Photo courtesy of Tch Teaching Channel
by John B. Rosenman
Nearly three years ago, in
November 2010, I sat before my World Literature class. For all I knew, I was
dying. The only thing I did know for sure was that I couldn't go on.
I had been teaching for nearly
forty-five years and had enjoyed basically good health. Physically, with
arthritis and other problems, I began to deteriorate during the preceding
summer. When I had returned to teach at Norfolk State University in the fall, things
turned spooky. Standing in front of a class, my brain seemed disembodied from
the rest of me and felt like it was floating five feet above my shoulders, near
the ceiling. Soon after, starting at 150 pounds, I began to lose weight.
Finally, I went to my doctor. He ran
all the tests, which turned up nothing. He concluded that my symptoms
"screamed depression" and referred me to a psychiatrist who gave me pills. My weight dropped. One forty-five . . . one-forty . . . When it reached
one-forty, my system began to shut down. Forget about having an appetite or
going to the bathroom, and hello to a half-body hideous scarlet rash and
eventually no damned energy whatsoever, especially when I later reached 120
pounds and could barely walk.
I'll skip some painful details. A CT
Scan, some more blood tests, and a gastroenterologist would eventually nail it down.
I had Celiac disease, a severe allergy caused by gluten, a protein found mainly
in grains such as wheat, rye, and barley. One out of 133 people has this
condition, but more and more are finding themselves affected in this age of
processed foods.
Anyway, I looked at my class of
students that I loved so much and told them I could not continue.
We had begun this literary journey of the creative imagination together, I
said, and I wanted so much to complete it with them, but try as I might, I
would not be there to reach the finish line at their side except in spirit.
It was painful to say this. I knew
it wasn't my fault, but I still felt I had failed them. And then . . .
Then something happened that had
never happened before in all my years of teaching.
Every student in my class rose to
his or her feet and formed a line around the room, waiting patiently to hug me.
Some of them even hugged me twice.
Well, John, that showed how much they enjoyed your teaching and yourself as a person, as a teacher and someone they could look up to and trust to bring out the best in them. I do hope you are feeling better now, and maybe you'll be able to return to teaching one day! I wish you the best of luck.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your kind remarks, Marie. Yes, I'm feeling better now. Thanks to a timely diagnosis, good doctors, and above all the loving care of my wife, I'm doing quite well indeed. I play tennis five days a week when the weather's good and never get tired. I did return to teach for one last semester, but then I retired at the age of seventy, feeling it was time. Since then my health has improved though I still have issues. Yes, it was time, and I have more time to write my weird and bizarre SF and Fantasy stories and novels and chat with nice folks like you. Sometimes, though, I do miss those students, but I do not missing grading all those papers.
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