Sour Grapes and Epi Pens
Filed under: Back in the Classroom, Mental Strain for Mama
Today I arrived on campus and actually had mail in my mailbox. My evaluations from last semester finally arrived. I wasn't sure if I should look at them before class or save them for after. I'm the girl who lets one negative comment bother her for all eternity. I decided to wait until after.
My students did their first speeches today and I was impressed. We have some things to work on but overall, I think I have a good group of students who are oozing with creativity. I think this semester, like last one, will be enjoyable.
After class, one of my students who only showed up today for the first time, approached me in order to get everything she needed and get caught up. First, though, she had some information for me about her medical condition(s).
She began by telling me she has severe asthma. I thought this was leading up to, "sometimes I'll need to leave the room to use my inhaler" or something, but before I knew it she was pulling out an epi pen and giving me directions on how to use it and a directive to call 911 if I need to use the pen on her.
You should know that my Mom is a type 1 diabetic and for years gave herself several shots of insulin daily. I could never watch. If I happened to see it, I'd usually end up with my head between my knees, trying not to pass out.
During the summer before I was heading off to college, I had to get a hepatitis vaccine at the pediatricians office and ended up passing out as my Mom paid for it. I woke up with a heap of animal crackers all over me (the billing lady thought it would be cute and funny to give me a little treat in the form of a cup of animal crackers), and a bunch of toddlers standing over my head staring at me with curiosity.
My student continued to tell me to just "jam the epi pen into her thigh" and "try to keep the classroom calm." I started wondering how I would keep the classroom calm when I would probably be freaking out myself.
Then she told me she sometimes has seizures and that if she has one, I'll need to call 911 and dig through her purse to find her glucose monitor to test her blood. I'll also need to make sure she doesn't "hurt herself." I've tested my own blood plenty of times. I was a gestational diabetic for many months of my pregnancy with Lil C, but testing someone else's blood?
"Are you diabetic?" I asked her.
"They're not sure yet," she said.
I questioned her more about what I'm supposed to do and when, and she told me that she sometimes just coughs a little and the next thing you know, she needs an epi pen injection.
I should note that none of this explanation came with a doctors excuse or written directions. She also told me she may frequently miss class and assignments and that she's "always behind."
We moved on to my portion of the talking where I told her what she needs to do to get caught up. She started to cough a bit and I quickly wrapped up our conversation. I'm an adjunct instructor, not a medic; and I am obviously not prepared or equipped to handle these types of things, especially not without some written instructions.
Delivering lesson plans with enthusiasm and creativity. . . check.
Handing assignments back in a timely matter. . . check.
Teaching students responsibility. . . check.
Helping my students become better speakers. . . check.
Administering emergency medical care in the middle of class and keeping my class calm as the ambulance arrives. . . not so much!
We finished our conversation with me telling her I need a written flow chart, if you will, of what I'm supposed to do and when. I'm really hoping I never need to use it. One encouraging thing is that I do have an army medic in my classroom. He hasn't missed a class yet, and I plan to rely on him heavily if something does happen. I'm going to have a hard time using an epi pen on my student while I have my head between my knees as I try not to hyperventilate.
When I got home, my mind needed a break from all the terrible scenarios I was envisioning in the weeks to come so I broke out the evaluations and had a quick read. I had really favorable reviews, and great comments throughout.
"She is very lively and grabs your attention." Cool.
"She is a great teacher and I really enjoyed her class." Fantastic.
"She always had a creative way of demonstrating new things." Why yes I did. Thank you!
"Thank you. I learned a lot." You're very welcome!
"The whole class was good. It really taught me how to write better." Sweet.
"Mrs. BBM was an awesome teacher." Great, glad you think so!
"Mrs. BBM made us think and made the course fun." Really cool.
"Mrs. BBM was always available for extra help. She always had helpful comments for you if you were struggling. She explained everything nicely so you weren't confused." I tried.
"This class was awesome!" Yeah! Thank you!
"She is a caring teacher." Aww.
"I learned a lot and had fun at the same time." Good! That was the goal!
And then one person gave me a "disagree" for being "available for questions and additional assistance." That, my friends, is all I can think about. I've been going over and over again my students and those who asked me for help. I can't think of a time I didn't make myself available. I can't think of a time I didn't offer to come to campus on days I didn't even teach! I know it's probably just someone with sour grapes about something, but it's one sour grape that sticks in my head.
That and the epi pen.
Not a Wimp
Born with long, spaghetti-like arms, I've never had much confidence in my arm strength. Plus, my legs always made up for the lack of muscles in the upper body so I didn't worry about it. Why punch when you can kick right? Since I started working out with my trainer, we've been spending a lot of time on upper body exercises. Last night was no exception.
My trainer will frequently start me out with a certain amount of weight and then based on what color my face turns, he'll either add or subtract from that. When you're hanging out in the free weight section with a bunch of guys who could probably bench your whole body and then some, it can be a bit intimidating when you're only lifting super light weights and sometimes nothing more than a bar.
As with everything else, I tend to beat myself up about it too. "Oh man, I'm such a wimp" comes out of my mouth entirely too frequently. Just as my karate teacher told me to quit saying "I'm sorry" during sparring, my trainer last night told me to quit saying "I'm a wimp."
We tend to joke around a lot while working out, between sets, but when he said it last night he was serious. "I won't have anyone calling you a wimp, and I won't let you call yourself one either. You're definitely not a wimp." He went on to give me a little pep talk about how much I've improved and how we're ramping things up now and working on more than one body part per session. Part trainer, part cheerleader. That's why I picked him.
Frequently, I have no idea how much weight he has on the machines when I start working it, but last night he told me that he's throwing a lot more weight on there lately. The goal right now is building muscle endurance so I can stop going from full power to an empty tank. Trust me when I tell you that 7 or 8 reps come fairly easily but when I hit the last two. . . let's just say that last night he pretty much saved my face from an unfortunate meeting with a 15 lb. weight. I think my left arm is possessed sometimes and thought that maybe in exchange for all the punishment I was giving it, it thought I might like a bit of a snack in the form of a free weight.
In addition to saying my face from plastic surgery, I love how he has this plan for me. I told him what I want, and he knows how to get me there. It's fun, motivating, and a lot of good hard work too.
After wrecking my chest muscles and shoulders last night, we moved on to abs. He once again had something new for me. This time, he had me lie down on the mat, flat on my back. Then he stood facing me by my head. I had to reach over my head and hold onto his ankles while throwing my legs up straight and together at him. Once I was about to kick him, he would push my legs back down in different directions and I'd have to throw them back up at him. At first I started laughing and asked him if we were going to do those crazy two-person forward rolls that I used to be able to do when I was in gymnastics class many, many years ago.
He was laughing too and almost changed his mind about having me do them. He started to worry about whether or not my knee could take it. I told him my ACL is solid and to just avoid pushing my legs where I'm bruised. It's nice that he thinks about those things and is cautious about doing exercises that could potentially bother my knee. He has continued to push me but always stresses not wanting to reinjure me in any way, shape or form. Plus, me staying healthy is job security for him.
We did about four different abdominal exercises and I told him to give me another one. I finished the night off completely exhausted and barely able to put my own seatbelt on (my left arm/shoulder had developed a mind of its own after being destroyed for over an hour). But today, I know I'm stronger for it; and despite having trouble lifting my arms today, I know I'm not a wimp.
Lately I've been thinking that all things really do happen for a reason. For whatever reason, there were some additional lessons I needed to learn before shodan testing. Physical therapy and then joining a gym after this ACL mess has taught me a lot of discipline, and it's also brought more confidence in areas I didn't have it before. Plus, I'm getting in shape like never before and that will definitely impact the way karate goes for me back in the dojo.
Most importantly though. . . I'm not sorry and I'm definitely not a wimp. Maybe I should sell t-shirts. . .
Not Sorry
Not a Wimp
Would you buy one?
Clothes and Earrings and Lunch
Warning: Male readers should prepare to be confused by this post.
Yesterday was like a little slice of heaven, actually more like a big slice of heaven. My Mom took me out for a day of shopping for my birthday. We went without the girls.
While I love shopping with the little ones, being asked for a "soft pretzel and flushie (Lil C for slushie)" every other minute can get exhausting. Most shopping trips usually end with buying something little for the girls and nothing for me. It's difficult to determine if your butt looks bit when you're busy in the dressing room, trying to entertain little anti-shoppers.
I left my house at 10 a.m. yesterday and didn't come home until almost 7 p.m. It was fantastic.
We first went to a little boutique in the area of town where people usually look at us like we don't belong. I found a fabulous new purse for only $39, some really cool crystal earrings, a shirt that will work nicely for my night at the nightclub next weekend and a really different sweater that will work for casual, work, or whatever. My Mom also found something nice. It was so much fun to try things on that were different and fun.
Next we headed to a restaurant called "Bensi" for lunch. We had some fantastic eggplant parm with salad and were actually able to talk about something other than princesses. I didn't have to cut up anyone's food either. I almost didn't know what to do with myself.
After lunch, we headed to a big outlet area and found some total steals. I got a pair of Ann Taylor Loft pants for $10 and some shirts for $2.50 and less. When all was said and done, I had two new pairs of pants (totally necessary since I've been hard at work reshaping my butt and legs), two new sweaters, three cami's, two shirts, a new purse and new earrings. It was an absolutely blissful day.
Top that with the fact that I came home to two happy kids and dinner on the table. . . it doesn't get any better than that people.
Add to that my Friday evening. I had a hair appointment and upon arriving the receptionist was being extra cheery. "You want to know why I'm so great?" she asked. "Sure," I told her.
Then she went on to tell me how she had just spent 15 minutes on the phone with a friend of mine who had called in a gift certificate for a manicure for me.
I left the salon with a slightly different cut, lighter blonde streaks (which always make me feel better) and an appointment for a manicure next weekend.
This leading-up-to-the-birthday-week is off to a great start.
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