By Vivian Kalla
For the third time this month, you have emailed your professor letting them know you will be missing class. You mention that, yes, you know that you are only technically allowed two absences per semester, but you would rather not faint mid-lecture — although maybe that would help get your point across. Of course, you have gone through the process of getting an accommodation from our Office of Student Accessibility for your illness after one too many near misses of automatic failure. Maybe your professor is incredibly kind and understanding, or maybe they give you a lecture about their class just not “being for you.” This has been my experience as a chronically ill student at Lewis & Clark, and it reflects a broader pattern: according to researchers, college students with chronic illness are only half as likely to graduate as their healthy peers.
Our culture on campus is in dire need of a pulse check: one that asks how students with chronic illness can be socially and academically successful at LC. As a chronically ill student, I often face feelings of isolation and a lack of support. I have found myself frustrated with unforgiving attendance policies and professors who seem to place the goals of a liberal arts education above the real pains and difficulties that many students are facing. Although the scholarship still has far to go on this subject, it is clear that I am not alone. Just earlier this year, LC alumna Anna Kwett ’26 published a senior thesis that offers a look into the experiences of chronically ill students on our campus. In reading this paper, it becomes clear that the current accommodations offered at LC are not enough. We desperately need increased education on understanding, advocating for and working with students with chronic illness. This means education for teachers, our peers and OSA.
In a world that is not built to support our mental and physical well-being, but rather our ability to produce, feeling unable to keep up academically with one’s peers is incredibly isolating and oftentimes shameful. Kwett’s dissertation features an interview with a student who wondered whether to skip accommodations that semester, saying, “If I use any of my accommodations ‘too much’ it sometimes makes the professor stop trusting me.” I can certainly echo this concern; not only do I fear that professors will not believe me, but I also feel embarrassed that I have to miss out on class time that some of my peers do not.
Living within a capitalist society means that I know how highly my output is valued over my personal well-being, which produces feelings of disappointment in myself. At the same time, I have also sat through syllabus presentations in which the professors make begrudging comments about students with accommodations, emphasizing that the student absolutely must meet with them to go over how that professor addresses accommodations in their class. It is important for professors to thoroughly consider how they speak about the accommodations process and make it as easy as possible for students to utilize it. Adding unnecessary barriers or lacking empathy only adds to the intrinsic isolation of being a student living in a chronically ill body.
Another reason behind the societal struggles that chronically ill students face is the lack of education on how chronic illness presents differently in each individual’s life. To an extent, this is understandable. There are various arguments to be made about why we have such little general knowledge about chronic illness, but some of them include the fact that chronically ill people are now living longer thanks to modern medicine, while others add that many Americans are living without access to high-quality healthcare. It is also essential to remember that the struggles of life as a chronically ill individual are only amplified for those with intersectional identities — be it race, gender or something else. To ignore this is to push such students farther to the frays, where finding support feels more and more impossible.Overall, it has become clear that we need to adapt, and fast, if we want to prevent the loss of access to higher education for all types of students.
What should one know about the experience of a student living with chronic illness? First off, while I can share my own experience and what I have learned in research, I do not speak for everyone. You absolutely must continue to listen and learn from more individuals with chronic illness if you want to be a better ally. Chronic illness can look different in every individual. Some will be more visible, potentially through the use of mobility aids, and some will be practically invisible.
Chronic illness looks different day to day, and it is not temporary like a cold or flu. One day I might be in class smiling, appearing perfectly fine and the next I may be emailing my professor that I must miss class. This does not change the validity of my experience or illness.
Peers and educators should work under the assumption that their students want to be in class. I find too often that professors speak to me as if I am purposefully avoiding them, when in reality, I am deeply saddened to be missing out on in-class learning, something we all, quite literally, pay a heavy price for at LC. And because chronic illness loves irony, the stress this puts on students only tends to exacerbate their symptoms.
It is important to me that I emphasize that not all of the experiences I have had advocating for my accommodations have been negative. I have many lovely peers and professors on this campus that I could not have gotten through my college experience without. Several of my professors make sure to personally ask how I am doing and even inquire about updates to my health. Those interactions mean the world to me, and it would not feel right to not acknowledge them. Thank you to the many allies of chronically ill students at LC who create spaces that prioritize learning and well-being simultaneously. You give me sincere hope for my future as an individual who will likely be sick for the rest of my life.
To the professors reading this, you cannot save your chronically ill students, but you can support them. Read, listen, approach with trust and understanding. Do not place the goals of a liberal arts institution over the personhood of your students. I know how important class time is at a private liberal arts college and I am beyond grateful for the opportunities our small class sizes provide toward valuable class discussions. In fact, it was a major aspect of my college decision-making process. Undoubtedly, when I cannot attend class, I miss pockets of knowledge that readings and lecture notes cannot provide.However, this does not mean that a person like me should be considered unable to be as successful as my peers, or destined to be less than.
To avoid sending this message, I ask that professors be thoughtful with the rhetoric they use. Instead of reminding your student that they will never be able to gain the same experience as their peers — which, I promise you, they are painfully aware of — remind them that taking care of one’s body and mind is important. Ask that they reach out for help if they find themselves falling behind on assignments. Encourage students to be active in discussions by reminding them that you value their input. Consider that students who are forced to miss out on class time for one reason or another are not doing so willfully, but out of necessity. Your students will likely continue to require accommodations as they enter the workforce and your responses today will play a role in determining their confidence in advocating for themselves in the future.
For students who may read this and resonate with my words, I ask that you continue to advocate for yourself to the utmost of your ability. We are working in a system that asks us to ignore our needs and makes us feel weak when we refuse to do so. Do not let anyone make you feel that you are making a fuss when you simply demand that your needs be respected. If we stay quiet, our community may never learn to be better for the students who come after us.
