Lesley Residency 5.1

Thursday morning found me in front of a classroom of my peers, lecturing on the use of multiple point-of-view characters in the work of Andre Dubus and William Trevor. Thursday afternoon found me, several friends, and my wife, walking through Boston’s Beacon Hill neighborhood and, eventually, the Boston Public Library. And Thursday evening found me rushing from a bar to my hotel room, after a night of fabulous graduating student readings and what had appeared to be an uneventful shot-giving experience, to try and figure out why my wife was in a horrible amount of pain.

All in all, I believe Thursday, the last day of June 2005, could be considered a rather eventful twenty-four hours.

My class went well. I wished that I’d been able to practice it more ahead of time, and that I’d been able to engage the students in a more comprehensive discussion of the techniques in question, but I did know the story we were discussing and I think I gave them some pretty good examples of how to to do what Dubus was doing in their own work. My faculty monitor, who I’d had a somewhat negative mentor-student relationship with in the past, was very complimentary, and the students who spoke with me afterwards said I did fine.

In the afternoon, after a class given by one of my favorite faculty mentors, Michael Lowenthal, and after eating far too much at lunch, I eventually ended up calling up Stef and inviting her out on an adventure with Sara, Shera, and Jill. We walked around the Beacon Hill neighborhood, through the public gardens, and through several other parks, before we ended up at the Boston Public Library. The intent of the trip was to give Shera a taste of the city. Thusfar, she’d mainly seen in during quick trips to and from the airport and during one terribly cold excursion during one of our winter residencies. I think she got a pretty good tour, thanks to Sara, who always seems to know just where to go.

That evening, after eating out with Stephanie, I ran back to the Lesley campus to see the first night of graduating student readings. They were phenomenal—better, I was told, than some of the faculty readings. Each student read for ten minutes and though I was horribly nauseous, thanks to eating too much at lunch and then at dinner, I enjoyed them all. After the reading, I hurried back to the hotel to administer the PIO shot to Stef, and then I rushed back towards campus to partake in a little bit of drink and merriment.

I’d only had one drink, maybe two, when my phone went off. Stef called to tell me that she was experiencing some severe swelling in her leg, just below the injection site. A husband has never run faster to the side of his ailing wife. Of this, I am sure.

When I got there, I quickly assessed the situation and called the 24-hour emergency line. They were prompt in returning our phonecall and we soon determined that the problem was a common one, that after a certain number of days of giving injections into one side or the other, it was almost unavoidable that the oil (used as a delivery mechanism for the hormone being injected) would build up and cause such a reaction. Stef took some Acetaminophen and I gave her a more thorough massage than I had earlier, and eventually all was well.