An MCW MedMoth story: The Dangers of Boredom

From the August 11, 2023 issue of the Transformational Times

The Dangers of Boredom

Linda Nwumeh, Class of 2025

Here is a story that Linda Nwumeh shared as part of the MCW MedMoth live stortelling event on November 17, 2022 ...

I was a very mischievous child.

I used to truly revel in wreaking havoc on the peace others enjoyed, but my pranks were usually harmless. As an example, I once hid under my parents’ bed for hours until I heard that they were about to call the police to report me missing. (They did not find this funny.)

I quickly learned that the punishments I’d receive for misbehaving while at home far outweighed the consequences of misbehaving at my preschool, and I took complete advantage of this fact to fit all of the mayhem my soul desired into the school day. I fought with other students over toys, swore, and generally did the things I would never dream of doing at home until the day was over. As a result, I absolutely loved preschool. The only thing I loved at school more than mischief was our kind and loving teacher, Mrs. P. Even as a four-year-old, I could sense that she truly loved children and wanted the best for all of us.

However, there was one thing I absolutely dreaded at school ― naptime. At noon every day, Mrs. P would turn on smooth jazz music, dim the lights, close the blinds, lay out cots in neat and evenly spaced rows, and send us to bed for an hour. She would walk slowly and quietly between these rows for the entire hour ― checking that we were still alive I presume ― and if she saw that you were awake, she would quietly shush you and continue her slow, quiet march between the cots. The problem was that I could never actually fall asleep during naptime, and my four-year-old brain could not handle the boredom. Day after day, I lay down on my right side for the entire hour with my left eye completely closed and my right eye open just a sliver, listening to the sounds of Mrs. P’s quiet footsteps. Mrs. P could never tell that I was awake, and for a while, this touch of visual stimulation was enough to prevent me from going absolutely insane from boredom. But one day, this was simply not enough.

We were about ten minutes into naptime when an aberrant urge entered my four-year-old mind. As I watched Mrs. P make her daily journey between the cots, I wondered if she would notice whether I was awake if I started to slowly move my leg. Excitement gripped my mind ― this was like a game, one that I would lose if she shushed me. I slowly, slowly moved my leg closer and closer to the edge of the cot as she approached, watching her like a hawk with the sliver of my right eye that was still open. She walked past me without skipping a beat. Success!

As she rounded the corner and began to make another lap, the dopamine rush had already started to disappear. It was time to raise the stakes of this game. With my foot already at the very edge of the cot, I wanted to know if she would notice and shush me if I dropped my foot onto the floor as she made her way past me. An ambitious plan, but I felt that I was up to it. What was the worst that could happen?

My nerves were on fire as she approached the cot, but it was then or never. I dropped my foot onto the floor, and almost immediately felt her own foot barrel into mine. There was a surprised yelp and a loud crash as she fell, followed by Mrs. P’s pained wail.

All of the lights came on immediately as a next-door teacher ran into the room, and the rest of my classmates were awake and crying in seconds. I watched in absolute horror as Mrs. P continued to scream in pain from her position on the floor, explaining that she hadn’t seen my leg and that my foot must have fallen off the cot while I was sleeping. Within minutes, the preschool classroom was awash in red lights, and Mrs. P was taken away in an ambulance.

We spent the rest of the afternoon writing “get well soon” letters for Mrs. P.

I didn’t know whether I could feel any more guilty, but after Mrs. P walked in on crutches the next day with her leg in a cast, my heart sunk. She explained that she wouldn’t be able to chase us around the room and playground as usual, but that she would try her best to make class as normal as possible. The nail in my coffin of guilt was when Mrs. P saw over the course of the day that I wasn’t engaging in my usual mischief, pulled me aside, gave me a hug, and assured me that none of this had been my fault, as I had been asleep.

However, the damage to my desire to do mischief had already been done. I had transformed almost overnight from a mischievous child to one that was exceedingly well-behaved and considerate in an attempt to atone for my sins, and this change in behavior was noticed even by my parents. I had diverted my energy into learning at school rather than misbehaving at school, and this change in trajectory was certainly necessary for me to have discovered the love

of learning that drives me today as a third-year medical student. I only wish this hadn’t come at the cost of Mrs. P’s leg.

(P.S. I do not know if Mrs. P ever walked again, as she was still on crutches with her leg in a cast during my preschool graduation ceremony.)

Linda Nwumeh is a third-year medical student at MCW-MKE from the Chicago suburbs. She is part of the student editorial team for the Transformational Times and the MedMoth planning committee. In her free time, she enjoys writing, cooking, and tending to her plants.