The Rosie Effect
Page 22
Of course I could have used a computer spreadsheet or calendar application. But the wall was much bigger than my screen and filling in my scheduled research meetings, martial-arts training and market jogs for the first four weeks induced an unexpected sense of wellbeing.
The morning after Gene’s arrival, we travelled together on the subway to Columbia. The journey from our new apartment was much shorter and I had rescheduled my departure time accordingly. Rosie had not yet adjusted her daily routine and took an earlier train.
I used the time to talk to Gene about his family problem. ‘She rejected you because you cheated on her. Multiple times. After you lied to her about stopping. Therefore she needs to be convinced that you are no longer a cheat and a liar.’
‘Not so loud, Don.’
I had raised my voice to emphasise these critical points and people were looking at us—and Gene particularly—with disapproval. A woman stepping off at Penn Station said, ‘Shame on you.’ The woman behind her added, ‘Pig.’ It was useful to have my argument reinforced but Gene attempted to change the subject.
‘Thought any more about fatherhood?’
I had not yet included any baby-related activities in my new white-tile schedule, although they had been the original motivation for creating it. It was possible my mind was responding to an unexpected event by activating primitive defence mechanisms and pretending it did not exist. I needed to do two things: acknowledge the upcoming birth by stating it out loud to others and undertake some actual research.
After installing Gene in his office at Columbia, we had coffee with Professor David Borenstein. Rosie joined us, in her role as my partner, rather than as a medical student. David had been extremely helpful in supporting our visas and relocation. ‘So what’s news with you, Don?’ he asked.
I was about to give David an update on my investigation of genetic predisposition to cirrhosis of the liver in mice, which was nearing completion, when I remembered my earlier decision to acknowledge my impending fatherhood.
‘Rosie’s pregnant,’ I said.
Everyone was silent. I knew immediately that I had made an error, as Rosie kicked me under the table. It was obviously ineffective; the statement could not be retracted.
‘Well,’ said David. ‘Congratulations.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Thanks. It’s not really public yet, so—’
‘Of course. And with my faculty hat on, I can assure you that you’re not the first student to have some disruption to their studies.’
‘I’m not planning to let it disrupt my studies.’ I recognised Rosie’s ‘Don’t fuck with me’ voice. It seemed inadvisable to use it on the Dean.
But David did not detect the tone, or chose to ignore it. ‘I’m not the person to talk to,’ he said. ‘When you’re ready, have a chat to Mandy Rau. You know Mandy? She’s the counsellor. Make sure you tell her you’re covered by Don’s medical plan.’
Rosie was about to speak again, but David raised both hands in a double ‘Stop’ signal and the subject changed to Gene’s program.
David declined a second coffee. ‘Sorry, I have to go, but I need to speak to Don about the cirrhosis research. Walk back with me? You’re welcome to join us, Gene.’
Gene, despite having no interest in my research, joined us.
‘I gather you’ve finished the component of the study that needs a visiting professor,’ said the Dean.
‘There’s still a vast quantity of data to be analysed,’ I said.
‘That’s what I meant—it’s mainly legwork. I thought you might like some assistance.’
‘Not if it means applying for a grant.’ It is generally less time-consuming to do work myself than to get involved in the paperwork required to get help.
‘No, you don’t need to apply for a grant. In this specific instance.’ He laughed and Gene joined in. ‘But I’ve got a post-doc researcher, strong on statistics, on loan to us—it’s a bit of a personal favour to a colleague, but there’s got to be meaningful work. Not least in case they audit the visa.’
‘Take him,’ said Gene.
Gene’s publication list was populated by work performed by such people under his notional supervision. I did not want my name on papers I had not written. But I owed it to David Borenstein to not waste my time on tasks that could be performed by a more junior person who would benefit from the experience.
‘Her name’s Inge,’ said David. ‘She’s Lithuanian.’
Gene left us, and the Dean and I walked for a while without speaking. I presumed he was thinking—a pleasant change from most people who regard a gap in the conversation as a space that requires filling. We were almost at his office when he spoke again.
‘Don, the counsellor is going to suggest Rosie takes time off. That’s sensible. But we don’t want to lose her. We like to keep our students and she’s a good one. The timing’s not great. She’ll probably need to defer the first six months of her major clinical year, then have the baby and come back second semester, or the following year. I’d say take the whole year. It’ll give you time to work out the care arrangements, which will probably involve you.’
I had not thought about this practical issue, and David’s advice seemed sound. ‘Some women take a month or two off and come right back, and arrange to pick up what they’ve missed in the vacation. I think that’s a mistake. Especially for you two.’
The morning after Gene’s arrival, we travelled together on the subway to Columbia. The journey from our new apartment was much shorter and I had rescheduled my departure time accordingly. Rosie had not yet adjusted her daily routine and took an earlier train.
I used the time to talk to Gene about his family problem. ‘She rejected you because you cheated on her. Multiple times. After you lied to her about stopping. Therefore she needs to be convinced that you are no longer a cheat and a liar.’
‘Not so loud, Don.’
I had raised my voice to emphasise these critical points and people were looking at us—and Gene particularly—with disapproval. A woman stepping off at Penn Station said, ‘Shame on you.’ The woman behind her added, ‘Pig.’ It was useful to have my argument reinforced but Gene attempted to change the subject.
‘Thought any more about fatherhood?’
I had not yet included any baby-related activities in my new white-tile schedule, although they had been the original motivation for creating it. It was possible my mind was responding to an unexpected event by activating primitive defence mechanisms and pretending it did not exist. I needed to do two things: acknowledge the upcoming birth by stating it out loud to others and undertake some actual research.
After installing Gene in his office at Columbia, we had coffee with Professor David Borenstein. Rosie joined us, in her role as my partner, rather than as a medical student. David had been extremely helpful in supporting our visas and relocation. ‘So what’s news with you, Don?’ he asked.
I was about to give David an update on my investigation of genetic predisposition to cirrhosis of the liver in mice, which was nearing completion, when I remembered my earlier decision to acknowledge my impending fatherhood.
‘Rosie’s pregnant,’ I said.
Everyone was silent. I knew immediately that I had made an error, as Rosie kicked me under the table. It was obviously ineffective; the statement could not be retracted.
‘Well,’ said David. ‘Congratulations.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Thanks. It’s not really public yet, so—’
‘Of course. And with my faculty hat on, I can assure you that you’re not the first student to have some disruption to their studies.’
‘I’m not planning to let it disrupt my studies.’ I recognised Rosie’s ‘Don’t fuck with me’ voice. It seemed inadvisable to use it on the Dean.
But David did not detect the tone, or chose to ignore it. ‘I’m not the person to talk to,’ he said. ‘When you’re ready, have a chat to Mandy Rau. You know Mandy? She’s the counsellor. Make sure you tell her you’re covered by Don’s medical plan.’
Rosie was about to speak again, but David raised both hands in a double ‘Stop’ signal and the subject changed to Gene’s program.
David declined a second coffee. ‘Sorry, I have to go, but I need to speak to Don about the cirrhosis research. Walk back with me? You’re welcome to join us, Gene.’
Gene, despite having no interest in my research, joined us.
‘I gather you’ve finished the component of the study that needs a visiting professor,’ said the Dean.
‘There’s still a vast quantity of data to be analysed,’ I said.
‘That’s what I meant—it’s mainly legwork. I thought you might like some assistance.’
‘Not if it means applying for a grant.’ It is generally less time-consuming to do work myself than to get involved in the paperwork required to get help.
‘No, you don’t need to apply for a grant. In this specific instance.’ He laughed and Gene joined in. ‘But I’ve got a post-doc researcher, strong on statistics, on loan to us—it’s a bit of a personal favour to a colleague, but there’s got to be meaningful work. Not least in case they audit the visa.’
‘Take him,’ said Gene.
Gene’s publication list was populated by work performed by such people under his notional supervision. I did not want my name on papers I had not written. But I owed it to David Borenstein to not waste my time on tasks that could be performed by a more junior person who would benefit from the experience.
‘Her name’s Inge,’ said David. ‘She’s Lithuanian.’
Gene left us, and the Dean and I walked for a while without speaking. I presumed he was thinking—a pleasant change from most people who regard a gap in the conversation as a space that requires filling. We were almost at his office when he spoke again.
‘Don, the counsellor is going to suggest Rosie takes time off. That’s sensible. But we don’t want to lose her. We like to keep our students and she’s a good one. The timing’s not great. She’ll probably need to defer the first six months of her major clinical year, then have the baby and come back second semester, or the following year. I’d say take the whole year. It’ll give you time to work out the care arrangements, which will probably involve you.’
I had not thought about this practical issue, and David’s advice seemed sound. ‘Some women take a month or two off and come right back, and arrange to pick up what they’ve missed in the vacation. I think that’s a mistake. Especially for you two.’
