The office staff don't need to deal with library issues, praise be, but the lack of nursing staff is a serious issue. The nurse is itinerant, sometimes on contract with PPS, and never in one place consistently. Because of this, I have become a de facto EMT. Back in December, I was trained in the 5 R's of giving out medication: Right student, Right medication, Right dosage, Right time, Right path. (Yeah team!) Everything must be documented, hands must be washed, medicines must be in original wrappers. It basically makes sense. However there is so much more.
The first part of my day goes as predicted. I come into the office, locate my desk, log into the computer, find the keys, and figure out how this school deals with tardiness, absences, signing out early, changes in after school plans, etc. Up to 10 am, I am keeping current with the attendance, so that when the automated calls go out they don't include students that have merely come in late. In some cases, I follow up the automated calls to be sure the kids are where they should be. This is Kyron Horman's legacy, and not a bad one, IMHO. I have yet to talk with a single parent who is upset about receiving unnecessary calls or being asked to provide ID.
On top of this, however, I am fielding the kids that have been sent to the office. In the morning, we deal with those who are throwing fits or have stomach aches or shouldn't have come in to begin with. Around noon, students who take meds show up, and the demands for ice begin: the kids fall, run into things, get hit by balls, etc. Some need bandages. Some need a change of clothes. They fall into puddles, spill milk on themselves. After lunch, more stomach aches and fevers.
The thermometers are high tech. I grew up with glass tubes stored in alcohol, red and black measuring lines, and a center red or silver mercury-filled tubule. Mom or the nurse would give the thermometer a brisk professional shake to compact the mercury at the bottom of the tube. She'd wipe off the alcohol and insert the cold tube under my tongue, cautioning me to not bite down on it. The school thermometers are all electronic, with digital readouts replacing the rise and fall of the mercury. Some schools have handheld thermometers that pass over the forehead to the temple, stopping above the ear. Technical term: temporal artery thermometer. Others have a flat digital one. It tapers to a rounded metal point that goes under the tongue like the old mercury ones, but this one gets a little plastic sleeve. In both cases you press a button to start the process.
The big first aid rush ends around 1 pm, but there's afternoon recess and the trickle of medical intervention continues until the end of the day.
On this particular Friday we are dealing with a constant stream of nosebleeds and mud slides. I have never been clear about the best way to deal with a nosebleed. We wipe them up and have them squinch the nostrils shut, and sometimes give them ice to hold at the bridge of the nose. Today there's a parent in the office who is also an EMT, and she tells me that it's best to have the kid lean forward so the blood can run out. Okay.
The mudslides are more problematic. We start running out of socks. One 10-year-old boy could care less out how he looks: he doesn't want to change his clothes and contents himself with wiping off the mud. The rest are quite picky about color and style, and the socks are all too big. At lunchtime the recess teacher is equipped with a bullhorn. She tests it out: "Stay. Off. The. Hill." Works fine, but the mudslides continue, some quite impressive, some just involving wet feet.
I'm hoping I haven't caught all the free-floating bugs. I'm subbing for a woman with a bad respiratory ailment. She's supposed to stay out all week, but comes in on Thursday to do payroll. She's pale, and her face is covered with a surgical mask. She goes to check on one of the sick kids, who looks up from the bed with big eyes. When she comes out, a parent does a double take and she says, "Don't worry, I don't have SARS." The other secretary is there for two of my three days, and out on the third. I'm recognizing the names of the kids who went out on Wednesday and are still out on Friday. One teacher has lost 2/3 of her class. One child has a fever of 101.1, but most register subnormal. Still, the number with imminent emesis is disconcerting. I start obsessively using the anti-bacterial goo, knowing full well that most of these kids have viruses, hoping the placebo effect will kick in.
Towards the end of the day we start bargaining with the kids: "Can you tough it out, or do we need to call your folks?" Predictably, the parents I call have non-functioning cell phones. I end up calling family friends and grandparents. Meanwhile, the kids are wandering around the office: too sick to sit in class, but not sick enough to lie down. I find them paper and crayons and sit them at a little table. One gives me my very own drawing. Awww.
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