The Substitute and the Tornado

“Look here, kids!” I exclaimed, “in the Midwest and Florida most of the tornados or twisters  in the world occur!”

The class turned the page in their books to look at the map. Their interest seemed to perk up that sleepy Thursday morning when I mentioned tornados.  As the pages turned, my mind started to wander.

I  remembered that years ago I had worked as a substitute teacher in a small town. I had given it up to try my hand at various other jobs. Those were pretty awful. I didn’t enjoy staring at the four walls  of a cubicle every day. You never talked to anyone but your bosses and you worked all day long on a fickle computer. When I was laid off for the last time I didn’t cry. I knew the Lord was going to take care of me.

I collected unemployment for a few months and then decided not to do it any more; they could keep their checks. And then, I decided to go back to substitute teaching.

                My thoughts suddenly snapped back to the present.

                “Miss,” someone yelled, “have you ever been through a tornado?”

                “Yes, I have. It narrowly missed our house and we didn’t even know it. It was in the middle of the night.”

                Just then, the Principal sauntered in.

                “Hello, Mrs. C! We have just been talking about tsunamis, earthquakes and now tornados.”

                Then I showed the class how quickly a tornado can form and strike anywhere.

                Mrs. C added: “That’s right, boys and girls! Tornados are very dangerous. That’s why we monitor weather conditions very closely whenever storms threaten our area. We want to make sure you are always safe.”

She left and then we continued our discussion.

Suddenly, I strolled over to the window and lifted the slats in the blinds.

“Mmm…goodness!” I exclaimed, “ It looks awful outside!”

It was as dark as midnight at 11:30 in the morning.

A student screamed as a bolt of lightning hit and the lights flickered in the room. A thunder boom followed.

The announcements suddenly came on.

“Teachers and students, please give me your attention! A tornado warning for our area has just been issued.  Everyone please get to the back wall of your room immediately!”

Another student screamed and we all ran for the wall and crouched. Many were crying and I tried the best I could to comfort them. The rain now as pouring violently down and the wind was roaring. I kept saying:  “Its gonna be all right. I’ve been through this before and there is no need to panic!”

I patted a few of them on their arms to comfort them.

Finally, the threat passed and it was calm again. We returned once again to our seats.

                I said to the kids: “Well, now you’ve lived through a real tornado and this was a hands-on science project today!” They all agreed.

                So this is one day in the life of a sub. I’m so glad God has given me the ability to share my life once more with many children and influence their lives as a substitute teacher.

                And, it’s a new adventure every day….

               

Betsy

Hi, Betsy!” I spoke as loudly as I could.

 She nodded her head. It was the first time I met her. She was crunched up in her wheelchair and her head hung down low. A little trail of drool glistened from the corner of her mouth.

 The nursing home was hard to find on a back street of Tampa. It was a vintage house from probably the fifties in a residential neighborhood. It was called “Angel’s Haven.” The paint was peeling off the walls. The swimming pool was dry and gated off.  All the staff were foreign-born; the radio blared out Latino music day and night and none of them there could speak English.

Since she didn’t understand Spanish, I was hired to visit her and carry on a one-way conversation and try to get her to talk. This was harder than it seemed. But I heard she had travelled to Alaska and Hawaii when she was younger and she had also been a teacher. Since I had never been to one of these places, I brought my snapshots of New Mexico and started telling her about that trip.

She was silent until I was over.  Finally she said as clear as she could, “Do you have any pictures of Alaska?”

I said “no” and she went on to tell me some stories of her adventures in the past before she was confined to a wheelchair. It was like a miracle to see her open up and talk after my several hours of monologue. I guess it took that to draw her out of her diseased shell.

I had forgotten all about that visit until one day my boss, Emma, called and told me that she had ended up in the hospital. She had fallen and hurt her knee and they found she was badly dehydrated. As a result, she was now in renal failure. I was supposed to sit with her for ten hours and her regular provider would sit with her for two to give me a lunch break.

When I arrived, she was in a state of semi-consciousness and slept a lot. Her eyes were lowered to slits; her breathing was heavy and her mouth stayed open. I read books to her including parts of the Bible, The Autobiography of Ben Franklin and the Wizard of Oz.  Also, I read to her from an analogy of poems and stories that I had contributed to from years ago. There wasn’t much response from her except when I asked a simple and direct question. Then she would open her eyes and answer.

“Are you okay?” I asked again at one point.

“I’m okay,” was her response and then she got incoherent

Nurse Annie came in at one point and gave her a shot.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“It’s Procrit. It increases the red blood shells.” The young girl smiled.

“Will you put her on dialysis?”

She paused. “No. No artificial means of treatment.”

“You mean to keep her alive?”

“Yes. It’s her guardian’s request.”

She pulled out the needle. “There ya go, Betsy!” She exclaimed and left the room quickly and we were alone again.

 Zebe, her normal caretaker, soon arrived and she perked right up at seeing her. But, boy, you should have heard the complaining (if you could understand it).

Finally, it was my time to leave. My 12 hour shift was over. I learned from Zebe that Betsy was a writer too, so I promised her I would write her story.

I listened to the machines humming and the drip of the saline solution. Everything was peaceful and functioning. I saw her sleeping like a baby and with her eyes closed. Her soft hands were curled into balls and her breathing was steady.

Finally, I said: “Betsy, you’re going home soon.”

She nodded her head and responded back, “I’m going home.”

I replied, “Good-bye, Betsy.”

 She mumbled and nodded her head.

 Then I thought: she is going home; it’s just a matter of time: her permanent one.  And until then she sleeps and rests. Keep waiting, Betsy, keep waiting; soon it will be your new beginning.

(Betsy went to a nursing home and passed away 6 days later…)