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Yesterday, a teacher's worst nightmare happened to me. One of my kids, sweet, skinny little Parker, arrived late to fifth bell with a clinic note. He said he felt better, and asked if he could go get his books from his fourth bell classroom. I sent him off, then started class. When he didn't come back, I peeked out into the hall to see what was up. He was writhing in agony on the floor of the hallway, barely able to speak. When I got down to his level, he whispered to me that he'd felt a terrible pain in his chest, so he sat down on the floor, in case it got worse and he passed out. Smart boy. We called the clinic and got a wheelchair up there, so he could be hutled downstairs for a quick once-over while they waited for his mom. He e-mailed me later to tell me he was basically okay. I called his mom this morning, and she says several possible causes-pleurisy, a hernia--are being investigated. He keeps thanking me for finding him, because otherwise he'd have been out there for another forty minutes before the bell ended. Poor, poor kid. When other people entrust you with their precious children for the day, you owe it to them to keep those children as safe and healthy as you can. I get very attached to my kids, anyway, so seeing one go down is truly terrifyng. I gotta renew my CPR card. |
 
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