It's finals' night for Engl 201A, and I've mentally prepared myself to give a short oral presentation on my research essay, as requested by the English instructor. I assumed we would have to get front of the class, and discuss it--but he decided that everyone should just form a circle.
"And what was the most interesting thing you learned?" The English instructor asks me, the next desk over to my left, as he had for all the students.
I told him and the class, not using names, that I decided to write about someone close to me, and how upset she was over the fact that I was disclosing her opiate use in a college paper, "And I had this hyper-emotional conversation, in which she said, 'Don't you need my permission to write about me?' "
"Was she being neurotic or paranoid?" The English instructor asked.
I'm sure my mother would appreciate that, I thought humorously, but I only responded that the individual was just afraid of the stigma around opioid use, even for people with chronic pain.
One of the students, the one I had problems listening to all semester, spoke up, "It reminds me of Dr. House, when she said, 'she has a pain problem, not a pill problem.' "
I'm waiting for him to say something really stupid, so I can put him in his place. After all, it is the last class.
He doesn't comment further.
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