Elementary school kids can be really cute. Sometimes. I have been out more than I have been in these last few months, but since I have been at my school a long time I have a relationship with many of the kids and their families. So, when I walked back in on Monday I was accosted by small people, all of them waist high. Hugging my belly and telling me how much they missed me.
Um, thanks… and OUCH!
I smiled as I tried to slip away from them without offending anyone. They are so innocent. Not a single one thinks to ask why I was gone, they are just happy to see me.
I walk to my classroom, carrying my extra light bag that weighs 6 pounds. I know this because I was told to carry nothing over 10 pounds, so my overprotective – God I love him – husband brought down the scale we use to weigh our luggage, and checked on my bag.
He knows I like to drink a LOT of water during the day. He brought a case to my room, so I wouldn’t have to carry it. He is a pretty good guy.
I sit and look around. It has only been a few weeks again, but it looks strange. Different. I get the sense I am not too sure I belong.
Then I look at my schedule. Classes are coming. Real classes, expecting me to have lessons for them.
You mean I have to teach too? Wasn’t getting here enough?
I made it through – thankfully my days were shortened so I could deal with other issues.
I was OK with coming home from the hospital right after surgery, but did this doctor really know what she was doing sending me back to work in less than 3 weeks? Probably.
My surgery site barely hurts, and aside from some light bleeding, things are getting better. I have to keep behaving, and that is hard. Very unlike me.
It was probably good to get up and out of the house. To be around people. To be reminded that life isn’t just about me and life goes on while you are home recovering from surgery.
I am just so incredibly TIRED!!!!!!!!!!! The deep, bone crushing kind. I need my energy back.
Tomorrow there are no kids in school. Staff development for the teachers. I am starting to feel like I have a purpose again. Less wallowing, more working.
My clothes are all picked out. Let’s see what they make of my favorite breast cancer ‘survivor” T shirt. I may be exhausted, but I will be sure my sense of humor follows me to work and wherever else I go.
If we can’t laugh at ourselves, and our own lives, we are in a LOT of trouble.