Things that have happened this Fall
1) I got (almost) involuntarily transferred from the school I have taught at since 2012, even though I've got 16 years seniority and tenure -- my best friend at the school was hired the SAME day, and we both have the multiple subject credential that means we were tailored to teach elementary school, though neither of us has ever done that and neither of us ever wants to -- the credentialing options have waxed and waned over the years, basically always to the detriment of middle school teachers. I ended up volunteering rather than having Kathy (my friend) transferred, because if I volunteered, I could guarantee not going to an elementary school. I could not teach elementary, I swear.
I am now teaching at the Independent Study/"District Individualized Contracted Education" service, which used to be where kids who got expelled or had restraining orders, or who just couldn't deal with in-person school were placed, and now includes students whose parents don't trust in-person school while students aren't vaxxed, despite mask mandates. So it's ballooned up this year (but will probably shrink back next year, so who knows where I'll be next year).
This was a brutal thing. I am struggling to play catch up; I've just been given sixth graders as well as seventh graders -- which in one way is fine; it's actually what I was teaching before the transfer: one sixth grade English/Language Arts and Social Studies Core, one seventh grade ELA and Social Studies Core, and an extra seventh grade Social Studies class, split with another teacher.
But now I am teaching 6th grade ELA, Social Studies, Math, and Science. And 7th grade ELA, Social Studies, Math, and Science. The law says kids need to get four hours of direct (Zoom or in person) instruction per WEEK. So I get ONE HOUR of direct instruction for each of those eight subjects. And I have to devise asynchronous do-at-your-own-pace work to make up for all the rest of it. No one has given me more than a few minutes of general orientation, no training, neither I nor my students yet have access to the online curriculum options I had before (which are all geared to the standards the kids are still supposed to be held to) and I've been teaching two weeks now. The kids I have had NO classes except for a daily "Morning Meeting" which was Social and Emotional Learning since the start of the school year in August.
I hate teaching Math with a passion. I feel inept at it, and there is literally nothing I hate more than feeling inept.
Fun times, all around.
2) On the very first day of this new Zoom instruction (I am back to teaching from home with this new job) literally with one minute to go before I clicked on the Zoom button, I heard dripping. The upstairs bathroom was leaking ... through the light fixture in my newly remodeled bathroom ceiling. And there was nothing I could do about it, because I had to be teaching. All kinds of shenanigans have ensued, though it looks like the owner of the upstairs unit is going to pay for everything. This is too boring to talk about, and both of these are overshadowed by the third Thing That Has Happened.
3) Among all of the million doctors' appointments I was catching up on after the shut down, one was because (TMI for those of you who avoid such things) (but I can't remember how to make a cut right now) I have never properly understood my own menopause. I thought I was done with my period, it seems like there were a couple or a few years with no more bleeding. But then it started again. Nothing major. Just, it was weird. So my new Personal Care Physician (I think that is what Kaiser calls it?) made, among all of my other appointments, one for an ultrasound.
It was excruciating, but that's always the case for me. The woman doing it didn't get a good image, so she repeated the entire, long, horrible thing with a different, bigger scope. More excruciating misery.
And then the report said that they didn't get a good image but were very concerned, and I would need an MRI. All of this took weeks and weeks and weeks. And I didn't tell my sister, or anyone, what was going on.
The MRI (also not a particularly fun procedure -- especially because I am large (thankfully not too large to fit in the machine; I was having images of being told I would need to go to the Zoo and use theirs, no, I have heard of people having to do that) and I have "frozen shoulder" (also super painful and miserable, with very limited mobility for my left arm) so it was strange to be arranged to go into the loud, tight, weird machine. You're supposed to hold your breath a lot of the time, and the technicians TELL you that you won't be able to hold it that long, just to give it your best and let your breath out slowly when you have to...
The image from that was conclusive. A ten centimeter mass, possibly the size of a tangerine. I am not great at the measurements most of the world uses, but ten centimeters seems somewhat bigger than a tangerine to me.
Now they needed a biopsy.
My sister happened to call the night after the MRI, and asked me how I was doing, and I just started crying, and it all came out. This is, by the way, weeks and weeks ago now. It all took so much time, to get appointments and so on. Rachel was crying then, too. She's been a fucking ROCK, since. But I haven't told my parents -- my father or stepmother, or my nieces, and I am really, really fearing that, because we're so close and they're super sensitive.
My sister went with me to all the appointments after the MRI. The first biopsy was even more excruciating than the ultrasound had been... and we waited for the results for more than a week... only to find out that they hadn't gotten enough tissue to say anything useful, not even a for sure diagnosis. (It was clear that without ass-covering, they'd have said the C word, but they couldn't quite).
The second biopsy involved painkiller shots in my shoulder and my cervix and a much fancier, electrically positionable bed, or whatever they call that diagnostic couch. And I got the results yesterday.
I have grade 1 endometrial cancer. "In the majority of cases" (ass-covering) that means it's well-differentiated and is relatively ... good? It's hard to see how that word is accurate. Now I will have meetings with an oncological team and they will determine a course of treatment, which will partly depend on whether they think I am a good enough (light enough) candidate for a surgical hysterectomy. If not, then radiation treatments are an option. It all sounds horrible. I also have no idea how much time I'll need off work, either for the radiation treatment (I read online that it might be five days a week, for six weeks) or for wound care for a hysterectomy.
And now I have to tell my dad and Mary, and Ruby and Rosie.
And you all. Sorry, you all.
I am now teaching at the Independent Study/"District Individualized Contracted Education" service, which used to be where kids who got expelled or had restraining orders, or who just couldn't deal with in-person school were placed, and now includes students whose parents don't trust in-person school while students aren't vaxxed, despite mask mandates. So it's ballooned up this year (but will probably shrink back next year, so who knows where I'll be next year).
This was a brutal thing. I am struggling to play catch up; I've just been given sixth graders as well as seventh graders -- which in one way is fine; it's actually what I was teaching before the transfer: one sixth grade English/Language Arts and Social Studies Core, one seventh grade ELA and Social Studies Core, and an extra seventh grade Social Studies class, split with another teacher.
But now I am teaching 6th grade ELA, Social Studies, Math, and Science. And 7th grade ELA, Social Studies, Math, and Science. The law says kids need to get four hours of direct (Zoom or in person) instruction per WEEK. So I get ONE HOUR of direct instruction for each of those eight subjects. And I have to devise asynchronous do-at-your-own-pace work to make up for all the rest of it. No one has given me more than a few minutes of general orientation, no training, neither I nor my students yet have access to the online curriculum options I had before (which are all geared to the standards the kids are still supposed to be held to) and I've been teaching two weeks now. The kids I have had NO classes except for a daily "Morning Meeting" which was Social and Emotional Learning since the start of the school year in August.
I hate teaching Math with a passion. I feel inept at it, and there is literally nothing I hate more than feeling inept.
Fun times, all around.
2) On the very first day of this new Zoom instruction (I am back to teaching from home with this new job) literally with one minute to go before I clicked on the Zoom button, I heard dripping. The upstairs bathroom was leaking ... through the light fixture in my newly remodeled bathroom ceiling. And there was nothing I could do about it, because I had to be teaching. All kinds of shenanigans have ensued, though it looks like the owner of the upstairs unit is going to pay for everything. This is too boring to talk about, and both of these are overshadowed by the third Thing That Has Happened.
3) Among all of the million doctors' appointments I was catching up on after the shut down, one was because (TMI for those of you who avoid such things) (but I can't remember how to make a cut right now) I have never properly understood my own menopause. I thought I was done with my period, it seems like there were a couple or a few years with no more bleeding. But then it started again. Nothing major. Just, it was weird. So my new Personal Care Physician (I think that is what Kaiser calls it?) made, among all of my other appointments, one for an ultrasound.
It was excruciating, but that's always the case for me. The woman doing it didn't get a good image, so she repeated the entire, long, horrible thing with a different, bigger scope. More excruciating misery.
And then the report said that they didn't get a good image but were very concerned, and I would need an MRI. All of this took weeks and weeks and weeks. And I didn't tell my sister, or anyone, what was going on.
The MRI (also not a particularly fun procedure -- especially because I am large (thankfully not too large to fit in the machine; I was having images of being told I would need to go to the Zoo and use theirs, no, I have heard of people having to do that) and I have "frozen shoulder" (also super painful and miserable, with very limited mobility for my left arm) so it was strange to be arranged to go into the loud, tight, weird machine. You're supposed to hold your breath a lot of the time, and the technicians TELL you that you won't be able to hold it that long, just to give it your best and let your breath out slowly when you have to...
The image from that was conclusive. A ten centimeter mass, possibly the size of a tangerine. I am not great at the measurements most of the world uses, but ten centimeters seems somewhat bigger than a tangerine to me.
Now they needed a biopsy.
My sister happened to call the night after the MRI, and asked me how I was doing, and I just started crying, and it all came out. This is, by the way, weeks and weeks ago now. It all took so much time, to get appointments and so on. Rachel was crying then, too. She's been a fucking ROCK, since. But I haven't told my parents -- my father or stepmother, or my nieces, and I am really, really fearing that, because we're so close and they're super sensitive.
My sister went with me to all the appointments after the MRI. The first biopsy was even more excruciating than the ultrasound had been... and we waited for the results for more than a week... only to find out that they hadn't gotten enough tissue to say anything useful, not even a for sure diagnosis. (It was clear that without ass-covering, they'd have said the C word, but they couldn't quite).
The second biopsy involved painkiller shots in my shoulder and my cervix and a much fancier, electrically positionable bed, or whatever they call that diagnostic couch. And I got the results yesterday.
I have grade 1 endometrial cancer. "In the majority of cases" (ass-covering) that means it's well-differentiated and is relatively ... good? It's hard to see how that word is accurate. Now I will have meetings with an oncological team and they will determine a course of treatment, which will partly depend on whether they think I am a good enough (light enough) candidate for a surgical hysterectomy. If not, then radiation treatments are an option. It all sounds horrible. I also have no idea how much time I'll need off work, either for the radiation treatment (I read online that it might be five days a week, for six weeks) or for wound care for a hysterectomy.
And now I have to tell my dad and Mary, and Ruby and Rosie.
And you all. Sorry, you all.