18. Finals (Dun-dun-duuuunnnnn)

Academically, my first semester of college would hinge almost entirely on final exams. See, when you’re in high school, finals seem like a big stressful deal but they don’t amount to much. College finals, on the other hand – they mean a whole lot more than any high school test. We’re talking a tough test that’s quarter or a third of your grade.

My exam schedule definitely could have been worse. I only had finals in half my classes. My English and philosophy professors assigned papers instead, which I didn’t mind so much since writing is kind of my thing. Microbiology and calculus, however, would close with huge cumulative tests.

I knew far in advance that finals week was going to be rough. Since I had slacked on my homework and not done so great on my tests, I’d have to prepare a lot for this last round of grades. I worried about my GPA. In order to keep my scholarships, I would need at least a 3.2 at the end of my second semester.

Even if I somehow got into easy classes for the spring, I would not be able to pull up a fifteen hour C average. One of four classes served as a bright spot – I knew I’d ace English unless I let a blind monkey type my final paper.

Unfortunately, that appeared to be the extent of the good news. My last grades in philosophy and microbiology, if I did respectably, would leave me sitting somewhere in low-B range. As to calculus…calculus was the source of my real stress. For the first time, I wondered if I could succeed in a class – and knew that if I failed the final exam, I would not.

It was more than scary to think I might have to retake the worst class I could imagine. I hated every moment spent in calculus; I might physically die if forced to sit through another semester. Not to mention an F would kill my GPA even worse than a D, my parents would be less than happy, and I would hate myself.

Though it was a painful process, I had tried to prepare for the regular tests. I passed two out of three, and the one I bombed would have been a passing grade with just one more point. The final would probably be passable, but certainly would not be easy – and the preparation would not be fun.

I would have to study like I’d never studied before. I continued attending study sessions and yes, even class. The day before my exam I went to study with my friend Kaitlan – a math phenom who was already finishing calc II. She helped a lot and gave me her old notes and note cards to look over. I felt a little better about my situation…but not better enough to avoid worrying myself into a headache that day.

I had to pass calculus. There were no other options; I had to pass or I may as well drop out of school. Unfortunately, I also had to sleep that Sunday afternoon, or I would have puked. Kaitlan had just given me so much helpful material, and now I hardly had any time to use it. The final, to my benefit, wasn’t until 5:30 on Monday evening. I pulled down the shade and slept my headache away, then studied off and on throughout Monday.

That afternoon I spent several hours studying with my friend Scottie from downstairs. He hated calculus too but was good at math – and with the curve in his section, he had a B. My section, on the other hand, included a small handful of geniuses who crippled the curve for everyone else. That curve was my grade’s lifeblood.

While I studied, I tried to assure myself everything would be fine. Needless to say, finals week was one filled with more prayer than usual – like most people I know, I’m bad about talking to God a lot more when I need something.

I had only failed one of the regular exams, and they were probably almost as bad as the final would be. I studied a lot more for the final and besides, much of it was review. With God ultimately in charge (even of calculus), I had no justifiable reason to worry... but as is too often the case, this barely slowed the worries down.

I’d avoided failing by an average of 10 points on the previous three tests. I got 70% of the quiz points for the semester and 100% on the final project. Surely I would pass calculus, I told myself. I’d have to really botch the final to fail. And there was the rub: who was to say I wouldn’t reallty botch the final? I couldn’t be sure, so the sick, frightening doubt remained. If my professor happened to be in a bad mood when he graded the exams, I might be done for.

I walked to my calc exam feeling nauseated and more nervous than I’ve ever felt on account of school. Five-thirty came, and the final was unsurprisingly brutal. Since I had studied more it didn’t seem as bad as the others (it appeared to be written only half in Greek), but it was terrible nonetheless.

Each and every problem, even if I understood the idea behind it, was difficult and complicated. The professor must have either a) thought we were geniuses or b) wanted us to fail. I stared at my desk knowing if I didn’t write down enough answer-resembling junk on the packet in front of me, I would fail calculus.

On a scale of one to ten, with ten being so stressed you actually explode, I spent about a month hovering over 7 thanks to calculus. But I never expected microbiology to be awful…after all, only half of the material would be new. The rest would be review, re-worded questions from old tests and quizzes.

Even the new stuff should be ok because of how recently we’d covered it in class. Unlike calculus, I understood what my professors were saying in MBZ. On the same Stressed to The Point of Explosion scale, I’d say I went into my MBZ final at a modest 4. It would definitely be bearable, but I would have to study a good deal more than I’m used to.

I’d studied for an hour and a half at most in preparation for my two regular microbiology tests. My grades were average, which I thought was good considering all the pre-med honors kids in my class. Since I was expecting a D in calculus, I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to get a B in my science class. I promised myself I would study a lot…but I doubt if I looked over my notes or worked on practice quizzes for more than two hours. The hint of daredevil in me wouldn’t let me do much more, knowing the test was multiple choice.

The exam started at 7:30 AM, and I fully expected to spend the entire two-hour period wading through it. Walking fifteen minutes in the cold rain to take a final before the sun came up was not fun but I tried to be positive. After all, once I was finished I could go home for break!

Surprisingly, the MBZ final was less confusing than previous tests. And as much as I’d studied, I hardly had to guess at all! It was considerably more enjoyable walking back to my dorm than it had been walking to the science building. I was done with my first semester of college, nearly dried off, and playing videogames with Mark and Scottie by 8:45.

My final MBZ grade was an even more welcome surprise than the exam itself. I checked my grades online the first day they were posted – I got a B in my science class! Don’t ask how I did it, but I got a B in a pre-med weedout class full of perfectionist honors students. Especially combined with my A in English, such a respectable microbiology grade looked awful nice. That left calculus and philosophy, and only one of those had me worried...

My philosophy professor had told everyone in the class to arrange a meeting with him during exam week so he could tell us our final grades. I half expected to get in an argument with him and then fail the class. But I was amazed when I showed up to talk with him and he was polite – even friendly. This was a professor who had always disagreed with me, destroyed my papers, and who appeared to thoroughly dislike me.

But at this final meeting, he was smiling and reasonable and genuinely nice. He told me my grade…here the good news continues. I got a B+, having expected to get a B- at best. Again my pessimism was proven wrong – and I couldn’t have been wrong at a better time.

Calculus, to no one’s surprise, was less forgiving. Adding injury to injury, and insult to that, it was weeks before I saw my score. I spent all of Christmas break only hoping for a D. All my other professors posted the grades to the University website exactly when they were supposed to. But in the row labeled ‘Calculus I,’ my eyes were met with a big, fat…N?

What did N mean?! I flipped out, because one of my high school teachers told me N was probably short for “no credit.” I called the University registrar’s office that afternoon and was relieved to find that in fact N meant “no grade submitted” – which was better than certain failure, but did not get me out of the woods.

I re-checked every day over break, my heart pausing each time I pulled up the webpage. Would it be a D, or an F? Not until the second week OF THE NEXT SEMESTER did I learn my grade. I was at the registrar’s office turning in a drop class form, and decided to check while I was there.

The lady looked up my grades on her computer, then went to a box in the back of the room and pulled out a sheet of paper. She brought it to her desk near the counter and I could see that one row had been highlighted. It was a bubble sheet – the grades from my calculus section.

There was one student for whom no grade had been marked, and of course whose name was in the far left column? Mine. The woman called my professor and told him about the problem and when she hung up informed me he would “send in a supplemental grade form” and I would see my grade in a few days.

I thanked her, told her I guessed that meant I got to spend a few more days praying for a D-, and turned to leave. She stopped me, said, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but he told me...” and then reluctantly repeated what my professor had said over the phone. Let’s just say D became my favorite letter!

So, I’d worried too much about my grades. Do my first semester grades put a bit of extra pressure on me for the semesters to follow? Sure – most of my scholarships require a 3.0 grade point average and my first semester left me sitting at 2.6. Losing scholarships is not an option…but I will be fine.

I’d intended to get the worst out of the way early, and it was bad – but what else should a person expect from “the worst?” Your first semester is supposed to be a transition, and I did pretty well in some tough courses. I’m not ecstatic with my results, but I think God may be using that to teach me to relax. How much better a person would I be if I had a 4.0?