COVID

I should have known. I should have stayed home. It isn’t the same as it used to be, where we worked through colds and sniffles and exhaustion. We live in the era of COVID and I should have known that being that tired wasn’t my normal. But I didn’t. By the time I got home on Friday, COVID was on my mind, but more because I wanted to just make sure I wasn’t exposing my husband, who is undergoing immunotherapy, to be at risk. And the home test I took Friday night came back negative. But when my symptoms worsened overnight, I isolated myself at home and scheduled an “official” test at Walgreens. Sunday morning was the earliest slot I could get and so, while I felt like it was just a formality to “officially” convince myself this was just a spring cold, I felt, for my husband’s sake that we had to be certain.

But the “official” test came back positive. Positive. I swore. A lot. And while I was mostly concerned about my husband’s very fragile immune system and the risk it put his next treatment, I was also livid with myself for potentially exposing two classrooms of students. How could I be so dumb?!

But in truth, I don’t know how to operate under this pandemic any more. Mask? No mask? Stay home? Work? I’m vaccinated and boostered, so I suppose I feel slightly safer than if I weren’t, but still, what protocols do we follow? CDC guidelines allow me to return to school on Thursday and I happily will, but until I know for certain that my husband is safe, I will continue to isolate from him. So I’ll do the one, but not the other?

Up until today, I have been miserable – the sickest I have ever been. But the emails don’t stop and the things school needs from me doesn’t stop – sign this form, turn in this information, get together this list…yesterday I was barely awake for five hours out of the entire day – and those weren’t happy hours – and yet I felt compelled to try to tackle some of the things school needed. Others I completed today even though I am using sick time to be out.

And I feel for my co-worker. While I have sub plans at the ready, that doesn’t mean they always go smoothly or that she doesn’t have to get things out and set up for the next day. In a regular year, I might miss one or at most two days of school, but this year I’ve been out eleven so far and I’ve had a different sub for every one of those eleven days. It’s not easy on my colleagues to have to keep jumping in and helping out on top of all they have on their plates.

But most of all, my heart just aches for my kids. The one who wanted a little extra help with the writing, especially before the state testing – she won’t get that help, at least not until Thursday. The umlaut is still unsolved and I pray it isn’t an issue for the state testing; hopefully it is just a Google Docs issue, but I don’t know that for certain. And my kids have to head into state testing tomorrow when I have been absent for two days straight and won’t be there to cheer them on and encourage them as they suffer through. My heart truly aches.

This year has really put me to the test of what it means to be a teacher. To truly understand what it feels like to put “family first,” when you know that your classroom is as much a part of your family as your own relatives. To feel so utterly torn between doing what’s right for me and for my husband, but knowing in the same breath, that those choices are definitely not what is best for my students. I know that many careers greatly exceed the nine-to-five, if only in the stress that wears on your mind, or the projects and deadlines that loom. But here, there are children in the balance. And without wanting to arrogantly put too much weight on my impact with these students, I spend so much time cultivating relationships and building trust and then, for me to not be there tomorrow when they face the daunting state test? I feel as though I have abandoned them in their hour of need. Just to reassure, just to hand them a mint when they look frustrated, just to smile and nod and say, “you can do this!”

Well, it will have to wait until Thursday. And I hope they will forgive me. For missing eleven days (and counting.) But, I’m finding it hard to forgive myself. They are my family, too.