November 19

I didn't know when I left that I wasn't returning.

I woke up on the operating room table with my good foot halfway on the floor, trying to jump off while I tried to adjust my glasses that weren't there.  I heard people yelling and I threw the sheet back over my crotch that I feared was exposed.  And then, I tried again.

Suddenly, my doctor put his face in front of mine.  
"I'm sorry."  I said.
"I was disoriented.  I didn't know where I was."

"You are making record recovery time!"  a nurse in the recovery room commented.

"Yes.  Yes, I am fine."  I responded, staring off into space.

They let me leave.  I hopped from the wheel chair to the car.

"I really didn't know..."  Alec said.

"I really didn't know how serious this surgery was.  I was shocked when they took me back there and all those people were around you and all those tubes...."

"It's okay."  I responded.

"I didn't know how to explain it."

Alec drove us home and I kept wanting to cry.  The nurse that rigged me up for surgery kind of gave me a heads up.  

"Wow, they are really moving you through this."  she told me.

"Yeah, my insurance wasn't going to cover it so I refused to come back here until I knew what the bills would be."  I responded.

She ran an IV in my arm.

"It's better this way."  she said.

"They would have just made you sit back here for hours instead of out there where it's better."

"Yeah."  I said.  Yeah. 

"How do you respond to anesthesia?"  she asked.

"I don't know.  I've only been under twice in my life.  No one told me.  I could have gone crazy town.  I don't know."  

She laughed.

"Yeah.  Some people really tear it up.  Others, they cry."

We made it to our house and into the backyard where we parked the car.  I tried to get out on the stupid one hundred dollar knee scooter I bought and nearly fell.  Alec was trying to help me.  It had rained.  By the end, we were both lying in the driveway, soaking wet from the rain, rolling around, trying to get down the stairs and into our house.  

Oh Kitty.  You have no idea the rest.  It only gets worse.  

Strange Days

"Ms. Wagner, since the coverage from your insurance for your surgery is 'pending', we can go ahead and take you back and start getting you ready for surgery."  the desk lady at the hospital informed me.
"I decline to begin any procedures until coverage is confirmed by my insurance."  I answered, as politely as possible.  I kind of pushed my ass a little harder down in my chair in the surgical waiting area.  
The lady let out a little sigh.
"Don't blame you."  she replied. 

It all started on Thursday afternoon, the Thursday before my Tuesday surgery appointment.  The appointment that was booked in July.  The one I made a special request at work for during the first week of school, so that I could get days off ahead of the Thanksgiving vacation - "critical days" - the ones you don't get paid for if you don't come, no matter how many sick days you've banked.  The appointment I already got blood work done for, unfortunately out of network, for over four hundred dollars.  And took time off of work for.  The appointment I had already paid a "surgical fee" of almost eight hundred dollars for.  And bought a bunch of knee scooters and bullshit for another hundred dollars so that I could get around for two months, post-op, on one foot.  And had left work early, gone to my pre-op appointment at the hospital and spent days washing and soaking myself with some awful antiseptic wash they made me use for days.  For that appointment, the appointment I had prepared for, my Tuesday, November 19th surgery appointment.  

"As you are aware - your surgery was denied. I'm not sure why. This hasn't happened to me in 15 years. So I have a peer to peer on Monday morning."  the surgeon's message stated.

"Aware of what? It's canceled?  Who was supposed to tell me this?"  I responded, while watching some kid that spoke Arabic try to do science.  

"I thought the message was from you,"  he responded.

"But it's from Piedmont.  Your insurance is denying coverage."

"I think it's a technicality." he explained.

"Please let me know on Monday what is going on."  I responded.

I looked at the water cycle assignment.  How the fuck was this happening?

I spent the rest of the day pretending everything was going to be fine.  Preparing sub plans.  Talking to my mom's doctors about her transfer to a rehabilitation facility.  Doing things at home that I might not be able to do on one foot.  I had appointments for my mom's dog the day after my surgery, he needed his shots and someone to look at this growth on his neck.  I had a lot of things to think about.  

Monday was my last day at work for nearly two weeks.  I watched my messages like a hawk, waiting for the doctor to tell me how it went.  Late in the day, I got a message from his office that "everything was fine".  I smiled and drove to the Farmer's Market.  I was going to need food for the next week or so.  By the time I parked the car, I asked myself if I had lost my mind and called the doctor's office to get them to clarify.
"Hi yeah, you've paid us!"  the receptionist responded when I asked for clarification on their message.
"Yeah....I know that you guys got paid but I need to know the results of the peer to peer."  I answered.  

"Oh.  Okay.  I'm going to put you through to Piedmont billing." she said, a little edge to her voice.

"No.  No, I'm good.  Ask the doctor to send me a message on the results of the peer to peer."  I said and hung up.

I called my insurance company.  I was on hold for almost an hour.  I sat in the car, watching people coming and going with their groceries.

"Blue Cross Blue Shield!"  someone finally said.

I explained that my doctor's office said that "everything was good" and asked some questions about how they would apply the money in my spending account to all these bills, why my estimate of benefits was saying I was going to pay more than $26,000 in the morning, my special price because I have insurance but they won't pay....why I hadn't received an updated EOB.....

"Hey," the lady said.

"This thing is still coming up as pending....."

I saw my doctor calling on the other line.  I hung up and answered him.

"So, the peer to peer went through.  They had old x-rays.  But now, now there is a problem with the code...."

"WHAT?"  I answered, watching the sun go down on the Farmer's Market parking lot.

"I think it can be fixed, but....is there any way we can reschedule?"  he asked, his voice super hesitant.

"No."  I whispered.

"We can't.  This is bad."

"Okay."  he answered.

"You were going to be first in in the morning.  I'll move you to second and try to get the code through in the morning."

"Okay.  Thank you."  I responded, feeling sick to my stomach.

"So I come at eight instead of five thirty?"

"Yes."

I hung up the phone and tried to start the car.  There was no way I could grocery shop at this point.  The battery was dead, it wouldn't turn over.  I had left the lights on.

I got out and walked inside and bought vegetables.  

And olives.  

I was limping a little.  Because my foot hurt.  The foot they were supposed to fix.  

Only in the Darkness Can You See the Stars

I watched the kindergartner rolling around on the floor of my classroom.  He tore down the Positive Intervention Behavior and Supports signage with his feet.  I kept trying to have a class.

The kids were talking about the election.  I didn't stop them.  I was surprised that more than a few said they wanted Trump.  Refugee children, though Trump put the refugee cap near zero when he was previously in office.  Latino children.  I know they are parroting what they hear from their parents, but that didn't really make me feel any better.  I guess after one gets in, they slam the door shut behind them.  

"I bet Kamala ran home crying."  Albinus snickered, a mean look in his eyes.  

I read that some Latino men were uncomfortable voting for a woman.  I thought of the multitude of Latino men I encountered while volunteering for No More Deaths.  They seemed pretty comfortable taking water from a woman while they were dying in the desert, but to each his own.  I never felt like they owed me anything, you'd have to be some kind of animal to not offer aid to people in those situations.  But I admit, part of me feels betrayed.  You might have noticed.  Not because many prefer conservative politics, that's their right, but that they don't think a woman is capable of much.  Plenty of us dodged rattlesnakes, the law and militia groups to help them survive their treacherous journey to the United States, even though we have those lady vaginas.    

My mother has been hospitalized for two weeks.  She went to the emergency room and ended up staying.  Yesterday she was transferred to another facility.  My sister and I have been caring for her dog and her house.  I came by one day to find a side door heavily damaged by what was probably a crowbar.  The door held but all of the locks were exposed.  A break-in attempt.  I took my mother's dog and her jewelry box.  I was lucky to find a really kind couple that are caring for her dog in their home and are willing to keep him for weeks.  I replayed over and over in my head how afraid that dog must have been, alone in the house listening to someone trying to rip the door down.  

I am having surgery myself next Tuesday and will have limited mobility for two months.  Alec's mother has been very ill.  He will be spending Thanksgiving with his family in Connecticut.  I admit to feeling sad at first, the idea of being alone and on crutches over a major holiday was depressing.  But then I felt like I needed to stop being a little bitch and see the big picture and I encouraged him to go.  He needs to be there and her situation is a lot worse than mine.  

I stared at the new little boy.  He basically just screams and chants all day.  He runs in circles through our classrooms, screaming.  He runs all over the cafeteria and back to the food line, snatching food.  The first two days that I tried to get him for ESOL he hit me repeatedly and ended up getting suspended.  He is an absolute menace everyday, from 7:00 until 2:15.  His father wags his finger in my face and advises me to "be patient".  He never says, "I'm sorry my son hit you.".  And, we've noticed, his son only listens to men.  

I stared at him intently, his little pants with dinosaur fins poking out of the sides, chanting along with Al-Aqsa, swatting me away whenever I touched his computer.  

 

*Title, Martin Luther King Jr.

La Bamba

Last year, my school made me organize an assembly for Hispanic Heritage Month.  I love my kids, love Latino culture, but I hate organizing assemblies.  It's incredibly stressful and time consuming.  And, I guess I found it odd.  My school isn't always very respectful of diversity and I felt like my kids were being used for a dog and pony show.  This year, I hoped they would forget about the assembly.  Especially considering how crazy this year has already been.   I have been completely overwhelmed by reclassification meetings for kids exiting ESOL, screening A LOT of new students for services, my actual student roster increasing dramatically, three classroom changes, a multitude of schedule changes, no planning period for weeks on end, I could keep going but I think I've made my point.  I kind of know that the school doesn't care how busy I am, but I thought the assembly might at least be off the table because the room it would take place in has been off limits most of the school year because of the building construction.

I was wrong.

Less than three weeks before the assembly was to take place, I was informed that I better get on it.  My eyes widened in horror.  Why was this my responsibility?
"Don't worry!!  I'll get you a team!"  I was told.

I knew I wasn't getting a team.  I told the kids it was on and they were in my trailer the next morning, figuring out what we were going to do.  The Chorus teacher told me they could perform the same Spanish-language song as last year, which was a huge relief.  I put up the bulletin board.  Provided a list of "fun facts" about Latinos for the morning announcements.  I bought a ton of full size flags for our parade of flags.  We finalized what the kids wanted to say, in Spanish and in English.  We practiced every morning.  I made a little 'ol Power Point of pictures that flashed behind the kids while they presented.  I made a Spanish-English flyer to be sent out on the school's message system and individually invited all of my Spanish-speaking parents, many of whom had children presenting in the assembly.  I made a Spanish-English program to be handed out.  I bought and spray painted large wings for some of the kids to wear while they talked about the Quetzal's importance in Guatemala.  And, I did my day job at the same time.  

About a week and a half before the assembly, two teachers mentioned off-hand that they were going to help me with the assembly.

"I think we have everything pretty ready, we're just practicing now."  I responded.

They seemed put off.  I was put off, too.  Now you want to help?

Two days before the assembly, I received a text message.  

"I want a forty-five minute assembly and a parent fashion show!"  it read.

That's when I lost it.  

"You said you didn't need us!"  one of the "helper" teachers mentioned when she saw me and the Chorus teacher trying to practice.

"I thought we were ready."  I responded.

"I didn't expect to hear that what I was doing wasn't good enough and to start getting forced additions two days before the assembly.  The kids need time to practice and I definitely don't want to corral a bunch of parents."  

I felt angry and ridiculous.  It looked like I had rejected help.  I busted my ass, my kids practiced like crazy and now somehow, we had failed.  

"We are going to add some music and put pins in the map on your bulletin board to show where the kids are from."  she responded.

"We'll do it.  You don't have to do anything."

"Okay."  I responded, trying not to cry.  

They got another teacher to add music from various countries to my Power Point.  It looked pretty good. The day before the assembly, after school, the "team" that was supposed to do all the international-type assembly stuff met for the first time.  

"So!  Hispanic Heritage Month! I want to eat tacos!"  one mentioned.

"When does it start?"

"It's over in a couple of days."  I responded, placing my forehead on the table in front of me.

Then, the day of the assembly, the person that was supposed to present the music wasn't at work.  People started looking at me to present.  I refused.  I thought I "didn't have to do anything".  And, I hate public speaking and this would be the worst kind, a dancing, heat up the crowd kind of public speaking.  They figured it out.  

The morning of the assembly, I ran around the school gathering about twenty-five kids from all grade levels to practice one more time.  One of the teachers started giving me a hard time.  I answered as cordially as I could, then she barked at me.  I turned, grabbed the kid's hand and walked away.  Suddenly, the principal was there.  She grabbed me and hugged me.  

"You handled that perfectly."  she said.

"Thank you for saying that.  I don't know what I'm doing right now."  I answered. 

The assembly was actually really great.  The parent were thrilled.   As soon as their kids started speaking, I saw a bazillion phones shoot up, filming.  The parade of flags was great.  I was happy that they were happy.  I made a mental decision.  My students and their families love that fucking assembly.  Next year, I'll start early, it will be forty-five minutes long and I will embrace the damn thing.  

"Is that your deodorant?"  I asked pointing a random tube of deodorant laying on the sidewalk while I walked Mercedes, Eduardo's sister, to her mother.  

She giggled.

"Eduardo wears deodorant now!  It's blue!"

"Really?  Is he getting all stinky?"  I responded.

She laughed more.

"Did you try it?"  I continued.

I saw her little side-eye and knew that she had definitely investigated that deodorant.  

"He put it on me and Sabrina too!"  

I burst out laughing.  A full, hard, massive throaty laugh.  The biggest, longest laugh I have had in a really long time.  

Paper Moon

I walked behind the school to my trailer last Monday.  It was a bright, sunny day but a strange wet mist hung in the air, accompanied by a strong chlorine, swimming pool smell.   

"Hey Wagner, they sayin' there's some kind of big dog up there, like a German Shepherd-type dog." one of my co-workers called as I walked the kids up the hill at the end of the school day.  I paused for a minute, then slowly started walking again.  The kids froze.
"Ya'll follow her!  She's the dog whisperer.  Just stay behind her!"
I smiled and kept walking.  The kids followed.  

One of my "interesting" kindergarteners shot out of his classroom while I picked up the rest of the kids.
"Hey, Pah."  I greeted.
"Hey."  he responded. 

"I pooped my pants."

"Uhhh, poop?"  I whispered.

"Not uh, you know, pee?"

"Yeah.  Poop."

I inadvertently sniffed the air.  There was a poop smell.

"So um, did you change clothes?"

"Nah."

"Are your parents coming, you know, to bring you some?"

"No."

"Okay Pah, you wanna, um, like go to the bathroom or something and clean yourself up?"

"Sure."  he responded, with a shrug.  

Yup, just walking around super casual, pants full of poop.  

October 5th marked a year since Temple came to our house.  We adopted her on October 9th.  In ways I can't believe that a year has passed, in other ways it seems like longer.  I spent the day yesterday at a work conference.  I didn't want to go, but was actually kind of inspired after I finished it.  I picked up Temple's anniversary cake from the dog bakery and headed home.  I spent some time creating and spray painting Quetzal-wings for our Hispanic Heritage assembly next week.  

I think everything is okay.  

  

Ta blu

I stood in the cafeteria during Curriculum Night, feeling pretty rough.  I had been up since three in the morning and was still at work after nearly eleven hours.  A strange man approached the building.  Soon, he was in front of the group of parents with the microphone.  He was a politician.  He started giving his speal to the captive parents that awaited Curriculum Night information.  I watched one of his volunteers specifically target the Latino parents, pestering them while they waited.   As soon as the politician was done with his campaign speech, he sidled over to me and another teacher, two of the only white people in the room.

"So, I'm the one who brought the ice cream truck for the kids."  he informed us, waiting for our approval.  We stared back at him blankly.  

Parents started approaching me, asking me questions.  The interpreter I requested was there, but a lot of the Spanish-speaking parents were approaching me anyway.  The interpreter stood next to me while we both answered questions.  I heard a parent of one of my new parents call out  "NO, ELLA, ¡ella habla espanol!.  I turned and saw that she was referring to me.  The campaign volunteer who had been targeting the Latino parents was literally standing in between me and the parent, physically blocking her path.  I started trying to answer her questions and the campaign volunteer repeatedly interrupted both me and the parent.  Abruptly, the volunteer stood directly in front of me, way too close, and again, blocked the parent.

"Look."  he said, leaning in and clasping his hands like he was praying.
"You think you speak Spanish, but you don't."  he had a a strange look on his face, a mixture of aggression and condescension.  I was shocked.  
"She wants to know if she can leave."  he continued.
"That's not what she asked me."
"Can she leave?"  he repeated, his face still twisted in the nasty smirk.
I laughed.
"Of course."  I said and turned and walked away.  

I drove home crying.  Angry, frustrated, sad.  

"Alec, we need to drive to my mom's house.  She isn't answering my calls and I haven't heard from her in days.  I'm afraid she's dead."

When we arrived, my mom answered her door serenely, as if I hadn't called a million times.

"Well, I spent the night in the ER on Tuesday, Eitan took me...."

"Mom, what the fuck?  Eitan?  How much more money are you going to let him steal from you?"  I answered.  

"Well...he's the only one that will answer my calls....."

I got up and left.  

You all are such terrible daughters to your poor elderly mother that I have to keep calling the man that ripped off one of you years ago and who I randomly gave twenty thousand dollars.....and probably more and more and more....

I sat on the floor of an apartment in Clarkston on a Sunday afternoon, eating Kaw Naw.  Ku's older sister had invited me over to help her with college scholarship applications and made me lunch as a thank you.  It wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend one of my weekend days, but I knew I would be glad once I was there.  

And I was.  

Welcome Back Kotter

"So....you remember when I stopped being a walker?" a student asked me.  She was referring to something that happened last spring, as if it had just happened.  

"Yup." I responded.  

"So, I didn't know we were moving.  I had to take the bus and while it was pulling away, I saw you, I saw all of you walking away without me."

I had no idea that would make her sad.  When she said moving, she was talking about going to the women and children homeless shelter in Atlanta.  There aren't a lot of them, so I actually know where she was.  This eternally optimistic child told me last spring that even though the bus ride was long, she thought the city lights of Atlanta were beautiful.  

"Look at this."  she instructed, showing me a blingy necklace that said "TAURUS".

"It's my zodiac sign.  I got to go to the mall last weekend."

I smiled.

"Taurus are good people."

The internet has been restored to my trailer.  After seven weeks and three classroom moves, my classroom trailer is almost fully functioning.  I still can't hear the school announcements or the fire alarm, or enter the building without running all the way around to the front because the key card thing doesn't work, but my mood soared when I finally got internet.  The phone works, too, but I was good with it never working again.  I am not sure what you call this syndrome, the one where you get treated like such crap that you appreciate a dry piece of bread instead of the full dinner that they owe you.  

I actually think the lessons I design are pretty good.  Not having the internet impacted my activities.  After using up all my hotspot data, my students and I took to roaming around the school, trying to get inside because the key card doesn't work in the back of the school and to search for a wifi signal.  We joked that our next step would be just to pile in my car and sit in the McDonald's parking lot, using their wifi.  

I started hiding out in random places in the building, trying to get my planning and paperwork done with the internet access I needed.  It sucked because my files and reference materials were in the trailer and no matter where I went, I was constantly interrupted.  By my students.  By teachers.  By this awful chair by the copier that pinched my fingers really hard whenever I tried to skootch up.  My only productive day was sitting with one of the custodians in my pinchy chair while he ate some kind of Lean Cuisine and watched Netflix on his phone and I got some plans done.  

"Hey.  I've been wanting to talk to you.  You come in my classroom a lot, and get kids."

I looked at the little boy while I tried to get some work done in the library.

"My mom's Puerto Rican.  My dad's Black.  I live with my grandmother.  I don't see too much of my parents, haven't seen my dad in eight years.  This school, I don't know, I'm not sure if I like it.  A lot of yelling."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  But it is really nice to meet you.  Hopefully I'll see you again soon."

I turned back to my computer.  

Around a third of my students this year are brand new.  They have brought an array of, I don't know, issues.  Three of them have never been to school before, though they should be in first and second grade.  One has been periodically removed from school by her parents, missing both second and fifth grade.  Another clearly has a cognitive issue and steals compulsively.  She has physically attacked one of her teachers, twice.  One of my kindergartners rolls on the floor under the table the rest of us are sitting at, scratching my ankles.  Another kindergartner just randomly screams.  A third appears to not be school age, but he keeps coming anyway.  Everyone keeps complaining about my new third grader that spits at everyone in the cafeteria.  I saw one of the "never been to school before" kids pick up a Capri Sun off the floor and try to drink it.  My "never been to school" first grader crashes into walls with snot all over his face.  

"Hi...."  a little girl said while sidling up to me in the library while I tried to work.
"I think I have ADHD.  I wanted to talk to you.  I just have a lot of anxiety....."  she continued.  
"Well, if this is something that really concerns you, ask your parents to take you to the pediatrician.  They can figure it out!"  I said, patting her hand.
"So... what do you do here?"  she asked.
"I teach English to kids that speak other languages."
She looked at me blankly.  I guess she thought I did something else.  

I have about ten more students on my overall roster than I did last year. I also have a new boss.  I am not even sure how to tactfully describe this.  I'll just say, I got a bit of a dressing down for my "communication".  For not telling my new boss that I needed a schedule.  Which of the students are in the ESOL program.  For not scheduling our new part-time ESOL teacher their instructional hours.  Things that are really basic components of said person's job and honestly, things that I neither want to do or am authorized to do.  My students are also usually clustered in one classroom, by grade level.  Now, they are sprinkled throughout the school in around thirteen different classrooms.  I haven't had a planning period in weeks.  

"How was I to know that you did not have a schedule?  I have seen you with children." she informed me, leaning in to my face.

"Well, I wasn't going to just sit here for six weeks, doing nothing."  I responded. 

My bad.  Really, my bad.  It's hard to explain the problems I am having on the job but the bottom line is, I am not training an administrator.  Their job is basically the same at whatever crap-ass school they go to in the district.  I am upset that I am stretched so thin that I don't feel like I am serving my students in the best way that they need.  And they need.  They need a lot.