Kurt Eichenwald was a college freshman. Liked Swarthmore, great roommates, fun. Mostly. Some weird worrisome health things – so he asked his parents if he could get checked out when he came home for Thanksgiving.

His father, a famed pediatrician, directed the family’s medical care. He despised doctors who weren’t academics, viewing them as incompetent money-grubbers. He arranged for his son to see a neurologist at the med school, a guy with a good reputation. Eichenwald says he had the bedside manner of a termite inspector.

Dr. Termite diagnosed epilepsy, told Eichenwald to keep it secret so as not to be shunned. Never say “epilepsy,” say “seizure disorder.” Forget law school, because law is stressful, and stress can trigger seizures. Also, better drop out of Swarthmore – too tough. Dr. Termite also put him on a low dose of the anticonvulsant Tegretol, later adding Depakene.

Eichenwald, horrified by his situation, followed Dr. Termite’s advice, except the part about dropping out. He was determined to stay at Swarthmore and graduate with his class. This wasn’t easy, given the increasing number of seizures he was having, but with help from his amazing roommates, he persisted.

His next neurologist was more upbeat, always ready to talk on the phone, hear about the seizures, and increase the drug dosages. He never suggested blood tests, and whenever Eichenwald described a problem – dizziness, nausea, bruising, drastic weight loss – Dr. Quitstressing always said he’d never heard of that as a side effect of the drugs. Probably stress! Soon Eichenwald was on 11 pills a day.

We’re leaving out the summer Eichenwald nearly died when his bone marrow shut down because the drugs had reached toxic levels. This caused Eichenwald’s mother to change the habits of a lifetime, defy her husband’s wrath, and talk Eichenwald into seeing a neurologist of last resort even though he worked at a for-profit hospital. This was Dr. Naarden (real name), whom Eichenwald says saved his life.

Eichenwald returned to Swarthmore feeling optimistic. He had a good doctor. There was a plan. Meanwhile, everyone said it would be good to see the school psychologist to help deal with the emotional impact of having epilepsy.

That’s where things got crazy. This psychologist, Schemer McPlotface, soon told everyone that Eichenwald didn’t have epilepsy, he had a brain tumor. He told everyone except Eichenwald, that is – his parents, other staff, and Dean Janet Dickerson. Dickerson called Eichenwald’s parents to tell them to take their son and his BRAIN TUMOR home, because he was too sick to be at Swarthmore.

Eichenwald’s parents asked WHY THE HELL McPlotface said there was a brain tumor. McPlotface said he could tell by the way the kid talked. This ridiculous diagnosis was quickly dropped – after his parents mobilized testimony from Dr. Naarden – without Eichenwald ever being told about it.

Meanwhile Eichenwald, knowing nothing about this, was busy taking classes, producing the spring musical, and singing in a barbershop group he’d co-founded. Tra la la, right?

McPlotface was undaunted. He told school officials that anyway, Eichenwald was too sick for school, that he wasn’t functioning well. He said Eichenwald was pretending to be in better shape than he really was. He told Eichenwald’s parents this, too.

Eichenwald was called into an official meeting. Dean Dickerson explained that he needed to leave school. “You’re not well,” she said. “You’re not functioning academically and you’re not functioning socially. You need to go home and get care so you can handle college.”

Eichenwald disagreed. It was too early in the semester for anyone to say he wasn’t functioning academically, he pointed out. There hadn’t been any graded assignments, papers, or tests.

“You’ve had midterms,” said the dean. No – his first one was next week. So why did she say he wasn’t functioning? “That’s just what I’ve heard.” She wouldn’t say from whom. He suggested she call his professors, and she called a couple, who said he was doing fine as far as they knew. Well, NEVER MIND THAT, he wasn’t functioning socially, either.

Eichenwald denied it. “I’m doing lots of things. I founded an a cappella group with my roommate, and we’ve already had a performance. I’m working with the Swarthmore Players Club. I’m already working on the spring musical I’m directing….”

“That’s not true. You just think you are,” Dickerson said. “Kurt, you aren’t doing these things.” Frantically, he waved a tape of the a cappella group’s performance, but they didn’t have a tape player and they weren’t interested in his delusions.

They escorted him off campus.

At home, Eichenwald discovered that both Dr. Naarden and his parents had accepted the idea that he was delusional. “They told me you were going to try to fool me,” said his mother sadly. “I understand you were having some trouble with your thinking,” said Dr. Naarden. Naarden said they’d hold off on the treatment plan until they figured out “whether the Dilantin has been causing your cognitive probems at Swarthmore.”

His father accidentally mentioned the brain tumor incident, shocking Eichenwald. When he asked how long it had been between the brain tumor allegation and the not-functioning allegation, his mother said “…A few weeks.”

Eichenwald said, “Okay, so here’s reality…. They wanted me out. I don’t know why. Maybe they’re afraid of liability. They made up two stories. Everybody knew the first one was bogus but trusted the second one. So now my treatment is on hold even though all of you knew they lied once before.”

His parents got a friend to ask Swarthmore’s president to look into the case. At a meeting, which included Dean Dickerson, McPlotface announced that he had been studying Eichenwald’s EEG and it showed that he did not have epilepsy at all – it showed mental illness!

Swarthmore’s equal opportunity specialist was there. It was the first she’d heard of Eichenwald’s case. She knew about EEGs. She had epilepsy herself. She interrupted McPlotface. “[Schemer], as I’m sure you know, many people with epilepsy have normal EEGs. You can’t say the EEG shows epilepsy doesn’t exist,” she said. “Also, I have no idea how you’re saying the EEG proves Kurt is mentally ill. An EEG can’t show anything like that.” He mumbled. He changed the subject. Afterward, the equal opportunity specialist told the president, “If Kurt sues the school, he will win. And not only that—I’ll testify on his behalf.”

Dean Dickerson still didn’t want Eichenwald back. The Americans with Disabilities Act did not exist yet. But the school was clearly violating the 1973 Rehabilitation Act, prohibiting discrimination against people with disabilities. The family got Health and Human Services interested. A law professor said she’d represent him free. The legal threats scared the school into re-admitting him. On condition he not make the story public.

Eichenwald returned to Swarthmore, having missed a semester due to this cruel nonsense. He graduated with academic distinction. Eichenwald went on to be a investigative reporter at the New York Times, and to write 5 books. (This story is taken from his gripping memoir, A Mind Unraveled.) He married and had children.

Years later, he got a call from a Swarthmore student fundraiser. As usual he said he would not donate. She asked why. “Did something happen to you?”

“What could they do now, take away my diploma?,” he thought. So he talked.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” said the student.

“Thank you, and I hate to say this, but that doesn’t mean much. The school never apologized. I succeeded in life when they could have destroyed me out of their fears or their stupidity about epilepsy. All of my accomplishments have been despite Swarthmore, not because of it, and until the school acknowledges that what they did was wrong, I want nothing to do with it.”

In a few days, Swarthmore’s vice president for development and alumni relations called. He arranged that he and the school’s current president would fly to Dallas, Eichenwald’s home base, for a face-to-face meeting. The president asked “What can we do to repair your relationship with Swarthmore?”

“I need an apology. I need someone to tell me, officially, that this never should have happened. And I want back the tuition that was stolen from my family.”

Soon a official letter of apology came from the president. Then the alumni relations v.p. invited him to give an address at Swarthmore about his work in journalism. They would pay an honorarium. The amount of the honorarium was exactly what Eichenwald’s family was owed for the lost semester.

“You guys are very, very smart,” laughed Eichenwald. He delivered the address, and contributed the honorarium – plus $20,000 – to Swarthmore.

He probably enjoyed hearing that a few years after he left Swarthmore, a group of students organized to force Schemer McPlotface out for “unprofessional and abusive practices.” Rather than have outside experts judge his conduct, McPlotface resigned.

Later, while writing A Mind Unraveled, Eichenwald spoke to Dean Dickerson, who had long since moved to Princeton, and later retired. “[S]he learned for the first time the full story of the events surrounding my dismissal from Swarthmore. …she reacted with shock.” She sent a letter of apology, which he found touching. “I forgive her and wish her only the best.”

Here’s that 2017 letter:

I have been thinking about you continuously since you wrote… I am incredibly pained and sorry to learn of your traumatic experiences at Swarthmore. Most of your testimony about your interactions with Dr. [McPlotface] and Dr. Warner was completely unknown to me, and that which I thought I knew has been put in a completely different context.

I was aware you had been diagnosed with epilepsy and that you were on medication that needed to be managed appropriately. At that time, my knowledge of epilepsy and the potential for seizures was relatively limited. I found it helpful to have a professional colleague in the administration who had epilepsy who could inform us laypersons about the condition. She coached us on how to respond when she had seizure activity, and she was an effective advocate for students who had epilepsy or related medical conditions. At the very least, as you say, she successfully challenged Dr. [McPlotface] in a meeting [about] you. But I know—now—that was not enough. That was not nearly enough.

The doctor had asserted that you were not managing your medications. I regret that on the night I was called in to deliver the decision to you that you would be required to withdraw until you were medically cleared to return, in accepting the recommendations of our health professionals, I contributed to the trauma that has greatly affected your life. At the time I thought I had no reason to question their judgment….

…I view you as a role model for how to carry on and have an extraordinary life while dealing with a chronic, potentially debilitating condition. As I stated in my last message, I am—perhaps undeservedly—very proud of you.

Kurt, I have tried to be forthright in my response. I’m very, very sorry, and you have my heartfelt apologies.

How good are these apologies? Sadly, we don’t have the text of the president’s official apology. Sounds like it was good, worth at least $20,000. Let’s look at Dean Dickerson’s “touching” apology. In its repeated deference to “health professionals,” it’s dreadfully believable. But Dickerson knew that McPlotface had diagnosed an imaginary brain tumor. She was there when he was exposed as saying Eichenwald’s EEG showed things that EEGs don’t show. To really be forthright, she should have addressed the school’s willingness to obey an obviously unreliable, not to say deranged, “health professional.” She should take responsibility for not looking at evidence about Eichenwald’s academic and social “functioning,” and for accepting hearsay from that megalomaniacal “health professional.”

Still, it meant a lot to Eichenwald. Often, apologies are so desperately needed that when they finally arrive, criticism is beside the point.

Eichenwald made his way through a frightening and dangerous medical condition, repeated medical malpractice, and gaslighting of the worst kind. It makes a lot of sense that he doesn’t want to pick holes in the apologies he’s finally gotten, which do acknowledge the main thing: This never should have happened.