The Senior Thesis Showdown: Surviving Sister Eilleen

I was blessed to attend a small Catholic college in South Dakota named Mount Marty. The faculty consisted of seasoned professors with years of experience. Rather than being taught in large lecture halls by well-meaning teaching assistants, we attended class in small classrooms led by learned instructors. It was an expensive privilege I worked hard to deserve.

In the winter of my Senior year, I needed Periacetabular Osteotomy (PAO) surgery. This surgery would create a new hip socket to help relieve my pain and help me be active again. I underwent the procedure during college interim, which gave me Christmas and January to recover.

After surgery, I was encased in plaster from under my arms down to my left knee. I would be in the cast for eight weeks. It was bent at the hip, so I needed a large wheelchair to keep me mobile. My mother insisted I convalesce with my parents in Ethan, South Dakota, home to 365 people. I stood firm and returned to college.

I couldn't student teach while in a wheelchair, so instead I focused on researching and writing my senior thesis. The advisor from the English department, my field of study, was Sr. Eilleen. The curmudgeonly woman bent forward at the waist and spewed odious words at all who questioned her authority. My sister had tangled with her during her tenure at the Mount, so I approached the woman cautiously.

During class, Sister treated me respectfully and I worked hard to prove myself. I conducted my research faithfully and commenced writing my thesis. Once I completed a working draft, I met with her in her office to discuss any recommendations for improvement. She made a number of suggestions and marked up the draft in bright red.

A few weeks later, I sat opposite Sr. Eilleen for another session of ink slinging instructions. She voiced an opinion that I should not be completing my thesis while in a wheelchair but should return home until my body was healed. The venerable scholar tried to draw a direct line between my "inferior" writing and my physical state. I began to understand. Sister did not like or approve of me, any more than she had accepted Pam eight years earlier.

Over the next month, I typed up several drafts of my thesis. Curiosity drove me to start comparing early drafts to my later ones. Sr. Eillen's suggestions circled back to ideas she had rejected in earlier versions. I felt she was actively misdirecting my efforts so I wouldn't finish my thesis and would fail.

Soon others in my class were presenting their theses. I tried to set up a time to present, but Sister insisted I couldn't do so from the wheelchair. My thesis submission was put off until summer.

I signed up for classes during the summer and staid myself for future work with Sr. Eilleen. I noticed her on campus several times as she walked hunched over swinging her leather brief case in her right arm. I started referring to her as Sister I Lean Forward and Fall on My Face. The wicked witch theme music from The Wizard of Oz played in my head, and I no longer held Christian thoughts of charity and goodwill for her in my heart.

Though I asked to schedule my thesis delivery several times during the summer, Sr. Eilleen found various excuses to delay me. Finally, a date was set for the last week of summer. I worked hard practicing my presentation and fine tuning the essay. I wanted to wow Sr. Eilleen and show her my intelligent grasp of African American Literature.

The day arrived and I excitedly prepared for the one o'clock appointment with the English professors. As I turned the door handle, my phone rang. A voice on the other end informed me Sr. Eilleen had been rushed to the hospital for a possible heart attack. Luckily, she did not have a heart attack but rather suffered a case of indigestion. I stopped worrying and prepared for my last semester of college; I knew I could present my thesis during the term and all would be well.

Once school started, I contacted Sr. Eilleen. I wanted to complete my thesis before I started student teaching. Her cold voice informed me I would need to enroll in a second thesis writing class and conduct a new research study to graduate. According to her, my project was null and void since I had completed it in the previous school year.

My brain exploded and fury shut down all reasonable thought. I grabbed my ID and marched toward the registrar's office. Sr. Martin, one of jolliest nuns I knew, was working behind the desk as I plowed through the door. I plopped my ID on the counter and demanded a copy of my transcript.

"Why do you need your transcript, Tara? Are you applying for jobs already?" asked Sr. Martin.

I fixed my angry eyes on her and hissed, "Sr. Eilleen refuses to let me present my thesis without taking the class again, so I am transferring to Dakota Wesleyan. Mount Marty has just lost one of its magna cum laude graduates!"

Sr. Martin sat me down for a chat. By the time she finished, I had calmed down enough to listen to reason. Mount Marty is a small college, so when Sr. Martin promised to solve my problem, I believed her.

My favorite professor replaced Sr. Eilleen as my thesis advisor so I could present my research to him, Sr. Eilleen, and a small group of tenured professors. Despite the sister's scathing remarks about my work, I earned a high B and credit for the class. I could put the entire incident behind me.

I wish I could say I have forgiven Sr. Eilleen for her unprofessional behavior thirty-four years ago, but I still think of her disdainfully whenever I watch The Wizard of Oz.