My Resolution

Lifeline^R6

Emily Sue Harvey

I almost overlooked the newspaper article that morning.

Pain and depression from Fibromyalgia were having a field day, sapping my energy and concentration. My good days were dwindling. Depression keened after my Mom's heart bypass surgery. Four weeks later, she remained in ICU, near comatose.

It seemed unbearable at times, seeing her suffer.

It was on that morose note that I spotted the news story. "Hey, Lee," I called to my husband from the kitchen table. "Look at this. Senior citizens can go to University of South Carolina Upstate tuition-free." I shook my head. "There's got to be a catch here somewhere."

He read it over my shoulder. "Check it out."

More curious than anything, I did just that. A phone call reassured me that I had gotten it right. I could register within the week and begin January classes.

Reality set in. Dear Lord, how am I going to go to school when I can hardly drag myself out of bed some days?

Yet stopping just a few credit hours short of my English degree was one of the deep regrets of my life. Years earlier, changes in location, occupations, and lifestyle interrupted my academic goals. More recently, with us nearing retirement, the financial strain of rising tuition was a major drawback.

"Why don't you just jump in and do it?" Lee said that night at the kitchen table. "After all, it's not going to cost you anything, except time and work."

So, sizzling with trepidation, I went to late registration, the day before the first semester began. My head spun from the swiftness of it all. Then, I was gripped by a devil-may-care attitude. I couldn't feel any lower, so why not go for it? My advisor told me what courses I needed to complete my requirements.

"Math." The word slid from my mouth flat and distasteful—my old nemesis. Aside from all the legitimate reasons, it was one hurdle that stopped me short of my prize each time. Somewhere along life's path, my brain had computed me "numbers-challenged."

I have this little compulsion that insists I finish everything that I begin. All through the years, that little voice kept accusing, "you didn't get your degree." Sitting there in the advisor's office, it screamed, "it's now or never!"

A burst of do-or-die recklessness shot through me and I heard myself say, "sign me up for the Thinking Mathematically course." By golly, I'd do it or die trying.

After adding a required English course, my advisor suggested I stop there since I was just getting my feet wet after the long sabbatical. I took his advice and left, committed to six hours of credits.

Again, reality slammed me and my courage panicked. Imagine, me, who can't balance a checkbook, going into the numbers battle with a feather duster. Me, who could hardly drag myself out of bed some days, not to mention the mind-fog.

Disgusted, the "overcomer" me called the other me a "wimp" and I armed myself with a dozen #2 pencils and plenty of good erasers.

Those first days of classes tried me. Some days, I left Math class feeling I just might make it. Other days, I was certain I could never do it. I'd rush to the hospital ICU and see Mom, who had not yet come "back" to us. Then I would go home and study the new problems. Dizziness attacked me periodically as I struggled to see patterns in the numbers and symbols.

And then a strange thing happened. There's something about taking charge of your life that spurs a domino effect of affirmative things. Kicking out compulsive things that ate up my time and energy, then replacing them with good, positive areas of aspiration boosted my self-confidence.

Another thing happened. I noticed my energy was near normal. I no longer had the debilitating incidents of lethargy and fatigue.

Yet—as my first math test approached, years doubts dogged me. Give up, give up, they insisted. You can't do it!

Mom transferred to Restorative Care, still critical. But now, I didn't have time to linger over any negative thoughts of her slow recovery. I developed patience.

The week of the test, nerves attacked me, making me dizzy with apprehension. On the morning of the exam, I went to the Math tutoring lab, where I'd spent many hours with my "Dream Team," headed by my Math teacher, Professor Kakaras, aided by Chris and Matt. When I left, with an hour to go before the test, I went to sit in the stillness of my car, listening to soft music and praying.

"Lord, you know how very much I want to succeed. Please—just give me peace. I've done all I can do to prepare. Now, I give myself into your hands. Just give me peace and calm as I face this test."

By the time I entered the classroom, the dizziness was gone.

Tranquility settled over me as I began working the problems. All I had studied came back to me. My mind was clear and focused. For the first time ever, numbers and symbols didn't confuse and scatter my focus. I was the last student to leave the classroom but that was okay. I finished all the problems.

I walked out into the warm sunshine and it hit me. This was a lifeline God tossed to me.

Going back to college resurrected my mind.

It resurrected me.

At the hospital, Mom said my name and squeezed my hand.

Life is good.

(941 words)