I wake up. Feelings of dread envelop me. It is a day known among teachers for chaos and straight sugar. While not on the same level as Halloween or the day before Christmas break, energy runs at high levels among students on Valentine’s Day.
It’s only a half day before students are released for an extra long weekend. 3.5 hours. That is all I need to get through. Excited children race from their cars, arms filled with pink and red. No one gives just a card. There must be a toy, pencil, candy, something. The screaming starts.
Despite the normal order of my classroom, children shriek and chase and attempt to move excitedly between rooms. This is doing nothing for my need to keep my stress level low. The upside is my desk slowly becomes covered in chocolate of all kinds. I politely turn down the offer of a pixie stick. I separate the chocolate into two piles — home stash and school stash.
Collectively, we all survive the next three hours until the sweet release of the bell. An hour ago I learned my classroom would be the location of the teacher in-service slated for the next 6 hours. I have 15 minutes to get my room ready. I had the foresight to have students wipe down and disinfect their desks before leaving.
It’s now an hour past when I normally take my second dose of gabapentin. My hands are shaking, my face twitching, and my speech is rough. I’ve tried to put it off a little to maximize it’s effect so I can be at my best for the in-service. This is a mistake.
The staff meeting starts at about the same time my body is normally resting, snuggled under a blanket. I’m a team player. I haven’t attended a single meeting for a month and it’s becoming difficult to follow what is going on in the school. In theory, I should be helping to run the meeting. My injury has meant my partner has been saddled with all the work, helping teachers do a deep dive into data.
I twitch and listen. The muscles around my mouth dance rapidly. My shoulder tries to get into it as well. No. I can do this. I’m a team player. I am not an invalid. I join my 6th grade counter part. We sit on the heater under the windows, entering data into spreadsheets. He reads and talks, I type.
The work is slow. My body needs to rest. The tremors in my hand are growing stronger. My face has started to do the blinking thing. I can’t do this. I need to leave. I tried. I hadn’t planned to make it through the whole time, but I really thought I would make it longer.
I go home and lie down for an hour. I feel better which is good because I need to drive. I have an appointment. The wife, “N,” of a co-worker is a massage therapist and cranio-sacral practitioner. A week ago he brought me a business card and told me to contact her. N might be able to help me.
I find her office no problem and try to briefly explain what has led me to this point. She listens intently and asks me to lie down on the table. N covers me with a blanket and then informs me she needs to prepare herself. She steps back from the table. I watch as she closes her eyes, puts her head down, and quiets herself. I am surprised how long she stands there. Then she sits by my feet. N takes them in her hand and just stays there, quiet, for a long time.
N begins to work. It’s not long before I begin to feel energy moving down my arms. It reminds me of acupuncture. I feel her hand on the back of my hand, gently moving her fingers. My face is still twitching rapidly and then it suddenly feels like my muscles are confused. It’s almost like they want to twitch, but don’t remember how. The twitching becomes more awkward until it ceases completely.
I am completely relaxed and it is wonderful. My body is quiet, energy silently rushes through my body. N takes her time. Parts of it remind me a little of what I assume Reiki is, hands hovering over, but not touching. Despite having been conscious the entire time, I feel like I have come out of a deep sleep when she stops. This becomes even more evident when I sit up on the table and begin to jerk, blink, and twitch with intensity not seen in several days. I assure her I am okay, but often experience this when I first get up after resting.
As I gather my things, I ask her how she would like to be paid–check? card? She smiles, shakes her head, and responds, “No charge. It’s been an honor.” Of course I ask if she is sure, but then decide to not argue further. I make another appointment in a few weeks.
Driving home, I reflect. It’s just like Fred Rogers said about scary news, “Look for the helpers.”