Today I was forced to do something I would never normally do, something demeaning and disgusting and downright revolting. In fact, even now I can’t believe I did it in front of a whole class of 15 and 16 year olds. If you are eating or have just eaten, then I suggest you look away now. Gone? Good, then for the rest of you iron-stomached readers I’ll carry on.
We had just started the lesson. Book in one hand and gesticulations with the other, I was trying to enthuse this bunch of muppets into telling me what they remembered from last lesson. I heard a small “ughhhh” and out of the corner of my eye saw what I thought was one of the girls in the front row snort out a big phlegmy pile of snot onto the desk like a silent sneeze. I carried on talking, determined not to let the class become distracted, which they are prone to at the slightest excuse (“Oh look, a bird flew past the window”, “Oh look, there’s an ant down there”, etc.). I side-stepped to reach for my pile of paper towels, thinking they’d be a bit tough on the nose but they would have to do, and side-stepped the other way to pass the paper towels over, all the time still talking and trying to keep the class focused on me rather than her.
It’s only when I glanced down to hand over the towels that I saw that this was no pile of snot but a big
steaming pile of vomit that the poor girl had just chundered up everywhere. Now let me get one thing straight.
I cannot deal with sick. The mere thought of it makes my oesophagus start to spasm and my upper lip sweat.
If I catch a whiff of vomit my own stomach starts to roll and I’m very prone to retch. So how I coped with
this sick right at the front of my classroom I just don’t know. Already the girls next to her were flinging
themselves around in amateur dramatics and the boys behind were providing a detailed autopsy of the contents
of the poor girl’s stomach. Book still raised aloft, for I was absolutely determined not to let this group
descend into chaos, I dispatched the sick girl and a friend to the toilets, sent the loudest boy to fetch
more paper towels, and told the other girls to move away. And then I let the vomit linger for a while, afraid
of what to do next, but still determined to carry on teaching while the boys rolled around with their hands
over their mouths and noses crying, “The smell! The smell!”
“Write this down!” I ordered pointing to the board, and most of the class reluctantly complied, which I was
pleased about because I didn’t want them to see me retch over what I was about to do. Luckily I hadn’t caught a
whiff of what oozed over the desk, but I knew that the smell could penetrate my consciousness at any time. The
loud boy returned with paper towels soaked to soggy uselessness, so I scooped up as much of the pile as I could, noting that either ham or tuna had featured heavily in the sick girl’s last break time snack. But I really tried not to think about that. What nearly got me going was the squishy feel of the paper towels and their contents, and the fact that they were warm. However, as I’d tried to clear up the vomit with my fist full of paper towels I had managed to spread the pile, which was now slowly starting to drip over the edge onto the floor, so it was another pupil sent on an errand, this time to find the caretaker who has arms of steel and an iron constitution. A few minutes he arrived with mop and bucket, and I could have hugged him, apart from the fact that he’s always a bit dirty, probably thanks to his punishing regime of cleaning up after sick kids. Amidst all the comings and goings and the obvious distractions, the class managed to get a page of work written and I managed not to run from the room screaming. I was very proud of us all. Even if I did look like Lady Macbeth at the front of the room as I
finished off a packet of Wet Wipes, wringing them in my hands even though I knew that there was a barrier of at
least forty paper towels between them and the offensive patch.
Sick girl was sent home and will probably stay off school long enough to live the humiliating experience down, but I do wonder if it was something personal. I mean, if you feel like you’re going to vomit then you find yourself a toilet or spot behind a tree, right? You don’t turn up to class and sit there in silence before puking all over your book and desk, do you? And here I have a confession to make… she’s not the first pupil to puke in my classroom either. I’m hoping it’s just the feng shui of my desk arrangement rather than the thought of an hour’s lesson with me…
added 1/10/05
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