On Monday of this week, the muscles in my right shoulder began aching. It felt like someone was digging his sharp elbow into my shoulder blade. It was a minor irritant, at first, and one that I attributed to stress. After all, teaching during a pandemic and feeling like a first year teacher all over again has been quite stressful. Each day that I come to school, I feel like I am running in quicksand, and drowning quickly. The weight that I carry that I'm not doing enough for my students is, at times, overwhelming, and then I have to remind myself to give myself grace. I'm doing my best--even if it's not good enough. But I digress...
By the next day, the muscles in across my back and into my neck started to ache. I used my wife's shiatsu neck massager before heading into school. It felt great and relieved the aching for a few hours, but by lunch time, all of the aching was back in full force. I tried my best to ignore it and go about my day as if nothing was wrong.
Wednesday morning came along, and my muscles felt like they were on fire. They were extremely tender to the touch, and I couldn't use the neck and shoulder massager for very long. I took some Aleve because it normally does a pretty good job relieving muscle pain. It didn't even phase it. Deep inside, I felt that something was wrong with me--a feeling that I was desperate to push aside. "I'm not sick. I just need to de-stress or something" I'd tell myself to get through the day, while nearly constantly massaging my neck and shoulders during and between classes. Any teacher will tell you that it's more work being out sick than it is to show up, and despite my admin urging us during teacher in-service to not to come to school sick during this pandemic, sixteen years of classroom experience (and sixteen years of conditioning myself to ignore minor illnesses and keep trucking along) was impossible to overcome.
My health worsened on Thursday. I had tightness in my chest. It didn't feel like bronchial tightness; it was my chest muscles themselves that were sore. My neck and shoulders were also hurting and, by this point, it hurt to turn my head to the left or right. Later in the day, I got diarrhea. Outwardly, I attempted to remain my normal cool, calm, and collected self; mentally, I was freaking out. I was rapidly developing symptoms of covid-19. I live in rural Tennessee, and it's difficult to completely avoid going into brick-and-mortar stores, but when I did I always wore a mask with a filter and was pretty diligent about using my bottle of hand sanitizer when I got back to my car. That being said, despite places like Wal-Mart "requiring" masks, plenty of people aren't wearing them. The exceptionalist, independent, and rebellious American spirit is on steroids here in rural Tennessee.
On Thursday afternoon, I talked to my school nurse about my symptoms, and she gave me the news that I needed but didn't want to hear: I should to get myself tested for covid-19. I wanted to cry. I immediately notified my admin about my decision to get tested that afternoon, which meant that I was officially not allowed to return to school unless the test results came back negative. I rushed down to my county's health department before they closed at 3:30. Then, I made the decision to get a motel room for the next couple of nights. My wife is overweight and diabetic, and my mother-in-law, who lives with us, has a whole host of autoimmune diseases. I wasn't taking any chances.
Finally, after checking into my motel room, I broke down. I sobbed because I had been as careful as possible to avoid getting covid-19. My county passed a mask mandate for everyone who enters the building, and this mandate also made it the teacher's discretion whether we required masks in our own classrooms. We're on a hybrid learning model, which for us means that half the students are in the building at a time, and my classes are between 10-15 students. I still require them to wear a mask. I sobbed because I had possibly exposed my family to this virus. I sobbed because I was frustrated that a positive means that I'd be out of school for the next 2-3 weeks. The last time I missed that much school at one time was over a decade ago when I was diagnosed with kidney cancer and I missed almost an entire semester with two kidney surgeries. I sobbed because I was scared. I had already come face-to-face with my own mortality fighting kidney cancer, and here is something else that I am going to need to fight.
Thursday night was a rough night. In addition to the muscle aches in my neck, shoulders, and chest and the diarrhea, I felt extremely nauseous, and I started sweating profusely. My clothes were drenched and sweat was dripping down my face despite me not running a fever. In fact, my temperature went down, which was puzzling to me. I almost drove myself to the emergency room, which was less than a minute drive from the motel where I was staying. Instead, I decided to go to sleep. Good decision or not, I had been awake since 4:30 that morning and needed to rest.
Friday morning, I felt remarkably better. My neck and shoulder muscles were still extremely sore, but my chest soreness, diarrhea, and nausea all were gone. I made an appointment for 2:30 to get an instant covid-19 test done. I was told that the test from the health department would take 3-5 days, and the anxiety from not knowing was excruciating. In the meantime, I attended my English 4 PLC meeting and my school's faculty meeting via Google Meet sessions. I did a little bit of lesson planning for next week, and then I drove to get my instant test done.
By this point, I had already accepted the idea that I had covid-19 and was mentally preparing for how I was going to handle confirmation of that news. The test, which is 93% accurate, surprisingly came back negative. I teared up a little bit because a giant weight had been lifted from my still achy shoulders. I was happy that I had not, in fact, exposed my home or school families to covid-19. I was happy that I could return to school on Monday (unless the test from the health department came back as positive).
Meanwhile, I saw on Facebook that a parent of a student in my school system had officially filed an injunction to stop the county's mask mandate. In the comments section, I saw people saying things like "if people are scared of their children getting the virus, they should keep them at home, and those who want to go to school without a mask should be allowed to do so." That "Don't Tread On Me" southern spirit is alive and well, and, frankly, is missing the entire point. Teachers are not given the option to stay home if we're legitimately fearful of going to school and doing our jobs. Neither are the principals, guidance counselors, teacher's aides, custodians, secretaries, or bus drivers. The school system is responsible for everyone's safety. The county's mask mandate allows for students to avoid wearing a mask if they have a legitimate doctor's excuse. As a parent, I can appreciate wanting to move mountains to protect your children and do what you think is best for them; as a teacher who was given no choice about returning to work during a global pandemic, I found the injunction to be insensitive and repugnant. After all, the school where I teach has already lost two teachers who refused to return to the classroom and who, I presume, were fortunate enough to be able to financially afford to make those decisions. (I'd like to add that my viewpoint on this lawsuit is mine alone, and I am not speaking on behalf of anyone else but myself.)
By Saturday morning, almost all of my muscle soreness was gone. I went online and checked on the results of the test from the health department. It was there, and it was also negative. I avoided getting covid-19 this time, but I reminded myself that I must continue to remain diligent because it's still out there. The rate of positive tests in my county is at almost 6%, and my school just played their first home football game last night--albeit with a smaller than normal crowd.
I learned long ago, with my battle against kidney cancer, that life is precious. I don't want to endanger the lives of my home family or my work family. Following my passion for teaching is also what puts a roof over my head and pays the bills, and with that comes the risk of endangering the lives of those who are close to me. It's an uncomfortable, oxymoronic position to be in. If empathy were as rampant as covid-19, we could have defeated it a long time ago. I optimistically hope that one day we can societally return the social contract that was the very building block of our constitutional democracy. When John Winthrop delivered his infamous "Model of Christian Charity" on board the ship Arbella on April 8, 1630, he made it clear that when they arrive in the New World, it was their responsibility to look after and support one another. In so doing, their colony would become the shining "city upon a hill" and be a beacon for the rest of the world to follow. Our beacon is dim, but not extinguished. It can be relit with patience, compassion, and empathy. We're all in this together, and the only way we will make it through this pandemic is by acting in unison and fighting for each other.