At least it has a window. If it weren't for that glass covered view to the outside world I'd have gone a touch delirous by now. And then I'd be the patient on the bed.
It's a small space, maybe 12x8. But it's lined with shelves that are lined with supplies which makes it feel even smaller. I'm sure it is not intended to be a 2 person office and yet there our two desks sit butted up against each other.
I'm thankful I have a place from which to work, don't get me wrong. I just never imagined it would be so .... so... icky.
When my early childhood grant was secured the school rehired me. What they didn't allow for was the space my program would need to operate. I was left to fend for myself. I scouted all the school buildings as the board reorganized the grade levels. I lurked and poked around keeping my eye open for any potentially available space. And that's when I discovered the school nurse had an office all to herself. An office she would only occupy one day a week.
BINGO!
It didn't take long for dread to replace my feelings of elation. Here I thought I saved my program only to discover I am loosing my sanity.
The walls are forest green. The vinyl circa 1970something couch where the sick children lay is lime green. The carpet ... green. The sides of my retro metal desk emerald green. It's green. All green. It makes me sick.
I have literally carved out a little corner in this office. My desk is positioned in the furthest corner from the doors. In front of me -the nurses desk. To the left of me a door to the hallway. Next to the nurse's desk the door that leads to the main office and nestled in between is the couch and a squeaky, old mini refrigerator that holds ice packs for minor injuries.
And not only do I sit in the sick station my office has become a breezeway. Everyone wanting to avoid the public and parents visiting the main office (and that's usually every staff member) walks through my office. Naturally, everytime someone walks through my office they walk right into my periphal vision and my tendency is to look up. This means my thoughts are interrupted approximately 3 times for every 5 minutes I sit at my desk.
And do you think I get a cordial hello? or even a basic smile? No! They walk through and pretend I'm not even there. Or maybe they can't see me.
Because directly behind me is the wall of supplies. Dusty boxes, piles of STD phamplets and cartons and cartons of bandaids, Qtips, guaze pads and tooth brushes line the shelves directly to my left and behind my head. It is without a doubt one of the (didnt I have an update here?) ugliest places I've ever worked. I had no idea how Fung Shui sensative I was until I lacked it!
Did I mention the nurse is only there one day a week? Handy on Fridays, yes! but children tend to get sick ... well all the time! So naturally there is a parade of children coming in and out of my office. The secretaries take temps, clean wounds, administer band-aids, mop up bloody noses and yes, even check for lice Monday through Thursday.
In my office.
That is also the medical storage.
That is also a breezeway.
We even had 2 cases of ringworm this year! Exciting stuff!
Thank God for the window directly to my right. My desk bumps right up to a 4x8 window that overlooks the main street entrance to our building. I often sit at my desk and look outside. Rain, snow, sun... it doesn't matter to me. I ignore the stares of the sick children waiting for their ride. I divert my eyes from the lice lamp that rests 3 feet from my file drawer. I position myself to look out the window as much as I can on any given school day.
Every morning when I arrive at school I raise the clanky, green metal blinds, stand at the window and pretend I'm not in the corner of the nurses office. And every afternoon when the bell rings, I lower them again. Thankful I have a job. Praying I didn't catch the chicken pox and asking for the strength to return there again tomorrow.
