Tag Archives: community

Stepping Up

My apologies for being MIA this past week. I received my second Covid booster, and these never go well for me. I’m back in the land of the living, so I can provide a few updates. I’ve finished my End of Life Doula classes through INELDA. The final classes were bitter-sweet. Between the rich discussions, the role-playing activities, and journaling, you really bond with some of your classmates. I will miss the classes. So I am now a fully trained End of Life Doula. The certification process continues this summer, as they are revamping it for more mentoring and support.

The next step I took and completed today was to become certified by the Americans Clinicians Academy on Medical Aid in Dying. In Oregon, this is known as Death with Dignity. This is NOT assisted suicide, and it is actually illegal for insurance agencies to consider it as much. In Oregon, Death with Dignity is for terminal patients with less than six months to live. So these patients are already dying. This gives them control over the dying process and alleviates needless suffering. I’m very passionate about my support for this and will work to advocate for patients to have this right in any capacity I’m able to.

My last step will be to complete the therapeutic touch program. The first three foundational classes begin in September and run through November. Once those are completed, I’ll work through classes four and five, then certification. This is not only something I can do with the hospice patients I’ll be working with but as a stand-alone modality.

Marketing, business, rates, availability, etc, and all those details are being worked out. Once they are I’ll be sure to share all of that in a way that makes sense with my logo and some other details about what I’ll be doing. Thank you for following along with me here as I navigate this. I can’t wait to meet new people and help with the healing process in whatever capacity that may be.

What Is Your Legacy?

My last two classes have been, what’s the word I’m looking for… fulfilling. Have you thought about how you want to be remembered? We call this Legacy work. This could be something as simple as a letter, photo album, or music playlist or as involved as a book of memories or special mementos given to loved ones.

We talked about end-of-life stages and the signs of imminent death. We discussed grief and how the various stages can weave in and out of the day in no particular order.

How are you living now? Have you compared that to how you want people to remember you? Of course, we had to give that some deep thought. The part I enjoyed the most, though, was discussing rituals. Rituals can involve candles, prayer, poems, readings of various sorts, songs, etc.

Our in-class exercise was to work as a group of five and plan a ritual for a dying person. My group was so cohesive that the 40 minutes allotted for the exercise flew by very quickly. We all agreed we were all sisters, which would be for our grandmother. Someone had an excellent idea to describe each of ours and pull out qualities we felt were most significant. One worked in rice fields and had multiple children. Their ritual in their country was to carry a wooden casket through the town and wail loudly. One always had chocolate coins in her house. One grandmother was Jewish and made Challah bread and blintzes. My great-grandmother always had butterscotch Brach’s candies, dressed to the nines every time I’d see her. I adored her.

We took the main traits; strong, beautiful, hard-working, loving. We approached our ritual as though we were “breaking bread” together. While a playlist of her favorite music played in the background, our grandmother’s loved ones were gathered together in my home. With each bite of a gold coin, butterscotch candy, blintz, or sip of Sake, they would share a memory, and it could be serious or funny. In the end, a poem would be read by one of us “sisters.”

We learned that sometimes the little things- a taste of something, a smell could trigger our best memories. Grief is a whole other topic I’ll address separately. My last class is Saturday. I’m sad about that. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this work, the people, and learning how to make people’s final days meaningful and comfortable.

Once I complete my classes, I’ll take steps to apply for certification, which involves clinical hours and an experienced doula shadowing my work. I’m excited about that.

Finally, I’m researching scholarships to become a certified Touch Therapist. The whole process is not cheap totaling around $3000, so I’m exploring my options, but it would be something I’d love to offer my clients to ease their pain and or anxiety.

I am relishing the moment and knowing I am in the right place doing exactly what I should be doing. Caring for the dying is not easy work. But, it is fulfilling to honor someone’s life and assure they have control over how they exit this world in the way they wish.

My Brain Needs a Spa Treatment

So it’s been a while. About 9 months to be exact. It’s 10:07 PM. I should be headed up to bed after studying all day and preparing for my 8:00 AM lecture tomorrow. Instead, I find myself sitting here, staring at the screen, trying desperately to shove my veil of hesitance aside.

The nursing program has been all-consuming. Spring was a brutal term. Not just because of the sheer volume of classes, lab work, clinical hours, and endless studying, but I was also dealing with my mental health, which I’ve not really mentioned here.

In July, I had three emergency trips for what I assumed was severe, unusually presented migraines. None of which were relieved with my rescue med (red flag #1). All were not completely relieved with IV medications (red flag #2). All were accompanied by unrelenting nausea (red flag #3). On the third trip in, my blood pressure was through the roof and it turns out I had brain swelling. No known cause. Six-day hospital stay later and I’m home. Yet another medical issue to add to my ongoing list.  

This is no pity party. There are far worse things happening in the world. What all of these experiences have done to me physically is one thing but mentally- it’s taken its toll. The stroke put me over the edge but I wouldn’t realize it until over a year later. Words like strong, resilient, determined, and “keeps on getting back up” are in my social media comments after these events. I am resilient. It takes a lot to knock me down. I’m stubborn as hell (as my husband will playfully but truthfully admit) and unstoppable when I put my mind to something.

Earlier this year I felt like something broke. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something wasn’t right with my head. I was all over the place in a way I couldn’t really describe, and my anxiety was through the roof. Levels that made it near crippling. Add that to my already easily overstimulated brain and well, it’s a hot mess. I started therapy In May. It’s been intense but long overdue. The physical aspects of all the medical events, tests, allergic reactions, surgical complications, the stroke, PRES, etc all took their toll and my psyche had had enough.

Since May I’ve been diagnosed with severe anxiety (no shock there). I joke with my school friends that I’m a professional overthinker. I also have severe PTSD. Another no-brainer. I suspected as much. I’m terrified of my headaches and migraines completely freak me out. Added to this is ADHD. Very common and helped me understand why school and focus can be such a struggle.

But one thing I hesitated until now is a biggie. Not because I’m ashamed but because there is still -even with all the knowledge we have- a stigma around it. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, patients are still treated differently by some providers because of this diagnosis. You’re looked at differently by some and this can affect how you’re treated medically, which would have huge implications for me. But I’m taking a risk here. I’ve been diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2. It involves periods of hypomania and depression. I have an appointment with a psychiatric nurse practitioner for medication management, which I’m grateful for because it will make me feel better. What I’m on now makes me feel “meh”. Flat. It’s better than the severe ups and downs, but it’s not what I want to feel.

I have more to share about school and about how this is the final year of the AND program. How much I’m loving some of the subject matter right now and enjoying the simulation labs. But I’ll post that next time. I’m going to wade into the mental health pool lightly here for now. But people I know have been open about their own diagnosis and I think it’s important to do so in order to normalize it. Here is a link in case anyone wants to read up on it. It’s a lot to deal with while being in the program but therapy and meds will help me navigate through this. I will be walking across the commencement line in June. I am determined, I am resilient, and I am strong.

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/bipolar-disorder

The Final Countdown

Although I used to love listening to Casey Kasem’s weekly top 40 countdowns, this isn’t about the song topping the charts. This is about nursing school! In 97 days, 14 hours, and 20 ish minutes, my “adventure” begins. I use that term lightly knowing it will likely be full of tears, sweating anxiety, and mass quantities of coffee. But I digress.

The past nine months, therapy has been my focus. I no longer get dizzy when walking and can walk in a straight line without veering off to one side. At times during PT, if I close my eyes, I still can’t find my center so we’re working on that. Speech therapy has helped improve my word recall and memory, though I still have work ahead of me to continue to progress. Measured progress can be seen years out from a brain injury, so we continue to push forward. Pat asks me questions such as naming five fruits or five things that play music, for example- while I am completing another task. My executive functions are what we’re focusing on; multitasking, prioritizing but also coping with overstimulation. I still have some brain “glitches” where words stumble out of my mouth and get mushed up, but my brain is a work in progress and trying to sort this all out.

In other news, I got the go-ahead to start driving. It’s been around a year since I last drove, and to be honest a total pain in the ass. I am grateful to Pat and all my friends that have helped get me to my numerous appointments this whole time. It’s the piece of independence I’ve been craving so badly.

This term I’m taking one of my last two math classes (can you feel the excitement?!). I hate math. Hate is a strong word I usually reserve for spiders and a certain other orange someone. Math has been a challenge but somehow, I’ve almost made it to the finish for that line of classes. Next summer I’ll take statistics and be completely done. Taking a class now is a good way to dip my toes back into the shallow end of the pool before I’m thrown into the abyss in the fall.

With that said, if I could draw a party with Jason Sudeikis doing the running man over in the corner, D-Nice spinning tunes, and a disco ball in my head-that would still not capture how excited I am to start nursing school. I’ll need some accommodations but I’m fine with that. Whatever gets me there.

With regard to my heart and the event (whatever it was) that was last month, I’m seeing a wonderful cardiologist that is setting me up for tests to help determine what may have happened. They attempted to do a cardiac scan (calcium scoring test) last week but my heart rate was too fast for it. Since I’m already on a beta blocker, they are trying to determine how to proceed. The plan is, if my calcium score is high, we’ll proceed to an angiogram. If not, we’ll go from there. Stay tuned. I’m trying to learn as much as I can while doing all of this. Can’t take the student out of the patient.

Lots of changes but it has given me hope. I’d be lying if I said it was all sunshine and rainbows. I’ve had some pretty dark moments this past year. Some days it’s an album of Adel but more often than not now it’s a round of Dr. Feelgood.

Sunny Saturday

So I’m standing in the garden area of Home Depot just minding my own business and enjoying the sunshine. Hey- I hadn’t been out in two weeks due to being sick (and staying away from places due to COVID-19). It might not be the most exciting place but it involved flowers and sunshine so it made me happy. People were wearing masks and distancing so I felt OK being there for a short time to pick up a couple of flowers for our porch. I kill all plants and flowers but have recently grown a wild hair and decided to entertain keeping a couple of things alive.

As I’m looking at flowers that are virtually kill proof- boom! I’m hit with a crushing chest pain. My heart feels as though it’s being squeezed of life. If that wasn’t enough, the pain radiated up to my jaw with an intensity I had not ever felt. EVER. It scared the hell out of me. With my limited medical knowledge, the first and only thing that popped into my head was heart attack. I wasn’t profusely sweating but I was dizzy and had an overall feeling of being “unwell”.

I made my way to the car where Pat was waiting and I was walking, it intensified. Do I call 911? Do we drive to the ER? I told him what was happening. We opted to drive. My temperature was taken and since I was clutching my chest, I was asked if I was having chest pain to which I promptly confirmed. My heart was racing and I felt light-headed. With there being no visitors allowed to keep people safe, Pat had to leave, which was pretty emotional. At a time you need someone the most, you’re alone.

I kept my phone close by as I was promptly triaged. My BP was far higher than it had ever been. It’s usually low to normal. After my symptoms were documented, vitals and EKG done, I waited, alone in the ER waiting room. I texted Pat so he could communicate updates to my family. After about four hours (short by ER standards) I was wheeled back to a room and had an IV placed. My blood work, CT (given earlier), and chest x-ray had come back normal. The doctor and I were both perplexed.

I know what I felt but more importantly, she believed me and listened to me. She could see my BP and heart rate were high. Especially just laying in a bed. A brief mention of anxiety was made to which I promptly dismissed. Smelling flowers in the sunshine was the most zenned out I had been in weeks and in the room, I was calm as a cucumber believe it not. She laughed and understood. She then suggested that with our extensive family of heart history, my early stroke, and having diabetes that it would be prudent to keep me overnight for observation. I agreed.

During my stay, I had an extensive heart workup consisting of an echocardiogram, frequent troponin checks, and a chemically induced stress test. My heart rate would shoot up to 141 just walking four feet to the bathroom in my room. I felt out of breath. I didn’t get it. It was a long night. No sleep, I missed having my other half there with me to calm me and keep me laughing (humor is our best weapon in my family). The hours crept by. The chemically induced stress test was bizarre. It was not the worst thing, but certainly not anything I ever want to repeat. The staff was outstanding. All of my nurses were wonderful. They took a few minutes to chat with me and engage with me.

At 6:00 PM the next evening, I was informed that all of my tests came back great. Nothing wrong with my heart, in fact it was very healthy. My cholesterol was great so my dietary changes and daily walks are having positive impacts on my overall health. I should have been really happy about it and apparently even though I was, the look on my face said otherwise. I explained that while that’s great news, it doesn’t explain the frightening symptoms I experienced. No answers, just silence. Their job was to rule out any heart-related issues, which they did. So I’m to follow up with my primary doctor.

The whole experience was really strange. Not having answers leaves me feeling really uneasy. More importantly, being a patient without any support with you was really depressing. I get it. I support why they are doing this. But from a patient’s point of view, it sucks. No other way to put it. Yes, I had my phone and watch to text with but texting or even face time/ messaging is not a human connection. It’s not a hug or encouraging voice. It’s not someone joking about your butt hanging out of your gown as you traipse across your room.

Mental health and support are just as crucial to healing as any physical aspect of it. Perhaps if we had enough tests (don’t get me started on this) a support person could be tested then cleared to come in. I say this from a point of privilege. Not everyone has a phone or watch to communicate with. Some don’t have a clean, safe home to return to or place to stay healthy. I saw patients in tears, in pain, angry, upset and no one to calm them. There wasn’t anyone there to offer to make a call for them, hold them to offer comfort. It was a brutally isolating environment to watch unfold.

A call has been made to my primary doc to try and figure out just what happened but for now, I’m not banking on getting any answers. Oddly enough more of my concern comes from knowing I’ll see thousands in hospital bills from my stay because our healthcare system is so broken. I was honestly more worried about that as I laid in my hospital bed watching my heart rate bounce around. It’s wrong on so many levels.

This weekend I’ll focus on getting some much needed fresh air and try to forget about the event the prompted me to enter an ER during a pandemic.

My flowers are still alive, so there’s that. Hope always remains.

A Change is Gonna Come

I had no idea how I’d feel or react. It was 4:47 as I exited my patient’s room, walked over to a computer at the end of the hall and pulled my phone out. The nursing program email notifications would be sent at 5:00. When I unlocked my phone I saw 120 text messages waiting for me. They read, “OMG I got in!” and “I got in!!!” and “We did it!”. The emails were sent early. I nervously opened my Gmail app and saw it sitting there like a glaring at me in the face. It took me a minute to work up the nerve to open it. When I did, I read the words “Congratulations…” I nearly passed out. It was as if I’d been holding my breath for the past two years. I was accepted into the program for this coming fall. A wave of panic, joy, and fear washed over me as I realized that all the hard work, the stress, and exhaustion had brought my dream to fruition.

The icing on the cake was that my study group- every one of them, were all accepted too. We worked HARD, passing up social invitations, nice weather, and all else to focus on our studies and put the program first. Sometimes it sucked. BIG TIME. Sometimes we wanted to scream. There were tears, moments of utter frustration and prompting us to question whether or not we could actually do this.

My friend made an excellent point as we waited for the news- this path had made us doubt ourselves even though we did everything “right”. We put in the time and dedication, got the grades, etc. Yet we continued to wonder if it really was enough or if we were cut out for this. Every one of us was accepted. That answer is yes. We need to continuously remind ourselves that in the face of fear, being nervous or even scared shitless as some of us- we earned our place and need to believe in our abilities and ourselves on the same level that we believe in one another.

We celebrated last night. My friend and I kept repeating overzealously- “We got in!” as we clinked our glasses together. There may have been shots involved. I’ll leave it at that. We had a moment through all of this to let loose and celebrate what has been a somewhat hellish path to get this far and make it in. In the fall, the real work begins and we know that what we’ve experienced so far doesn’t come close to what is in store for us but we also know that we are ready and for now will relish in the moment to recharge, celebrate, and get ready for whatever is thrown as us next. Bring it!

Nursing and Patient Behaviors; Abuse and Harassment. It happens!

Are you squirming in your seat yet? You should be. This is a touchy but important topic because it happens in nursing more often than you think. From the Nursing Code of Ethics, “The nurse practices with compassion and respect for the inherent dignity, worth and unique attributes of every person. ”

What happens when one of those attributes is harmful? The commitment to care remains unwavering. It doesn’t mean it’s acceptable.

Even though nursing tops the list of most trusted professionals year after year, bullying, abuse, harassment and workplace violence inflicted by patients, are noted risks. I’ve been working as a CNA 2 for a few months now and have already experienced a piece of it. While most of the patients I’ve dealt with have been unremarkable (meaning expected patient interactions), there have been a few that were not.

In 2017, The Atlantic reported a “110 percent spike in the rate of violent incidents reported against health-care workers” and a survey indicated that “as many as one-in-four nurses suggested that they had been attacked at work between 2013 and 2014 alone.” If you’ve dealt with patients with diseases that affect the memory then you know kicking, scratching, pinching, and biting are all possible behavioral issues you could experience on the job.

On my last shift, a patient put his hands in his pants and proceeded to reach out and wipe it on my arm, claiming he was “putting his nut sack on me”. After asking him to repeat what he said (after all, I was tired and could easily have misunderstood), he repeated the comment and proceeded to try it again. Thankfully this time I knew to keep my distance. This patient was aware of what he was doing. Some are not. When a patient with advanced Alzheimer’s or Dementia reaches out to pinch or hit, they are not cognizant of what they are doing. Yet both of these incidences are often treated the same. What do you do? How do you handle it?

With memory diseases, I can separate the behavior from the person. They are scared, don’t remember where they are and might think we are trying to hurt them or that they are in a strange place. It’s our job to keep them safe and to make every effort to care for them in a way that doesn’t contribute to their fear and uncertainty. I’ve been hit and cussed at but this patient was reacting in a manner their disease told them to. In no way am I allowing a disease to define who a person is. It does dictate their behavior though, regardless of who they were before it overtook their brain.

Being under duress; the stress of pain, long term illness, or unexpectedly facing mortality, can bring out different reactions from people. Medications can have effects on behavior. When a person knowingly makes a comment about asking for a message or shower when it’s not appropriate, it’s our job to tell them it’s not. As with the patient who wiped his hand on me- I immediately addressed it to put a halt to it, documented it and let the nurse and oncoming CNA know. Instances like this happen more often than you’d like to think in this field.

Workplace violence is on the rise, particularly when it comes to healthcare workers. National Nurses United, the nation’s largest union of registered nurses. is working tirelessly to get legislation in place to help set national standards “requiring health care and social service employers to develop and implement a comprehensive workplace violence prevention plan”. You can read more about their efforts here. The American Nurses Association cites the Bureau of Labor Statistics annual report noting, ” in the health care and social assistance sectors, 13% of days away from work were the result of violence in 2013, and this rate has increased in recent years (U.S. Department of Labor [DOL], Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2014).

What does this all mean and what’s next? Legislation such as the Workplace Violence Prevention for Health Care and Social Service Workers Act (HR 1309), encouraging reporting and internal staff support needs to the standard. If we are to work toward long term solutions, the dialog must be ongoing.

The Interview

I’ve been trying to think of a way to capture yesterday in words while keeping within the guidelines of the interview, which are reiterated multiple times throughout the process; Share too much and you’re application is pulled for this coming year.

For starters, I’m glad it’s over. The questions were not bad or overly difficult. The time frame in which to answer them is the real kicker. You have a very limited number of minutes to show who you are and how you handle certain things. As we all walked out of the interview room, my friend and I let out a sigh (or three) of relief and both nervously joked about how we know we can’t share questions yet couldn’t even remember what they just asked us and only remembered bits and pieces of what came out of our mouths.

The minute I walked into the lobby; I looked around the room. This was some of our competition. There would be two more groups at 11:30 and 1:30. 24 of us all vying for coveted spots in the program. Everyone worked hard to get here and made sacrifices. Everyone was hopeful. It was as though we were in fishbowl of thought bubbles. “Wow, there are a ton of people here!”. “I don’t recall seeing them in any of my classes.” “So many people for so few openings.” “She’s dressed so well, maybe I should have worn…..” “He looks like he has it together.” “Is that an instructor?” “I should use the restroom one more time, just in case. Is there a line? Do I have time?” “I need coffee.” “Shouldn’t have had that extra cup of coffee today.”

As we were herded through the process, it was very organized. There was a lot of instruction and all ears and eyes opened as soon as direction was given. Walk here, go here, proceed to.. The Student Nurses Association officers and instructors were acutely aware of the nerves and anxiety that filled the room and made genuine attempts to calm and reassure us. You could cut the air with a knife. Nearly everyone I met was someone I’d want to be in the program with. These were good people out to prove themselves.

The questions were not overly difficult but the time constraint to answer them was the real challenge. I can’t get into anything further than that, but I will say I walked out hoping I said enough; hoping I said thing in a way that maximized my scores. Did they get a sense of who I was and how I handle things? I don’t know. All I can do is hope. Hope was alive and well yesterday. That was the awesome part of this whole experience. You could feel the anticipation and hope that followed each of us through the lines and into the rooms, and back out the door. It was a shroud that blanketed us from beginning to end. Yesterday would essentially be the beginning of the next stage for some of us or the end of the road until next year, for others.

We all sit and wait for the 8 days, 7 hours and 55 minutes until notifications are sent out April 24th at 5:00 PM. I’ll be at work, attempting to hide in a corner no doubt, as I stare at the email working up the guts to open it and read it.

Stay tuned.

Here we go..

March has proven to be a good month. I managed a B in my microbiology class, thankfully. That is not a class I wanted to repeat. I had my first solo shifts at work and they’ve so far gone really well. I’ve been fortunate to have the best nurses to work with. They took the time to teach, to give me tips and tricks, and get to know me. I really appreciated that. I want most to earn their trust and prove myself. There were a couple of patients that really moved me and I had a few extra moments during my shift to spend with them. This is why I entered this field. It’s a balance of my fascination with medicine and finding ways to connect with patients. Healing is holistic. The mind affects the body and impacts outcomes.

On Wednesday my friends and I got the emails we’d all been waiting months for- the do or die moment. Did we get an interview for the nursing program or not? I clicked on the email, closed my eyes for a brief second and then opened them one at a time to peek. I read the words “Congratulations” and let out a sigh of relief.

I had hoped beyond all hope of hopes to make it to an interview. There is now a chance. You sacrifice time, a social life, sleep and pour your heart and soul into every second of school and you hope. Hope remains alive. I’ll update after the interview whether good or bad in keeping with being transparent about my experience. I’m feeling a little nauseous and jittery full of excitement. People talk about butterflies- I’ve got peranahs eating away at my gut.

Today I had a second trigger finger injection done. My finger gets “stuck” in a bent position and straightening it feels like someone is breaking it in slow motion like one of those Instragram stories. Except this doesn’t have smiling emojis and fun music behind it. More like cuss words – piss and vinegar spew.

Steroid injections are downright painful but can be effective in providing relief. My first one for trigger finger lasted nearly a year before symptoms returned. My hope is that I continue to get relief for an extended period of time. This post won’t be very lengthy because every time I type with my right hand where I had the injection- it’s painful. Like a little ice pick mocking me with every keystroke. For those of you wondering about the steroid injections- here is what they do. Good times.

I’ve had injections for my hips (bursitis is no picnic) and those have proven effective for a few years at a time. All of these things keep me active and moving. It’s a funny thing to be the patient on the other side of medical care. I’ve experienced both many times. It gives you perspective. For me, it lends to a level of clarity I can’t really explain except to say that I know who I want to be and who I do not want to be for my patients. As I gain more experience and learn more within my role as a CNA2, I’ll share more about that perspective. Humor is a funny thing. I mean that literally and figuratively. When you know a patient has a good sense of humor, it’s a wonderful tool. It lightens the mood and sometimes- if you’re lucky- disarms people. During my shift, it came in handy to connect with a couple of people. It yielded a smile from one that had been pretty somber during most of the day. It’s a small victory. They matter.

This next week I’ll be focusing on preparing for the nursing program interview, gathering my thoughts and really digging deep about what got me here and how I plan to move forward. In the meantime- if you are on Spotify and haven’t used the Discover Weekly or Release Radar lists- I highly recommend them. Music is my religion and I make sure to get a healthy dose of it on the daily. Happy listening!

Falling Into School

Fall is here. Leaves are changing colors and the small piles accumulating on the ground crunch below your feet. The first two weeks of school have so far been OK. I was able to get a part-time CNA job that will accommodate my school schedule so that’s a plus. Scrubs have been purchased since finding the “scrub mecca”. Seriously, every color, pattern, brand, and size line the walls of this tiny shop. After trips to four different stores, a new pair of clogs is sitting on the floor my closet, waiting to be worn in.

The online class is pretty straightforward and actually makes for good reading. The math class is umm. Well, interesting.

The instructor was a high school math teacher for 30 or so years. Although he’s a nice man, I suspect he hasn’t exactly done much tweaking to his teaching approach. His voice barely rises so you have to really struggle to hear him, even sitting close to the front. Before even teaching the concept he asks students to do an example problem on the whiteboard (because that makes sense) and waits for the entire problem to be done, even if it’s incorrect. There are a couple students in the back of the room that consistently chatter throughout most of the class. The cross-section of folks in the class is strange in and of itself.

There is a handful that looks and acts as though they walked out of a federal penitentiary about an hour prior to class. Socially awkward and hardened doesn’t even begin to describe it. Think Robert Dinero in Cape Fear. There’s a guy who clicks his pen for the entire nearly two hours. The kicker? One woman comes storming in late after having missed the entire first week, proceeds to sit down, and about 10 minutes into the lecture decides to blurt out, “When is the first quiz?” at a sound level heard in the next city over. The instructor referenced the syllabus (you know that thing that tells you what and when assignments are due, including quizzes) to which she applied, “Oh, I haven’t even looked at the syllabus. My bad.”  I’m fairly certain that had she spoken any louder, she could have communicated with the International Space Station.

It didn’t end there. Shortly after the last burst, the instructor demonstrated an example problem on the overhead projector. At the final step of the problem, he jokingly says, “unless you want to do long division, which I’m sure none of you actually want to see”. Mind you this is college level math. So Bullhorn Barbara (name changed for privacy) decides to blurt out, “Yeah! I do”. At this point, I hear dogs howling and my ears are practically bleeding. I heard mumblings of “I don’t” and “WTF” and “Whaaaaaat?” around the classroom. The instructor looks up, befuddled, but proceeds to complete the problem IN LONG DIVISION. When he was done, she says “Man that was really cool. I haven’t seen that in like 20 years ha ha ha!”. Note to self, buy earplugs.
I looked at my friend like, what is going on here? The class is like a step back in time. I’m waiting to hear, “Bueller. Bueller. Anyone? Anyone?” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IqFBFHuqGI

School at times feels like a fishbowl. You become so engrossed in what you’re doing and oblivious to any happenings outside the concrete walls that it’s as though nothing else exists. You walk about your day to the same classrooms, see the same people, rinse and repeat. When you leave that environment, it feels like stepping out of a hot shower onto a cold floor. It’s jarring, and you immediately want back into the warmth.

The math class was the first time I wanted to leave and risk the cold.