Ms. A

While walking out of the building after dropping S off at school, I saw C’s first grade teacher, Ms. A. She was his teacher the year he was sick.

I almost walked by. I see her every couple of months, and we’re always friendly, but I also recognize that often she is rushing to be ready for her teaching day and I don’t want to slow her down. Today she was collating some papers in the building office.

After taking one or two steps past the office door, I decided no, today was a day to stop and say hello.

Ms. A is a great teacher. She is warm and smart and experienced. Each school year she somehow is able to learn – quickly – about the individual needs and quirks of the kids in her class and begin addressing them almost immediately. She works equally well with parents, parent volunteers, other teachers, and school support staff. When parents receive the letter assigning their child to Ms. A, they rejoice. C loved her.

When C became sick, Ms. A was wonderful. She was scared for C and for us, but supportive and helpful, too. I don’t quite remember the sequence of events that led me to just call her directly and not go through the school office (C had been out a couple days before he crashed), but every time I did call, she dropped everything, had whatever volunteer or support staff was in the classroom at the time take over, and took my call. (Thinking back on it, the mother of one of C’s classmates may have had something to do with it. AW was in the ER in the first hospital in a learning capacity when C arrived by ambulance from the pediatrician’s office.)

Quickly, Ms. A organized the class to make cards for C. And on C’s second full day in the PICU, she asked to visit, bringing the cards along. It was about 7 or 8 in the evening when she arrived, I think. I remember the look on her face when she was buzzed through the PICU doors, and when she saw C through the glass doors of his room for the first time. She was shocked by what she saw.

I approached her and thanked her for coming. She gave me a hug. I asked if she’d ever seen a child this sick before, and she said no. I told her she didn’t have to go into his room. Being here was enough, and we’d do everything we could to let C know she was here. She took a deep breath, and said she’d like to go in if she could.

Ms. A donned the universal precautions required of everyone at that point: gown, mask, gloves (though by this point he’d already had enough meds that risk was minimal in either direction), and I introduced her to C’s nurse. I then stepped out of the room, and watched.

She just talked to him. She stood near him, held his hand, and talked to him.

After about 15 minutes, she came out of the room, and she gave me another hug. I promised to keep her updated on C’s progress. And then she had to go.

The next day at school, Ms. A organized the class into sending C a big bunch of balloons. She skillfully talked to them about a classmate being very sick without scaring them, and each child brought in a dollar or two to contribute. We still have those deflated balloons in that box I found last week.

Over the next several weeks, Ms. A cheered his progress and helped us plan for a smooth return back to school. She saved some work for him to catch up on, and, once he was home, arranged for a tutor, and other little details. She suggested I get C an email account so the class could send him email during his recovery. It was a great way for C to start to feel connected again.

When it was time for C to come back into the classroom after seven weeks, she arranged a visiting day before he started back (half-days for a couple of weeks) so that everyone could get the nervousness out of the way. Upon arrival that afternoon, she let all the kids say hello for about ten seconds before starting them in on an activity, including C. This was just the right way to handle it – making C a regular part of the class again was just what C and his classmates needed.

I thanked her frequently that spring and since, and knit her a seaman’s scarf (Interweave Knits, Fall 1998) so she could be literally wrapped in our thanks. Years pass and I still feel so much gratitude for her strength during that time. It continues to mean so much to us.

Standing there in the office today, I told her this. She gave me a hug, we chatted for a few moments, and then it was on with our respective days.