The Room

Walking to The Room, she felt each and every step.  Her feet felt as if she was trying to slosh through thick snow or deep water.  Picking up each foot for each step was like trying to lift hundred-pound weights.  But she had to go in The Room.  It's her job. 

But just the thought of The Room is giving her a migraine and making her feel a panic attack coming on.

"I'm stronger than this.  I'm a professional.  I can do this.  It doesn't matter what happened in this Room all of 7 years ago.  What matters is now.  What matters are the students sitting in that Room, waiting for me to teach them about writing and literature.  I can do this."

Deep breath.

It's not helping. 

Her heart is pounding such that she just knows everyone walking by her can see it pulsating through her chest.  Her palms are sweating.  She can feel the sweat trickle down her back and between her butt cheeks.  She can smell her armpit sweat and she isn't even swinging her arms.  The sweat is trickling between her breasts.  And she's not even in the building yet where The Room is.

Just a few more steps.  It won't be long now.  One foot in front of the other.  One step at a time.  Open the door to the building.  Walk through the door. 

It's ok to pause and take a deep breath before going any further.  She's sees the doorway to The Room just down the hall.  Just another hundred steps. 

It's ok.  It's all in the past.  It's been 7 years, for heaven's sake.  Think about your lesson.  Think about studying British Literature--your favorite works and authors!  You students will choose their authors.  You love this part of the process.  You love meeting your students on the first day--getting to know them. 

Boy howdy.  I'm here.  Don't look down.  Don't look down.  OMG.  I looked down.  Help me, Lord Jesus.

The memories come flooding back of that day 7 years previous where two students had come to class that day (it was the last day of class before the Thanksgiving Break and a lot of students had chosen to take the whole week off instead of just 3 days).  We'd been chatting and reviewing the work we'd been doing.  It was time to leave.  All 3 of us stood up and started walking out the door. 

I felt a little "pop" in my nether area--like a balloon popping.  I didn't think anything of it.  Pregnant women's bodies did all kinds of weird things.

Suddenly, the male student looks at the floor and asks where the trail of blood was coming from.  We look down and realize that it's me.

Oh, dear, Precious Heavenly, Jesus.  I was pregnant and I was bleeding--bad enough that I was leaving a trail of blood along the floor as I walked out of the classroom.

I raced to the bathroom where, as soon as I sat down, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was no longer pregnant and that there was nothing anyone would be able to do to stop the vast, incredible flood of blood coming out of my body.

Screams.  Yes.  I'm pretty sure I remember those well.  An ambulance.  Taking me out on the gurney while my students stood around and watched me being being wheeled out.  Then the terrible drive to the ER and all that followed.

And it all began in The Room.  The very same room I haven't been in since THAT day seven years ago.  But now I have to walk into The Room....not by myself, but with a classroom of students looking to me to Teach.

How will I ever hold it together? 

Don't think about it.  Don't think about it.  Don't think about.  Don't think about it.  Don't think about it.