Terminal diagnosis
This week's episode of House, MD, (which my wife and I have now become hooked on) was somehow all to familiar. A major plot point involved Foreman, one of the main team of physicians, talking with another doctor about delivering a terminal prognosis to a patient. Don't mince words, he learns. Give the patient time to process. Let them know they're still human.
Fortunately, my line of work involves much less weighty matters. At the same time, I found myself faced with two "terminal diagnosis" of my own--the message that they were either consigned to a failing grade or in very grave condition academically.
This is a tough conversation, especially late in the semester. I like both students I spoke with. For one, other life commitments (some noble, others less so) got in the way. The other got started late for reasons out of her control and has never seemed to fully catch up. These are not interactions I look forward to, but they've become increasingly easier, which may or may not be a good sign for me. Yet the advice on last night's show applies well here:
- It's best to be straightforward--no "well, I just think things don't look to good for you right now." Just be honest--you have no chance of passing.
- It's important to give students a time to respond. No, there's no extra credit. Unfortunately, you can't now decide to turn in work due eight weeks ago. The damage has been done.
- It's important to help students maintain a sense of dignity. On House this meant a gentle touch on the arm or shoulder. In my case, it might be reminding them of what they've done well this semester or something I've appreciated about their work. Perhaps we can talk about what their options are for the future. But there needs to be some recognition that this imminent or probably failing grade does not define them as students or people
Things don't always go well. I've had more than one student shed tears. Like Foreman last night, I usually feel some culpability in their academic demise. What if I had been more attentive or aggressive at inviting this student to office hours? Maybe if I had somehow made my expectations clearer earlier on? Can I bend a rule to let this student slip by? As a course instructor, I always share some blame in a students' failure, though here too I've become less self-blaming as time has gone on. I do my best, but often the prognosis may have been the same no matter who wrote the syllabus.
Learning how to be human in these moments is one of the more difficult tasks of teaching. There's so many ways to try to escape it--faceless emails or even just plain avoidance. Like doctors, though, I hope to continue improving at giving bad news a human face.