When I got home Friday night, I was still calm. I wondered if I was in shock, but I wasn't sure what shock was. I remember reading about wrapping people up in blankets or giving them brandy. KS assured me that brandy wasn't a good a idea and, besides, we didn't have any. That sense of observing myself continued and with it flowed a general feeling of unreality. I let KS take over and she got me into bed.
KS was also shaken up, of course, but she kept talking to me and listening as well. She told me what was likely to come as my split mind converged on the memory of the incident. She fed me, and loved me, and put me to sleep. While I slept, she was by my side, only dozing herself, watching over me.
The rest of the weekend slid by in a slow, featureless trickle. I didn't go to my Saturday class. I just couldn't. The hours blurred. I made a short trip out to the store, but mostly I stayed at my desk or napped. I kept thinking about the incident or other incidents that might occur on Monday. I found myself thinking about weapons that I could lay my hands on in my classroom.
I had been able to make an appointment with a psychiatrist for first thing Monday morning and I was counting on that. From there, I was determined to go school and see if I could return to work.
On Monday morning, I went to the psychiatrist and showed her the transcript I had written Friday evening. She was very concerned about my state of mind. She offered to give me a medical pass to miss work for the next week. The week after is winter break, so that would be two weeks off. I said no. I was afraid that if I didn't go back, I might not ever go back. She agreed and said that was the best thing to do, if I could. She gave me a medical leave form for Tuesday through Friday, in case I needed it. She also gave me the name of a doctor on the staff who specialized in PTSD and told me to call him directly if I needed more help. She kept my incident report and I suspected that she might show it to him. She also gave me a prescription for Klonopin, an anti-anxiety medication, and recommended that I take one before I returned to school. I did.
I returned to school about 10:45 a.m. on Monday. I didn't know the name of the kids involved in the incident. I didn't know why the thing had happened. When the middle school kids came roaring past me in hall, I flinched. My team-teacher was watching both of the 5th grade classes and he told me to take it easy. He'd keep them until lunch at noon. I went in and cleaned up my room a bit. I made myself go over to the window and look out onto the site where most of the incident took place.
During lunch, three middle school boys were running through the second floor. They should have been in the lunchroom. These boys do this everyday, and everyday I write them up and the office does nothing. As usual, they mouthed off and walked past me like I didn't matter. I didn't know the leader's name, but he was wearing a ghetto special T-shirt, white covered in brand names written in ornate gold script. He wouldn't tell me his name, so I said,"Oh well, with that shirt on I'll be able to find you."
"And I'll be able to find you," he said.
My stomach tightened, my face hardened, and my fists clenched. He stood there looking at me, and his buddies pulled him away. They hustled him downstairs and I slowly exhaled. Had he moved toward me, I'm not sure what I would have done.
I spent the rest of my lunch period locked in my room, away from my door so that I could not see or be seen.
I went and got my class as swiftly as I could. I kept the door closed and locked the rest of the day, a complete departure for me. I ignored the yelling and banging in the boy's bathroom across the hall. I ignored the screams and thundering feet in the hallway as middle school kids changed rooms. Normally, I am out there trying to gain control of the chaos. I couldn't do it today.
I sent one kid to the office within five minutes of class and had written up three other within ten. I realized that I had to get control of myself, so I held the last three forms, but the first kid had to go. I was afraid I would hit him if he continued to disrupt the class, and he always continued.
Just before dismissal, I told them about the kid with gun, leaving out my part, and warned them that they need to go straight home, no hanging around, no clowning. If something started, a fight, or worse, they need to run away from it, not toward it like so many kids always did. When 4:15 finally arrived, I simply opened my classroom door and told the kids to get their things and go straight home. I couldn't face walking my class through the chaos of dismissal.
When the bell rang, I was packed and ready to go. KS was waiting in the parking lot and I was gone by 4:20. This is our usual pattern, as I have a Monday night class. Half-way home I realized that I could not go to class. I'd made it through school, but it had drained me. I just wanted to go to bed.
When I got home I sat down at my desk and tried to think. I tried listening to a audiobook, hoping it would fill my mind, but that didn't work. I tried a mystery, a history, another mystery, music, but nothing would soothe. I finally selected an old, familiar mystery, one of favorites, put in my ear buds, and played hand after hand of high speed solitaire. I was trying to stay on the curl of the wave that building inside me.
About 8:30 the wave crashed and drew me under. I put my head on my desk and started to cry. I cried like I had never had cried before in my life. Not my father's death, not the divorce of an unfaithful wife, not my experience in DC, nothing. I could not stop crying. KS was downstairs, and when she heard me, she ran up the steps to see what was wrong. All I could say was that I couldn't stop crying. She held me and soothed me, gave me whatever comfort she could. I cried for at least an hour and a half. She helped me to bed and covered me. She held me and wiped my face with a cool washcloth. She told me that this was normal and that it would pass. And I cried.
When I was able to stop, I knew that I would not be able to go to school on Tuesday. On Tuesday morning, I left messages for the psychologist and the PTSD expert. I emailed a good friend, who is a building rep, to see if the union had any services. She was shocked at what had happened and gave me the Union president's personal phone number. She insisted that I call him. She said that he would want to know about this and that he could help.
After a few hours, I decided to call the union president. He was stunned that this had happened and that no one seemed to have heard about it. I reminded him that education is built on the big lie. It was after 5 pm at this point and a heavy snow storm was coming our way. We were pretty sure that Wednesday would be a snow day, but he promised to get back to me by Thursday. I didn't hear from either psychiatrist on Wednesday.
Tuesday night was very tense. I kept watching the weather radar, praying for snow. KS kept checking the school closings and, although districts all around us were closing, neither of ours were. My district closed schools at 4:30 a.m. while her's waited until 6:00 a.m.
Meanwhile my stomach stayed in knots all night as I waited for the damn snow. KS finally settled me down by saying that snow or no snow, I wasn't going in.
At 8:30, Wednesday morning, the PTSD specialist called. He was matter of fact and reassured me that my crying was to be expected. He gave me a brief run down on what to expect and encouraged me to get to school as soon as possible. I told him that was what I wanted to do. He said then I should go to it. He ended by saying that if I felt I needed it, he ran a PTSD group that met at 11:00 Wednesdays and that all I had to do was show up. I thanked him, and said that I was going to try going back to school first.
I haven't heard from the Union president, but, to be fair, a snow day makes everyone hard to reach.
I guess that where things are, here on Wednesday night. As the night goes on, I'm starting to feel tense. I guess that's to be expected. I'm going to try to push through the next two days to reach winter break.
KS was also shaken up, of course, but she kept talking to me and listening as well. She told me what was likely to come as my split mind converged on the memory of the incident. She fed me, and loved me, and put me to sleep. While I slept, she was by my side, only dozing herself, watching over me.
The rest of the weekend slid by in a slow, featureless trickle. I didn't go to my Saturday class. I just couldn't. The hours blurred. I made a short trip out to the store, but mostly I stayed at my desk or napped. I kept thinking about the incident or other incidents that might occur on Monday. I found myself thinking about weapons that I could lay my hands on in my classroom.
I had been able to make an appointment with a psychiatrist for first thing Monday morning and I was counting on that. From there, I was determined to go school and see if I could return to work.
On Monday morning, I went to the psychiatrist and showed her the transcript I had written Friday evening. She was very concerned about my state of mind. She offered to give me a medical pass to miss work for the next week. The week after is winter break, so that would be two weeks off. I said no. I was afraid that if I didn't go back, I might not ever go back. She agreed and said that was the best thing to do, if I could. She gave me a medical leave form for Tuesday through Friday, in case I needed it. She also gave me the name of a doctor on the staff who specialized in PTSD and told me to call him directly if I needed more help. She kept my incident report and I suspected that she might show it to him. She also gave me a prescription for Klonopin, an anti-anxiety medication, and recommended that I take one before I returned to school. I did.
I returned to school about 10:45 a.m. on Monday. I didn't know the name of the kids involved in the incident. I didn't know why the thing had happened. When the middle school kids came roaring past me in hall, I flinched. My team-teacher was watching both of the 5th grade classes and he told me to take it easy. He'd keep them until lunch at noon. I went in and cleaned up my room a bit. I made myself go over to the window and look out onto the site where most of the incident took place.
During lunch, three middle school boys were running through the second floor. They should have been in the lunchroom. These boys do this everyday, and everyday I write them up and the office does nothing. As usual, they mouthed off and walked past me like I didn't matter. I didn't know the leader's name, but he was wearing a ghetto special T-shirt, white covered in brand names written in ornate gold script. He wouldn't tell me his name, so I said,"Oh well, with that shirt on I'll be able to find you."
"And I'll be able to find you," he said.
My stomach tightened, my face hardened, and my fists clenched. He stood there looking at me, and his buddies pulled him away. They hustled him downstairs and I slowly exhaled. Had he moved toward me, I'm not sure what I would have done.
I spent the rest of my lunch period locked in my room, away from my door so that I could not see or be seen.
I went and got my class as swiftly as I could. I kept the door closed and locked the rest of the day, a complete departure for me. I ignored the yelling and banging in the boy's bathroom across the hall. I ignored the screams and thundering feet in the hallway as middle school kids changed rooms. Normally, I am out there trying to gain control of the chaos. I couldn't do it today.
I sent one kid to the office within five minutes of class and had written up three other within ten. I realized that I had to get control of myself, so I held the last three forms, but the first kid had to go. I was afraid I would hit him if he continued to disrupt the class, and he always continued.
Just before dismissal, I told them about the kid with gun, leaving out my part, and warned them that they need to go straight home, no hanging around, no clowning. If something started, a fight, or worse, they need to run away from it, not toward it like so many kids always did. When 4:15 finally arrived, I simply opened my classroom door and told the kids to get their things and go straight home. I couldn't face walking my class through the chaos of dismissal.
When the bell rang, I was packed and ready to go. KS was waiting in the parking lot and I was gone by 4:20. This is our usual pattern, as I have a Monday night class. Half-way home I realized that I could not go to class. I'd made it through school, but it had drained me. I just wanted to go to bed.
When I got home I sat down at my desk and tried to think. I tried listening to a audiobook, hoping it would fill my mind, but that didn't work. I tried a mystery, a history, another mystery, music, but nothing would soothe. I finally selected an old, familiar mystery, one of favorites, put in my ear buds, and played hand after hand of high speed solitaire. I was trying to stay on the curl of the wave that building inside me.
About 8:30 the wave crashed and drew me under. I put my head on my desk and started to cry. I cried like I had never had cried before in my life. Not my father's death, not the divorce of an unfaithful wife, not my experience in DC, nothing. I could not stop crying. KS was downstairs, and when she heard me, she ran up the steps to see what was wrong. All I could say was that I couldn't stop crying. She held me and soothed me, gave me whatever comfort she could. I cried for at least an hour and a half. She helped me to bed and covered me. She held me and wiped my face with a cool washcloth. She told me that this was normal and that it would pass. And I cried.
When I was able to stop, I knew that I would not be able to go to school on Tuesday. On Tuesday morning, I left messages for the psychologist and the PTSD expert. I emailed a good friend, who is a building rep, to see if the union had any services. She was shocked at what had happened and gave me the Union president's personal phone number. She insisted that I call him. She said that he would want to know about this and that he could help.
After a few hours, I decided to call the union president. He was stunned that this had happened and that no one seemed to have heard about it. I reminded him that education is built on the big lie. It was after 5 pm at this point and a heavy snow storm was coming our way. We were pretty sure that Wednesday would be a snow day, but he promised to get back to me by Thursday. I didn't hear from either psychiatrist on Wednesday.
Tuesday night was very tense. I kept watching the weather radar, praying for snow. KS kept checking the school closings and, although districts all around us were closing, neither of ours were. My district closed schools at 4:30 a.m. while her's waited until 6:00 a.m.
Meanwhile my stomach stayed in knots all night as I waited for the damn snow. KS finally settled me down by saying that snow or no snow, I wasn't going in.
At 8:30, Wednesday morning, the PTSD specialist called. He was matter of fact and reassured me that my crying was to be expected. He gave me a brief run down on what to expect and encouraged me to get to school as soon as possible. I told him that was what I wanted to do. He said then I should go to it. He ended by saying that if I felt I needed it, he ran a PTSD group that met at 11:00 Wednesdays and that all I had to do was show up. I thanked him, and said that I was going to try going back to school first.
I haven't heard from the Union president, but, to be fair, a snow day makes everyone hard to reach.
I guess that where things are, here on Wednesday night. As the night goes on, I'm starting to feel tense. I guess that's to be expected. I'm going to try to push through the next two days to reach winter break.
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