Ten Years Later: Reflections on Earning My Doctoral Degree
This month marks ten years since I earned my doctoral degree from St. John Fisher College, now St. John Fisher University. I began the program because I wanted to become a stronger writer. In many ways, earning that degree became like other challenges I had taken on, such as paddling upstream when I kayaked in Florida or making curtains: difficult at first, but possible through persistence, practice, and patience.
I was halfway through the doctoral program when my father had his gallbladder removed. Unfortunately, during the procedure, his small bowel was nicked, and the doctors had to open his abdomen to address the complication. That meant he had to remain in the hospital. When I saw him later that day, we looked at each other with quiet understanding. It felt as though nothing was ever easy for him when medical procedures were involved.
Within twenty-four hours, he became delirious and was moved to the ICU. He also developed C. diff, which made his recovery even longer and more difficult.
During this same period, I was completing the culminating exams I had to pass in order to remain in the doctoral program. I remember sitting in the hospital parking lot, making edits to a paper between visits. I did not pass the exam, and I had to sit out for six months before I could rejoin the next cohort.
At the time, failing the exam felt overwhelming. Looking back, I realize the exam was only one challenge among many. My father’s health was teaching me lessons about persistence that no doctoral program ever could.
During those six months, I worked with a faculty member to strengthen Chapter 3 of my dissertation, the section connected to the exam. That time away helped me refine my thinking and improve my writing, and I was eventually able to rejoin the program.
About a year later, my father became seriously ill again. He was at Upstate Medical Center for several days.
I remember saying to three doctors, “If you do not do something, he will die.”
One physician replied, “We do not take care of people like him.”
“What does that mean, people like him?” I asked.
“He has dementia.”
“No, he doesn’t. Two weeks ago, he was driving his truck, taking out the garbage, and going to the store. If there is paperwork that says he has dementia, I want to see it.”
The three doctors looked at one another. Two quietly shook their heads.
Then one of them said, “We’ll run some tests.”
The following day, they discovered that my father had an abscess behind his liver filled with E. coli. They drained the abscess, and several days later, he walked out of the hospital. He was seventy-eight years old.
Through my father’s illnesses, I learned that leadership often begins long before someone receives a title. I learned to advocate when conversations were uncomfortable, delegate when I could not do everything myself, and continue moving toward long-term goals even when life demanded my attention elsewhere. Those lessons reinforced what the doctoral program was teaching me about research, writing, critical thinking, and collaboration.
My dissertation focused on students in transitional reading courses, and I have continued that work ever since. Even today, that research continues to shape my teaching, scholarship, and professional goals. I am grateful for the opportunity to have earned my doctoral degree, and I am also grateful for the moments when I failed, paused, learned, and returned stronger.
When have you completed something only to realize you learned far more than you expected along the way?
Leah