The Travels of Dr. Rebecca Harper
A Matter of Time
Graduation 1981—Oh my God, I’m a vet. A real vet. No more practicing writing my name as Rebecca Ann Harper, DVM—or better yet, Dr. Rebecca Harper—in the margins of my class notes.
No more calculating my GPA daily in my spiral notebook while Dr. Fitzgerald drones on about accreditation exams. Considering the last three years, this is a miracle. I have it all.
With my diploma in hand and Pomp and Circumstance droning from the loudspeaker, I rushed off the graduation stage. I walked past my beaming husband, Jeff. He had Lauren, our three-year-old daughter, in tow and intended to keep her from screaming as I walked past without a hug.
Jeff and I met when he started his residency in equine reproduction four years ago. A kinder man you will never meet. “He’s tall, muscular, sandy-haired, and the best husband and father you could ever ask for.
The cliché is gag-worthy, but it’s true.” He opted out of his theriogenology residency program for one year with only a few months to go, so I could continue my schooling …