My chest was tight. Breathing became slow and rhythmic. My arms are stretched out and locked on the steering wheel of my 2014 bronze, Volvo V60. Fixation consumed my mind as I raced down the highway. Tears stained my cheeks and dropped onto my lap.
That day, in mid May 2021, I had a very important appointment which required leaving work early. We had transitioned back to school by that point. I had gotten the approval to leave early and was on my way out.
No one knew about my losses and struggles to cope. At home, I dreamt of my babies. Blood, bodies, and overwhelming feelings of loss would wake me in a sweat from the lingering trauma. At work, it was more or less a secret. Juggling grief and tackling my students’ traumas became, at times, overwhelming. And yet, I still needed answers.
My personal and professional life stayed separate. In my 20s, I was committed to developing my craft as an educator. I’d go above and beyond for administrators, students, and families. I’d spend any amount of money and endless amount of hours for my classroom family. If I went through personal struggles, all I needed was to walk through the doors of school and instantly forget everything in my personal life. Though, as I approached my 30s, I began to realize that my personal life needed more attention.
I sent data to my OBGYN and printed it out at school. The trackers were in my hands as I rushed down the hallway to exit the building. I could see the sunshine through the glass stained doors down the hallway.
“Kate.” I stopped in my tracks and held the documents close to my chest. As I turned my head to make eye contact with an administrator, Mr. F, my heart sank.
I saw a flushed red face with piercing eyes glaring at me, like a hunter finding their doe.
Standing still and shocked, I was verbally reprimanded during dismissal. Students, parents, and staff roaming the halls tried to ignore. Embarrassment and anguish consumed my very being.
“Recess equipment?” I thought to myself as I waited for the reprimanding to stop. Paralyzed and confused, I began to feel a tightness in my neck. The feeling had a lasting impact. All of this was over recess equipment? My students always put it back, and I made sure of it.
Tears cascaded down my cheeks, forming cracks and crevices from the day’s makeup. I raced down the highway, on the verge of an anxiety attack, heading to an OB appointment. Why am I the problem? Am I an easy target? What is it?
Uncontrollably sobbing in public is out of character. I don’t cry in public. But I couldn’t hide my emotions with my OB, she gave me two options. I could go see a Reproductive Endocrinologist or try out a prescription. I decided to try Metformin.
Wind blows the weeping willow tree
Softly swaying with the breeze
Branches shift but remain steadfast
Bypassed, harassed, and downcast
Pondering of which synchronized way to move
Rain deluged the weeping willow tree
Calm and soothing, so let me be
Nothing quite like being free
Dear Rosita 