a scribble of jo

There is a bruise in the middle of my chest from where the EMT buried the knuckle on his middle finger in an attempt to revive me. There is another bruise in the crook of my left elbow from where another EMT sunk the IV needle. My right leg is sore, like I pulled a muscle, but I can’t explain that one. There is a line of small dots, bruises that have browned, running up the inside of my right upper arm; these are from the constant tightening and releasing of the blood pressure cuff.

There have been many people over the course of the last ten days who have asked me if I understand what happened. Then, after I mumble something enough to satisfy their curiosity, they follow the original question with another: “How are you feeling now?” I’ve thought about both of these questions often this last week. I’ve woken from deep sleeps with them on my mind. A few times, I’ve even picked up my phone, ready to call someone to whom I could trust with the answers, but then I put the phone down. Who is there to handle this burden with me? Who could understand?

what happened

I woke up with extra time to spare in getting to school and making an appearance. Wednesdays are already unique because we follow a 2-hour delay schedule to allow some time in the morning for us teachers to prep and plan for the days ahead. So you get to school not having to rush in to Google Meets with students. Instead you rush in to trying to fit a week’s worth of planning into two hours. This Wednesday was even more hectic because I had to get a box of novels to the back gym for student distribution. Was I rushing? Yes. Did I feel tired? Of course. Did I think I was having a medical problem? No. Feeling beat and light headed has been my status quo for a while now. But when I walked in to my colleague’s classroom to borrow her stapler and stumbled over my own feet, I thought, “Girl, you going too fast.” When the other teacher sitting there joked about me already drinking at 9:30 in the morning, I made myself laugh but couldn’t help but notice the way the room tilted slightly to the right.

And then came their reactions. If they had access to a fire alarm, I’m sure they would have pulled the handle. Instead they sounded the alarm themselves. I sat at a desk while they hustled into motion. I felt my head dip back and forth, and my eyes flit around, unable to focus on a single point. My hands were cold, and I resisted when they suggest I take off my jacket. Words were hard to speak, and I took deep breaths as I tried to hold on to the train of thought crashing off course in my head.

The nurse arrived and then left to go find her blood pressure cuff. If I could have spoken I would have told her I already knew it would come up high; I felt my pulse beating from the underside of my jaw down to the insides of my ankles. I tried to tell my colleagues, “No, I just need a minute to catch my breath. I just need a second.” But with the stuttering and the rate of breathing, this was impossible to communicate. And who would listen anyway? It was like watching a speeding car lose control, and you just know the guardrail won’t be enough to prevent damage. So when the nurse came back and took my blood pressure and I still couldn’t get my words right, she made the call, figuratively and literally.

“I have to call 911.” And when I tried to resist–asked her if there was another option, maybe I could just call my mom who lives nearby, maybe I could just have a second to catch my breath–when I tried to resist and she said no, I just let go. They say they caught me before my head hit the floor, but the knot behind my right ear begs to differ.

feeling now

If I start to think too much about the stressors–school, the house, the babies, my Mister–I feel my pulse increase and my throat tighten. My hands perpetually sweat, and there is a constant chill I have slithering up and down my spine. Mister doesn’t want me working at school anymore. He is not happy with the thought of me sitting in a room by myself all day, no one stopping in to check on whether I’m upright or not. The bad WiFi certainly doesn’t help. I get it, but there is still the slightest relief as I shut the door behind me in the morning and pull out of the drive.

I went to the doctor yesterday for a follow up, mostly because Mister wants to know what we need to do to take better care of me. She couldn’t explain what happened anymore than the ER doctor could. And I knew she wouldn’t be able to explain. She doesn’t know. None of them do.

The stress of teaching this year, trying to reach the minds of 8th graders hidden behind anonymous chrome book screens. Persevering through the political bullshit known as public education, when administrators and districts are making hubristic decisions in an effort to look good while you are wheeled out of school on a gurney….How can you explain this? How can you explain that when the nurse said she had to call 911 and, no, she wasn’t changing her mind, you simply let go? Let go into the abyss that’s been waiting for you since this whole crazy year started. Let go into finally not having to be responsible for a single person or one more checklist.

“How are you feeling now?” they ask. And I sit a little more upright and smile and say, “We’re here, aren’t we?”