I wake up. It’s dark outside. It’s very early, but Dave is already up and brushing his teeth. Today is the day I attempt to go back to work. I’m supposed to go and rouse the kids, but I just cannot seem to pull myself from the bed and so I don’t. I lay there and silently make a game plan.
It’s 6:35 am and I can’t wait any longer. I literally roll out of bed and slowly move from crawl to stand as I make my way down the hall. I open Eileen’s door. She looks so peaceful. I flip on the lights. “You you you you’ve g-g-g-got to g-g-g-g-get up.” I continue my slow walk to the boy’s room and repeat. Robin is hiding under his blanket. He knows the drill.
I hope for the best and go back to my room. I carefully select a new shirt that I bought before this all happened. It’s a big day and I want to feel my best. I straighten my hair. I always feel more youthful with my hair straight and down. I debate make up and decide against. No need to get carried away.
I go to check on the kids. All three are asleep in their beds despite the harsh light above. “You. Must. Get. Up.” I lift Robin from his bed and drop him at the bathroom sink. Now vertical, he acquiesces. By 7:00 all three are dressed, downstairs, and eating breakfast. I go to grab Robin’s lunch from the fridge and discover it’s not there. Ugh. I beg Robin to get hot lunch, and met with a defiant no, quickly make a lunch for him.
We need to leave the house. I slurp down coffee as the kids harass one another. I am forced to leave some in the mug. There will be no drinking coffee in the car today.
Behind the wheel I take a deep breath. I turn on the car and pull out of the driveway. We all ride in silence. My left hand does most of the work as my right hand shakes. My eyes remain open. I drive the 14 minutes to work. It’s a big moment, but there’s no time to bask in my accomplishment. I have 50 minutes to do over 2 hours of stuff.
I banish my children to morning extension and get to work. I straighten desks and wipe down the whiteboard. I put up my boards for the day (date, random day — Elmo’s birthday in this case, materials needed for different classes, and the day’s schedule). I grant myself permission to not carefully write out the objectives of each lesson for the day.
I made myself a full page of things to do and photocopy the day before. I frantically try to make sense of my desk–where the substitute put things, what needs to be handed back, what can be recycled. Then it’s time to pull out only what I need for the morning. As a planner, it’s hard to let go and keep to the bare minimum.
As I work my principal, Rick, comes to check in on me. He will be my sub in the afternoon. Rick graciously offers to bring the 6th graders upstairs after morning prayer. This buys me 15 minutes. Phew! Other staff welcome me and let me know how glad they are that I am back.
The students walk in silently under Rick’s watchful eye and quickly move to their seats. I appreciate the effort, but it feels a bit silly. We all relax as we move into a normal Monday morning routine. I feel it’s important to give my homeroom a few more specifics of what has happened, and what they will see. I show their my “chimpanzee face” and they laugh. I explain that as the day wears on my body will get tired and they will see more tremors, but it’s okay.
The morning moves quickly as it always does. Students are near perfect. Have I mentioned how much I adore this group? They don’t snicker as I stutter or seem to stare as my right hand shakes and my face twitches. Their lack of acknowledgement helps me to focus on teaching and not on what my muscles are doing.
Rick and other staff frequently pop their heads in to make sure I am okay and ask if I need help. I discover that it’s easier to speak with less stutter when I speak slowly and forcefully. During math a student was sitting with his book closed as everyone worked, and I said, “It. will. help. if. you. open. your. book.” He got the message and I got to say a full sentence without stuttering.
The morning ends. I fight the urge to get stuff done. I don’t update my bulletin boards and only make a few photocopies. I allow myself to accept help and let someone else do the photocopying for me. Did I mention I don’t give up control easily?
I drive home. The muscles around my face twitch rapidly, both hands shake, but my eyes stay open. I opt to take a slower route home just in case. Back home, I drop the keys, drop my bag, take off my shoes, and crawl into bed. I am asleep before I know it.
Two hours later the alarm on my phone sounds. The kids will be home soon. My tremors are stronger than they have been in days. Both hands dance and shake, my body rocks. Teaching all morning has apparently taken its toll.
I wanted to stay all day. I was having fun and feeling like myself. It was hard to listen to what my body needed and not push through. I need to take it slow if I’m going to do it all again tomorrow.