bargaining when I seriously considered obtaining a Boston mailing address by living in an AirBnb one week each month to gain residency status.
Anger: I was angry at my mentors for suggesting I could earn an appointment in the first place.
Denial: I was in denial when I spoke with the office of the ombudman to see if there were loopholes for my situation.
Depression: Crushingly, I experienced a form of depression when—after attending a celebratory dinner in honor of a Boston colleague who received a well-deserved promotion—I realized I would never experience my own celebratory dinner.
Finally, acceptance: The aim statement for this blog post is to achieve acceptance. I haven’t achieved that yet, but I am asking for a no-cost extension.
By writing and sharing this story I get a chance to humble-brag that people I truly admire believed I was worthy of an academic appointment, somewhere. An honor that comes with no monetary reward. Achievement unlocked. Sad trumpet.
A few months ago I began seeing a therapist who helped me see the situation in a new light. Up until then, the story I was telling myself was that the reason I did not have the appointment was a failure on my part.
She helped me see that was not true. In reality, I had earned an appointment, and no one can take that away from me. I then typed these words into the Notes app on my phone as a reminder should I ever forget:
“I was offered an academic appointment at Harvard Medical School upon the condition I live within commuting distance. But I declined. By declining, I am choosing my health, my network, and my community.”
