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Leslie Carr

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Posted Friday, March 3, 2000, at 9:30 PM ET

There are field trips for the fourth grade today, thereby reducing the student population in the building for a while. I've learned to look forward to things like rainy days, which mean no outdoor recess, which in turn means a 75 percent reduction in injuries. I packed the backpacks of first-aid supplies and medications for the field trips. The student who came to pick them up wears a ponytail pulled back so tightly that she looks to be balding at age 10.

RSS

I kept a mature fifth-grader (whom I will call Julie) in the health room with me for much of the day. Her temperature rose approximately 0.5 degrees per hour. I was unable to reach her parents or neighbors to take her home. We shared clementines and Hershey's kisses. I pressed her to drink water. She helped me unknot and tie the shoes of the 30 kindergartners I was measuring. It was rather nice. When she left me, she hugged me and said, "Thank you so much for taking care of me." This feels very much like a paycheck. It occurred to me that Julie seemed especially needy and especially grateful for the maternal ministrations, but I put it out of my mind until later, reading her chart, I discovered that her own mother has indeed been very busy. She was "supposed to die" of cancer six months ago but somehow did not.

Along this same sorrowful vein, one of the most worrisome students came to see me this morning. I was merely informed of his existence prior to this date. And suddenly there he was. He has a cardiac condition known as prolonged Q-T syndrome. People with this abnormality have a small but significant chance of developing severe cardiac rhythm disorders that are potentially fatal. It is a disturbance of the heart's electrical system. The Q-T refers to an interval measured on the electrocardiogram (EKG). This condition would explain why this student might complain of chest pain or dizziness. It would also explain why he might abruptly faint or die. It can be an acquired or a hereditary condition. So, I was kneeling down, jamming something into the file cabinet, when I heard a voice say this: "I have long Q-T Syndrome which is what my mother died from last year. Now I'm feeling light-headed, and I think you'd better take my blood pressure."

I looked up over the edge of the desk and saw an adorable 9-year-old, dressed (by the grandparents who are raising him) in a plaid button-down shirt with solid matching vest, tailored pants, and shoes that were not sneakers. He was sporting a gigantic orthodontic appliance, spectacles, and a cowlick. My own heart felt peculiar--but nothing that would show up on an EKG. I didn't know which issue to address first. I slid my eyes over to the CPR cheat sheet hanging on the wall. Judging by his composure and overall lack of distress, I did not feel that I had an emergency on my hands. However, this kid is not known as a complainer, and I am not known for my cardiac expertise. I focused on the physical, checked him out, chatted a bit, let him rest while I observed him. I did not mention his mother again, but I will. First I will get to know him a bit, find out what it's like to be him.

Later today, I vaguely and gradually lost interest in what I was doing. I started handing out ice packs for everything you can imagine. An ice pack goes a long, long way with this age group. Although I usually leave my office windows open (no matter what the weather) to blow the bacteria out into the hallways and dilute the airborne toxins, I think I'm coming down with something. My thorax feels packed with wet cardboard. My eyes are sinking, and I feel lazy in the posture department. I've got a dense head, slight nausea, a feeling that I'm peering out at the world from an enclosure.

Anyone who comes in looking like me in the next three hours gets sent home. No questions asked. I'll probably send myself home after awhile.