In ten days, not that I’m counting, I will officially be promoted to full professor. (Yaaaahoooo!!!!) You’d think this would mean I know what my title is going to be. But no. Academia is never that simple.
You see, I’m on a “clinical appointment” at Northwestern. That means that I’m on a non-tenure-track, but reasonably secure, line. (The contract I presently have runs until something like 2013.) I quit tenure so I could have more flexibility, and now I really do; it’s great.
Well, the letter I got from my very nice dean congratulated me on being promoted to Professor of Clinical Medical Humanities and Bioethics. But the letter I got from my very nice provost congratulated me on being promoted to Clinical Professor of Medical Humanities and Bioethics.
So I went into my chair and asked her where to put the “clinical” in my title. “Drop it,” she answered. “It’s just confusing.” I had to agree with her; the use of “clinical” confuses most people into thinking I do clinical work or have clinical experience, i.e., that I see patients.
Consequently I asked our administrator Myria to get me some new business cards that said “Professor of Medical Humanities and Bioethics.” Myria, being sensible, checked with some folks to see if that was the right title for the card, given the confusion.
We ended up in one of those never-ending email conversations that involves ten people who ordinarily never talk to each other. One of the folks from the print shop suggested we just forget my title altogether and put only my name, degree, and program affiliation. “Noooo!” I objected. “I worked hard for that promotion!” Myria chimed in (correctly) that she had worked hard for it, too. (Applications for promotion involve a lot of paperwork.)
Long story short, the folks upstairs decided that, although using “clinical” is confusing, I have to use it because it is part of how my title is designated. In the midst of all this, I learned there are also “clinical” professors in the law school, the journalism school, and other places where they never see patients. (At least I hope they never see patients.)
But Myria and I still felt like there ought to be something on my card to try to help the average person understand that I’m not a medical doctor (since the average person is the person to whom I hand my business card). We realized, with the help of a delightful guy in print services, the simple solution was to add, to my new card, the joke I often use to start my lectures to medical audiences:
I’m not a doctor, but I sleep with one.
I like that. It makes the point, and simultaneously acknowledges a big part of how I pay for what I do (thanks again, honey), and also gives a sense of what I’m like….joking my way through some pretty intense issues.
But I’m still struck by how confusing the “clinical” tag turns out to be. Because to those in the know, it means I’m not quite as protected (i.e., not as illustrious?) as I would be if I didn’t have it. And to those not in the know, it makes me look that much more impressive by making me sound like a real doctor, instead of a doctorette. Just one more way, I guess, that life inside academia doesn’t match life outside.
Well, whatever. It feels great to be promoted to full professor, especially at a place like the Feinberg School of Medicine of Northwestern University. I always said my goal was “full by forty” and I’m actually forty-two now, but better late than never. I would have been “full by forty” if I hadn’t had a child, because if I hadn’t had a child, I would never have quit a tenured job just as I was going up for what I was told was sure-thing promotion to full professorship at Michigan State University. But man, that kid sure has been worth it. And now his mama is a full professor, however clinical.