College

So, as many of you know, I have joined the ranks of academia. Ha ha, no I haven't seen all ADD and STIs. You're funny. In fact, I haven't seen an STI in the four-plus months since I started. That makes me a little sad. I miss trich. I haven't seen a lot since residency and for some reason, the sight of that little protozoa swimming happily all over my microscope field always cheered me up. Our protocol for ADD/ADHD doesn't really involve initial diagnosis much. I write for less stimulants now than I did in private practice. Weird. Maybe two ADHDs in 4 month and no trich! No Chlamydia, no syphilis. Maybe some BV, but that's not exactly a world class sexually transmitted disease.

I find myself suddenly in possession of a lunch hour. A real lunch hour. I have oh, maybe 3 or 4 charts a day to do rather than 20-30 (on an easy day) and thus, I have time to kill at lunch. I stroll around campus and

I SEE DEAD PEOPLE.

No.

I SEE OLD PEOPLE.

Specifically, I see myself. I see my husband. I see old friends.

I'm working at the same midwestern university from whence I graduated from both college and medical school. I have gone home again. As I wander around in search of coffee, a sandwich, fritos, Columbian burritos, books, magazines, sushi, and kim chi at lunch, lost in my thoughts, I see myself. There I am, slinking along, 20 years old again, giant backpack at hand, giant sunglasses on, thrift store pants clad, flip flips on my feet (even then), on the way from skipping one class to skipping another class. I see my husband out of the corner of my eye, 20 years younger, NYTimes under his arm, smiling and overjoyed to see me (which, God love him, he still pretends to be). I see the guy I dated before Monsieur, riding his bike, rushing to his micro lab. "Yeah, sure, I can make some tuna noodle casserole on Friday. You wanna meet later at the library?" I see my sister dutifully trudging to class, pleasant smile on her face, cheery greeting at the ready.

It's a little disorienting. I snap out of my thoughts (no doubt mulling over how much I hate the flu) and for a moment, I'm 20 again. I compose my face to wave at my Monsieur, my sister, my friend, my organic lab partner. Then I remember my children. Huh? I have kids? What's the time? Oh, it's noon, 23 years later.

For just one moment, though, I am 20 years old again. It's a rather precious if fleeting interlude. How is it that my 20 year old state of mind is trapped and so easily called forth by my 45 year old brain? I can't remember my phone number half the time, but blam, there I am recalling a physics lab assignment and the nice guy (Michael) who was my lab partner.

I'm not alone. I saw a very depressed young student today who tranferred from the beloved undergraduate institution of her dreams to a college closer to home for financial reasons. She said, "I'm walking down the street and I see my roommate from last year out of the corner of my eye. When I look closer, she's not there of course, and I'm so sad. And I'm alone again."

I'm not so sad, but I do empathize. I see ghosts, too. I call forth younger, sillier, more fact-filled versions of me every day. Then I think of my children, my paycheck, my house, my comfy German blanket, my dear, old friends, and I wave goodbye to my ghosts of students past.

I think my depressed patient will make friends. She's adorable and charming but shy. I managed and I'm neither adorable nor charming. Until she does, my old bones will hold her young hand while we both watch for ghosts.