Leanne was right. Friday remained good. Saturday was okay. Sunday the diarrhea starts, but isn’t bad. Monday is hell.
I am up before 3:00 AM running to the bathroom. I am thankful I am not throwing up. That is the only mercy. I feel like I have a long sword inside me trying to cut its way out.
I drag myself in at 6:00 AM to prepare for a class. After being vertical for 20 minutes, I am in pain (the sword that feels like it’s buried in me after 20 minutes upright feels like it is trying to cut its way out). Every minute after 20 that I remain upright, the pain intensifies. I cannot take any anti-inflammatory medicines. My only pain reliever for this misery is tylenol.
It doesn’t occur to me to call in sick. I’m not sure why, but it doesn’t. I am upright. I can dress myself, staying home won’t alleviate the misery, so why not suit up and show up for work?
For the first time since I started teaching 30 years ago, I teach my first class from the teacher’s desk, sitting in a long-back chair because I literally cannot sit up straight unaided at this point, and standing up for longer than 3-5 minutes at a time causes excruciating pain. The new employee observes in the back. With 13 learners, my class support person (a new employee) sits in the. As luck would have it, our environment has changed and I stumble. There is a screen where I am supposed to find where the student nurses can enter their data, only the field isn’t there. Rather, it shows up in a flowsheet they won’t use on the floor and that we don’t teach. I spend a more time than I should looking for it. In the middle of this episode, the new girl gets up from the back row, and “tiptoes” (literally!) to the front of the classroom to show me where the field is. (Hint: When a 300+ pound woman tries to tiptoe unobtrusively to the front of the classroom, she has the undivided attention of everyone in the room.) I tell her (quietly) while we are in front of students, that I am aware of that, but they don’t use that flowsheet on the floor and that is not where we should be seeing the field.
She had snapped pictures of her last row of student’s computer screens, and says again, “Look here’s the field you are looking for.” I tell her that I know but I am going a different direction. It is all I can think to say. She stands and looks at me for a few minutes, then returns to her seat and doesn’t move and doesn’t help another learner for the rest of the class. She even manages to look like she is sulking.
Class moves on. When it is finally over, I run to the bathroom. When I return to the classroom, she is standing at the first row and snaps at me to shut the door. She proceeds to yell at me that she would never correct another trainer in front of their class because that is disrespectful and she is all about the respect, but how dare I humiliate her the way I did in front of the entire class.
After 30 years teaching and classroom experience, it hits me full force how far from normal I am. I have never let anyone correct me in front of a class before, and yet, on this day, it didn’t even strike me that she was doing just that.
She claims I yelled at her in front of the class. I tell her that can’t possibly be correct as I can’t speak above a whisper except with the greatest of effort. I just stare stupidly at her for a moment, then apologize if I hurt her feelings. I assure her I did not mean to, and explain again why I did not use the screen she showed me. I also tell her that if she didn’t want to have that conversation in front of the entire class, she simply could have instant messaged me what she was seeing and I could have privately given her the answer I had.
I explain to the new girl that I feel like I am dying and have been feeling that way for the last 8 hours (it’s now noon).
Her reply is priceless: “I can tell you are not at your best. Yeah.”
I hurt so much, I feel the rage that statement inspires only vaguely and distantly. But even as out of it as I am, I know that when I think about this exchange, I will wonder why in the hell if you know someone has gone through something horrible, and you can tell they are getting their butt kicked physically and sorely from it, why would you want to make their day worse?
I tell her I have to go home now. I email my team leader who promptly thanks me for teaching and asks if she needs to take the next day’s class.
I tell her I’ll call her from home. I drive home. Take the dogs to the park, and tilt on the park bench until I am horizontal, and after about half an hour, the pain is letting up, when the young man with Asperger’s syndrome (and no dog) sees me. He comes into the bark park to sit. When he learns I’ve had my first chemotherapy treatment and feel awful, he begins to expound everything he’s learned from watching television about chemotherapy. His voice isn’t loud, but his words hit me like bullets and I feel like I’m taking a pounding my tolerance level is so low. I last less than 5 minutes before I excuse myself and take the dogs back home. I just lay on the edge of the bed moaning when the phone rings.
It is a friend of a mutual friend. Years ago she had stage 4 melanoma – a spot on her leg. She opted for surgery, but no chemo. Instead she treated her body with organic foods, and cannabis oils. That was 10 years ago. Thank God for people who have gone down this road before me. Her journey isn’t mine. She advises me to not ever take the chemotherapy (too late), but she senses immediately how awful I feel and she whispers to me through the phone and this level of sound I can process without pain.
I agree to send her my email address. She agrees to send me a link. I tell her I’m already committed to the chemo, and she (again thankfully) does not try to argue with me.
I call Sharon and we agree to play it by ear. I will call her in the morning with whether or not I’m up to teaching. Then I can say (finally) this cursed day is over.
BoobTrouble 