Patient First

Monday started like any other day--excited kids, sleepy staff, and a million things to accomplish. I am teaching summer school (ESY) to 6 students with severe disabilities. I love my job. Well most days.

This week's summer school theme is "beach and water." I had some new and fun things planned for our Monday morning reading time. I'd adapted a book called "water, water, everywhere," a Baby Einstein book. It became not just a book about water, but a book about playing with water, smelling different "water" things (like soap), blowing bubbles and other sensory activities. I knew the kids would love it!!

As it turned out, one of my students decided she did NOT want to go to reading. She would NOT love Baby Einstein. She would NOT interact with the water activities. She WOULD sit, stand, run, and throw things in the hallway for a grand total of 60 minutes. That's 60 minutes of staff standing close enough to control her, but not close enough to give her feedback or attention. That's 60 minutes of being short staffed in the classroom, and 60 minutes of torture for all involved. Mikel, as we'll call the student, had a behavioral protocol that involved planned ignoring. Because her behaviors (bad ones) are intended to get attention and control, she was ignored every time she ran out of the room, or threw things across the floor. OK, so this isn't exactly shepherding a child's heart. But as much as I'd love it, I am not allowed, by law, to spank my children. I do from time to time tell my students I'll spank them. That's as I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is listening or watching!

After an hour, I'd had enough. I went out into the hallway to relieve the staff member on duty. We took turns waiting Mikel out. Surely she'd comply, given enough time. Right?! As stubborn as a little girl can be, I'd be more stubborn. I'd wait 2 hours if it meant getting her to listen. Then it began. Mikel started yelling "NO!" at the top of her lungs. She ran down the hall and grabbed a roll of toothpaste. I could only imagine it was meant for my head. As she pulled back her arm, ready to throw, I grabbed her wrist. I gave her, what we special educators like to call hand-over -hand prompting (more like forced compliance) to enable her to follow the direction. She now needed to pick up all of the items from her hygiene bin and come to class. As we began picking up the items, Mikel started kicking, scratching and screaming. Scary, you say?! NO! I forgot to mention that Mikel weighs all of 40 pounds max. I grabbed her wrists, continued "helping" her clean up her mess, and off we went to the classroom. At the time, I felt a few scratches, but nothing significant. No harm done.

As we sat in Circle Time, I realized I was bleeding. That little terror had drawn blood. Off I went to get examined by the nurse and to call Hopkins for instructions. My Tetanus booster had expired. I needed a shot. A shot. A shot, just for a little scratch from a child way less than half my size. After work, I headed to Patient First. Never been there. Never want to go again. The nurse gave me my shot, and I was forced to wait for the doctor's exam. He came in, asked what had happend and asked to see my wounds.

I turned over my wrist and showed him the scratches. To that, he laughed. Laughed. Right in my face. "Is THAT what brought you here?!!" "Your work made you come in for THAT?!"

I walked away humiliated. Humiliated, but vaccinated against scratches from any other crazed student that decides to scratch me.