Sink or swim...returning to work.

As I travelled that familiar route on the first day of the new term, I found myself filled with elation.  Positive thoughts emanated from me; ideas for new lessons fought for space in my mind. 

I truly believed returning would be easier, less traumatic.  I'd spent a year preparing to start where I had left off .  Instead I found myself cringing from the sheer noise of it all.  Not just the physical slamming of doors and shouting of boys but the mental noise; that inner voice reeling off to-do lists, responsibilities, demands and urgencies.

And it seemed everything was urgent.  My ability to prioitise was flabby, under-worked for months.  For a year my biggest chore had been supermarket shopping.  Now it was to fill out current grades; target grades; plan lessons; attend meetings and somewhere in that overgrown space, teach.  I had to desperately weed out the creeping ivy of unnecessary tasks that from day one, began to choke me.  I had to fight to clear a gap for each real focus.  I began to flail in panic, drowning.

My place of work hasn't exactly made it easy for me.  If anything, their endless demands have escalated the trauma of my return.  I've almost buckled under their 'innovative' yet crippling plan to complete a GCSE in a month.  I've been counting down the days until the exam (tomorrow!) Thick black crosses cover the calendar, marking my path to freedom. 

I've been hunted down for current grades for children I've known for a mere two hours; children whose names alone escape me.  11 hour days have eaten my soul and left me asleep on top of the sheets, fully clothed.  My first observation in two years took hours to prepare and hovered over me like a black cloud.  I didn't even have time to celebrate the 'good-with-outstanding-features' result before I was catapulted back into the heaving tide of purposeless administration, pupil admonishment, barely-there progress and under-achievement.

I've shocked even myself at the slow loss of my can-do attitude, my sudden slide into nervousness. I've become one of the self-loathing whingers I despise.  The days have swirled past in a furious tsnaumi of panic, the occasional tear and the constant shedding of confidence.

It's been devastating. 

Teaching has been my greatest love.  The moment I stepped in a class-room during my GTP in 2009 I knew it was meant to be.  An innate ability to teach resided within me, needing to be nurtured into a full skillset.  I was thrilled and relieved to find my calling.  I lived and breathed teaching.  I planned activities as I washed my hair, I visualised lessons behind closed eyes on the train, I pondered ways to engage my pupils and created new interventions to implement.

This has been ripped from me, torn away like a conjoined twin.  I feel like less of a person without that necessity to teach.  A passion shaped hole weeps inside me.  Instead of a positive rebounding spirit, I shudder at the thought of being too challenged.  I fear failure. 

My confidence lays shattered.

The silhouette of my body outlined on the pine-needled floor of the courtyard haunts me, whispers ugly memories.  It has faded for everyone else but it taps me on the shoulder at every turn, beckons a blistered finger towards the window, forcing me to look across that landscape of horror.  Not only has this school taken a year from me, they have twisted teaching into something that is no longer enjoyable.

I am trying to recall the joy of this job.  Accepting that life will not remain untainted by this episode does help.  I comfort myself that the problem isn't me.  I am still a teacher, it is the school that changes everything.  Already I am seeing fleeting glimpses of before.  That dawning light in a pupil's eye as 'metaphor' sinks in...those fragments of progress...it's all a step closer to where I was before my career was rudely interrupted.

Yet already the mornings are punctuated less with panic, more with the pleasant acceptance of the day's events unfolding.  Each morning, as the alarm chirps into the breaking darkness, the sense of disaster becomes fainter.  The doom-and-gloom teeters on a precipice instead of always pushing me over the edge. 

It's not my duty to continously remind people what has happened.  It's only been 7 weeks since I returned to my job and the site of my burns.  I am feeling my way fearfully, desperate to reach the day when I wake up with my pre-accident sunny disposition and look forward to my working day. 

I know that in years to come I will stand in a classroom and feel that sense of self-worth and satisfaction blossom again.

Photo 'drowning woman' http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/underwater-room    http://briannapancakes.tumblr.com/

The Black Swan - a lesson in randomness

The Black Swan didn't exist until it was discovered at random in Australia.  Just because something has never happened before doesn't mean it won't.

An accident is a 'black swan,' a random event that could not be anticipated.  It's an unexpected, rare occurrence with massive after-effects.  According to 'The Black Swan: The impact of the highly improbable,' these events lie outside 'the tunnel of possibilities.'  They are entirely unpredictable, random and unlikely to ever happen.  Yet they do.

According to Psychologies Magazine, (November) the concept of randomness makes people uncomfortable.  Human brains are designed to create connections and to utilize past experiences.  When something out of the ordinary happens humans strive to explain it, quantify it, analyse it.  We look for certainty in an uncertain world: predicting the weather; forecasting economics and planning ahead.  We forget that we are not in control and that every day we live we are drifting this way and that, under the influence of larger factors at work.  Take the Butterfly Effect, for example, a theory beautifully explored in Micheal Cricthron's Jurassic Park and the 2004 Aston Kutcher film of the same title.  

The Butterfly Effect, another term for Chaos Theory states that the sensitive dependence on initial conditions means a tiny change in circumstances or influences can result in a large difference to a later state. A theoretical example of this is the musing that a hurricane's formation could result from whether or not a distant butterfly had flapped its wings several weeks before.

An accident is too often caused by a series of unfortunate events, an inexplicable combination of factors that when written on paper could be the premise of a terrible Soap Opera episode.  Life is often stranger than fiction.  According to philosophers, the key to the Black Swan is being able to take from this sudden, highly impactful occurrence.  How can we take from the negative and turn it into a positive outcome?

Many success stories in history are due to an individual being able to view a seemingly negative event as an opportunity and turn it into something else.  People assume it is hard work or persistence that turns people into 'greats' but it is often resilience in the face of adversity as well as luck.  These people have the ability to turn an highly improbable and unpredictable occurrence to their advantage.

Crucially, it's these 'Black Swans' that have the biggest impact on history.  The biggest changes often happen in times of uncertainty and instability when increasing numbers of unusual opportunities open.   Examples include companies like Facebook and Apple who have seized the market through their ability to optimize today's culture.  Starbucks came along when Howard Schultz attended a homeware conference in Milan and was struck by the city's coffee bar culture. Katie Piper had a life-changing experience and decided to open a charity in order to support others, changing the course of her life.  Pasteur discovered penicillin when he forgot to wash up some petri dishes and because he had a naturally curious nature.  Many notable inventions in history have occurred because something happened by chance and someone took the opportunity to pursue it.  In Bill Bryson's novels 'A Short History of Nearly Everything' and 'At Home: A Short History of Private Life,' we are shown time and time again how our history is made up of layers of serendipity, luck and chance.  Hard work and persistence do pay off but it seems they only have an impact if the stars are aligned!

So how does this affect you or me?  It's important to embrace randomness and to try to not to be affronted when things don't go to plan.  It's about seeing your accident or life-changing circumstance as a door to something new and not being afraid to open it.  We must stop predicting how life will turn out and instead, try to be prepared for it.  I can't predict whether or not my scarring will fade to a level I can accept but I can prepare for life if it doesn't.

I would not be the person today without my accident.  However much I accept this, at just over a year later, I can still safely say if I had known that someone would throw a flammable on a BBQ I would have gone home early.  I'm not at that stage where I can fully accept my fate.  Yet I can see how the path of my life has changed because of the experience and where I have utilised opportunities that would never have presented themselves otherwise.  My identity has developed, my outlook has altered;  I imagine in the future I will be more content with my lot.  My relationships have strengthened and I've met many people from all walks of life which can only expand my mind.  I've found solace in writing and fortitude in knowing that people read my words.  In the future I know I will choose a different route because my priorities have been influenced by Friday 22nd July 2011 - my very own Black Swan.





References:

The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Seize the Day, Psychologies, November Issue

A Short History of Nearly Everything and At Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson

Wikipedia 

FAT CHANCE

Here's a short story I wrote for anyone who has put on weight due to accident, illness, babies or just because Mother Nature can be damn harsh on us women!

****

As she got thinner, she only felt more invisible.  Three months of calorie-counting and taking the stairs had shorn the flesh from her hide quicker than a souffle rises. 

'Results!'  Screamed her Weightwatcher mentor with hysterical envy.  'Look at those results!'

Yet, Beau felt no elation.  She went home and choked down strips of beef jerky, visualising her fat cells spontaneously combusting with each salty chew.  Her shoulders slumped, her lungs deflated and her face sagged.

Her face.  Her once cherubic cheeks had lost their youthful plump.  Now her reflection contained traces of Roxy, the exercise-pumped PA at work.  Roxy was mean-looking and mean-spirited.  Beau knew the men at work liked that lean, hungry look.  They wanted Roxy to consume them with ravenous gusto.  Beau knew this would never happen; Roxy was preoccupied with the backs of packets and protein shakes.  And as for Beau...she had been contented up until now.  She'd savoured the way her thighs had that closeness, her stomach that womanliness.  Three months on and she was filled with air instead of life.

It wasn't Beau's idea to go on a diet and lose precious parts of herself.  It was Gerard's.

'It's unhealthy Beau,' he reprimanded her, prising the Pinot from her clenched fingers.  'And you said so yourself, you don't want to be a fat bride.'

It was the way he held 'fat' in his mouth like an unpleasant oyster that ruffled her feathers.  She began to waver over that extra slice of pizza, hesitating over the chocolate box.  Then one day she decided to just get it over with.  She signed up to losing Wednesday evenings and a portion of her dignity.  Weekly weigh-ins vanished any last vestige of sexy that Beau had. 

Now as she sized up her diminishing bottom and surveyed her once-luscious breasts, she reconsidered her options.  Gerard was no God, that was certain.  He drank beer on Fridays and Saturdays and it had accumulated centrally.  His hair had taken a step back.  As she looked slimmer, he looked comparatively worse.  'A bulbous toad!'  She thought defiantly, swigging straight out of the bottle-neck.  While she was at it she turned on the hob and voila!  The new meal plans fluttered to the tiles in a flambé of charcoal.  'Cooked!'  She giggled, appreciating how her tummy jiggled with mirth.

Grabbing the Dairy Milk and a magazine she sacked off the gym for her comfortable chair, tucking the blanket around herself, neatly.  She flicked fabulously through the glossy pages.  Let Gerard come home and find her in a chocolate coma with nutty evidence in her creases!  She'd find herself a new man, she mused.  An Italian!  Someone who appreciated real women.  And as for ever returning to that counting, nibbling, jogging way of life?  'Fat chance!'  Beau thought.

A poisonous witch

Sometimes you come across someone masquerading as one of the good guys.  You haven't seen them for ages so you invite them in.  You welcome them with a smile.  And then BAM!  The clouds gather, the lightening splits the sky in half and they open their mouth and say...

'You look alright.  I heard your face had melted.'  Cue melting face hand gestures and pointing.  Then, as if I hadn't heard the poisoned barb the first time, 'you look fine.  I heard you'd...you know.  Melted.  Your face.'

At this point most people met with stony silence would realise the faux pas and back slowly out the door.  They'd plead for forgiveness.  Make some effort to retract such a statement.  Instead the poisonous witch looked at me quizzically, as if perhaps it was I who had some social problem.

My mind filled the silence that followed with a montage of images: having my face debrided (scraped;) the white V for Vendetta burn mask; the mirrors being taped up; trauma counseling to quell the dreams of melted, blurry faces and no reflections; not to mention the hours and hours and hours of 'face-care;' careful massaging and creaming.

I healed well.  I know I'm lucky.  I only have a couple of faint scars under my chin, on my lip and forehead.  Yet I still fear the loss of my face; it very nearly happened.  I don't need to be reminded of that ever, ever again, thank you. 

That witch has flown (off on her broomstick) and left behind only a trace of bitter spell. She probably hasn't given our encounter a second thought.  But...I won't be forgetting in a hurry and I won't be welcoming her again.  Life is too short to fill it with poison. 

Prioriteas - and biscuits please!

I have been back at work, full-time, for two weeks.  Where have those 14 days gone?  It's as if I blinked on Monday 3rd September and when I opened my eyes again it was Sunday 16th!

Now, I will have to be very careful how I phrase this post, in order to make sure I'm understood.  I've explained how I'm feeling about work to a couple of people so far and I've been met with doubtful faces and concerned expressions.  Really?  Their eyes worry.  Are you really feeling like that?

So.  Here it goes.  The truth in it's unglossed form.  Work doesn't have the same hold over me at the moment.  It's not the be-all and end-all of my world.  If I can't meet the deadline; I can't.  If I can't mark 78 assessments in one evening; I won't.  And at end of the workday, after hours of whinging teens, (my homework's on my USB...he's taken my pen...why can't I use my phone in class?) if I don't feel like doing any more work then I'm not going to.  I'm going to read a book.  Or watch X Factor.  Or go out for dinner.

I used to get so stressed about work.  It was the centre of my life.  Being a teacher defined me; it was often all consuming.  The planning monster lives alongside most teachers, eating their evenings and then chewing them up and spitting them out too.  By the time they drag their shredded selves back to class, the pupils are poised to pick at the rest of their remains.  It makes it hard to be an effective teacher but you make yourself reach that self-instilled goal  because you love your work, you believe in education and these little people, these 'young adults,' are relying on you in a way that is almost heart-rending.  You tick many boxes, alternative role-model and bringer of educational and financial future being but a few.

I am still passionate about my teaching role.  Yet as I sit here now and observe my list of life priorities I am aware of how far work has slipped.  My loved ones are waving from the top seat.  My health is there too.  My quality of life perches somewhere amongst them.  Doing the things I love, the things that enrich my life and make it a better day are dangling way above work and sticking their tongue out.  Work is there amongst the fray but it is now a crowded place and not a reserved spot.

It's at this moment in my explanation that people look at me as if I'm having a mental moment.  The worry wavers in their strained smiles.  This isn't normal behaviour for a career-driven young woman who's spent her early-to-mid twenties riding the qualification train.  Am I not fulfilled?  Perhaps it's the school I'm in, they offer gently.  Maybe it's because I've had a stressful year and after some time, a term perhaps, I will feel better.  Here is where people are missing the point.  I do feel better!  It is wonderful to come into work wondering about what I'll get done today instead of stressing how I'm going to construct hundreds of reports, mark reams of writing and deliver all-singing all-dancing lessons to x-box heads.  These days I make a list, complete what I realistically can complete...then head home.

My priorities have altered.  Instead of panicking about the things-to-do list I'm much more likely to sit down with a cuppa and a chocolate bourbon and have a little watch out the window.  I've found that this attitude has actually made me a more effective teacher in a really round-a-bout way.  My lessons are calmer because I am calmer and this rubs off on the children.  Bizarrely I am still getting everything done.  Being less obsessed about moving on to the next thing means that the task in hand is completed more effectively and I don't waste time procrastinating!

Life is the cake.  Elements like health, quality of life and friends and family make up the icing.  And work is merely the cherry on top.

Now, it's time for a Tetley and a biscuit followed by some marking.  I really do have 78 assessments to make a start on....but if I don't get them all done before Downton Abbey comes on, tomorrow is another day!

For Better Or for Worse - Back to Full Time work!

Having a full-time job is a bit like being in a serious relationship. It takes up all your time, it permanently occupies your mind and it can bring you amazing highs and horrible lows.  It can be very stressful.  It makes you leave the pub early.  Your colleagues became the family you've married into.  You spend more time in your marital house - your place of work - than your real house.  And, especially for teachers, you're expected to give everything for it.  In the end you're married to your job; til death do you part.

It's all a bit scary really.  Especially if, like me, you've had over a year to either do what you like or work very flexibly.  Obviously I was ill for a long time.  Up until February 2012 or perhaps later, I felt so unwell that the time was never that enjoyable.  I kept myself occupied and I managed but inside I often felt off-key; as if I was in the twilight zone.  (This feeling still ebbs back every so often but I know one day it will vanish.) It has only been recently that I've suddenly stopped and thought, 'I'm enjoying myself' fully and completely, without any hidden edge.  It is accompanied with a burst of pleasure and a strong sense of freedom; a winning combination.

So it's going to be hard to let go of that feeling when I'm back to the ball and chain from Monday.  Life is going to be given back to my career, one of my most serious relationships.  I'm back to a full-time post, for a whole school year! On Monday!  I am equally terrified and excited.  It feels like coming out of University and getting my first job again, except there are certain expectations there already.  These come not only from the post I occupy but also from myself.

I have high standards.   I can be a control freak.  These can be positive attributes in a teaching role as it means I prefer very good behaviour in my class and am very organised.  It also means I can beat myself up if I fall short and get very stressed when I discover I can't work all evening, keep the house clean, do the washing, go shopping and sleep.  I have to continuously negotiate with myself.

My main concerns are confidence based.  What if I can't manage anymore?  What if the expected workload is simply too high?  What if I get really tired?  (I love sleep.  One of the things I am most worried about is getting up at 6am everyday instead of 7.30-8am.  Hideous!)  What if I don't enjoy it anymore?  What if it's too stressful and the reminder of what happened gets in the way?

In a nutshell, it's the fear of failure that rings in my ears.

I have to remember that once I walk through those 70's swing doors, these worries will probably dissipate and be lost in the chatter of schoolchildren.

Because that's what is important to remember.

I've done it before.  I loved it.  I was good at it.  It might take me a little time to get up to speed (we have several new school structures, a new Head of English and 2 new GSCEs for me to get to grips with) but I have done it before, from scratch.  I could do it then and I will be able to do it again.  I must try to take it in my stride and enjoy it.

What have I learnt a-midst the horror and suffering of this past year?

LIFE IS TOO SHORT.  JUST DO IT.  IF IT DOESN'T WORK OUT...HAVE A GLASS OF WINE, WRITE AN ANGRY BLOG POST, THEN DO SOMETHING ELSE INSTEAD!

Bruises, blisters and burns - Laser Surgery.

Yesterday I had laser surgery for the first time.  My main problem with it was the 'no drinking part.'  No drinking 4 days before the procedure and 2 weeks afterwards.  A dry bank-holiday...does such a thing exist?!  (For once I'm not talking about the weather!)

After I'd got over the shock of being a designated driver, I turned to the real concerns of laser surgery; bruises, blisters and burns.  Both to my credit and my detriment, I like to know what procedures involve.  It gives me a good idea of how things work and the results I can hope for.  It also gives me an over-blown, knees-knocking insight into, 'WHAT CAN GO WRONG.'

Have you ever read that piece of paper you get inside Paracetamol?  The flimsy, folded up small print covered in 50% instructions and 50% debilitating side-effects?   And that's just an over-the-counter remedy that people take without a care in the world.  You can only imagine what I'm like by the time I get to the hospital for my appointments.

Pulsed - dye laser treatment  is used for many skin conditions, including port-wine birthmarks, rosacea and acne-scarring.  It works by causing trauma to the scarred area and effectiveness increases when temporary bruising is caused.  From what I understand from my consultant, the blood vessels are destroyed and the cells broken down in the scarred skin.  However, the practitioner administering the treatment does not want to cause so much trauma that blisters and burns become present.  It's a fine line to walk.

The lady who treated me was very upfront about the treatment.  She said that blistering is a minimal risk.  As she administers the laser, she can see the skin changing.  This means she should be able to recognise a negative reaction in the skin; hyper-pigmentation, blistering or burning.  Hopefully I could expect the redness to ebb out of my scarring and possibly even see an improvement in the texture of the skin.  I signed my waver and off we went for a test round.

Laser has been around a while but seems a space-age thing to me!  The instrument that applies the pulse looks like one of those mini-whisks you use to froth up the milk in a coffee.  It is positioned over your skin and a ZAP! fills the air.  This is accompanied with a blinding, lightening-flash of blue-white light.  Blue lense glasses are required to protect your eyes from this Star Wars flare.

I had 2 shots of laser in 4 tiny areas, each about the diameter of a 5 pence piece.  This is to determine what results the laser will yield.  The first two areas were completely numb - I had no feeling at all.  This might be because my skin still has few or no nerve endings.  They were damaged during the burn and the graft procedure.  The two zaps further down my arm did sting and I am not sure how big an area I could cope with at a time.  The lady said she could stick to small areas and there is no rush.  There is no end to the course and I can have it for a year or more if needed.  So I guess we will take it slow!

Aloe Vera Gel was applied immediately and helped cool the zapped area down.  I was advised to apply it very regularly at home to aid healing.

Three areas went black immediately.  These are parts of the new scars from my most recent operation.  They didn't just bruise but turned deep black with a purple tinge.  It  looks similar to a large blood blister under the skin with a reddened outline.    They also swelled up quite a bit, considering how small the treated areas were.  I was a bit worried the swelling might pop into a blister but this morning they have gone down and are a bit flatter.

The worst area of scarring, the original burn scar, did nothing.  It didn't redden, blacken or swell.  It stayed the same! I imagine that means an increased pulse, or multiple 'zaps' can be used next time.  Especially as I didn't feel this one at all!

Before the treatment, in consultation, the lady said she has really good results with laser and hopefully we will see a positive change even in the little parts she has done.  I'm going back on October 12th to have another session.  Although this time the treatment was manageable both pain-wise and post-treatment-wise, I think having a larger area done at once could hurt.  It also might be quite shocking afterwards.  Having a few blood-blisters is one thing but having a large area of black skin might be hard to contend with.

Still, I am pleased that I've had the laser done.  Despite all the worry it was one of the less traumatic things I've had done and was far easier to cope with than the slicing pain of steroid injections.  I'm looking forward to the results...let's hope there's some improvement!

A previous post on laser - HERE