Showing posts with label corona virus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label corona virus. Show all posts

Monday 28 December 2020

My Corona: A Christmas with Covid

As the 18th of December drew closer, the fear inside me grew: what if we had to send a bubble, or more than one, home in those last few days of the school term? What if holidays were going to be ruined by isolation for scores of children and staff?

There was a selfish fear too, of course: what if I come into contact with someone who tests positive and have to isolate? Or what if one of my own children gets sent home from their school?

My fears were, inevitably, pretty quickly realised: my middle daughter came home on the penultimate Friday, destined to self-isolate until Friday 18th. But that didn’t touch Christmas, but it meant a huge burden on my wife, working at home fulfilling Christmas baking orders. I hurried back from school every day in order to try to provide some relief. Every day, that is, until Thursday.

Because, of course, it was the unthinkable that actually happened.

Rewind to Wednesday night:

Wednesday night was a tough one: I had an inexplicable pain across my lower back – I couldn’t get comfortable in bed and, along with the accompanying nausea, it kept me awake most of the night.

I ‘woke up’ the next day feeling slightly unwell, in my own words. Thursday was to be the last day in school, and not thinking that back ache and tiredness should stop me from enjoying the last day of school, off I went.

Thankfully, I spent the day ensuring, as usual, that I was social distancing, was in well-ventilated places, keeping my hands washed regularly and so on. The day was a great way to end what had been a fantastic term – yes, a challenging one, but a challenge I had relished. I was glad to leave by the end though, as, due to a lack of sleep, or so I thought, I was flagging somewhat.

At home I caught up a little with the DfE’s newly-revealed plans to ask secondary schools to test pupils as of January. I fired off a quick commiseration email to our principal (I work in an all-through academy) and thought I’d forget about it. With one more work-from-home morning left to go, I retired to bed that night, although not before a heated discussion with my wife regarding whether or not I should get a Covid test: when my symptoms are definitely those of Covid, was my stance; tomorrow, regardless, was hers – so that we knew for certain whether or not our Christmas plans would be affected.

But my subconscious brain clung on to the evening’s thoughts, weaponising them and torturing me all night. I dreamt of having to set up a testing centre at school – one of those looped dreams consisting of bright colours (the testing booths were decorated with red and white Christmas string), repeated phrases and nothing at all very tangible other than the feeling of dread. I woke at 4:10 am and headed downstairs to book myself a Covid test, the fever being such that the virus was becoming a more certain possibility.

***

Just before lunchtime on Sunday the test result came back. I’d all but convinced myself it would be negative, mainly on account of an easing temperature and the presence of phlegm: it was a chest infection, it must be.

Dear Aidan Severs

Your coronavirus test result is positive. It means you had the virus when the test was done.

I went downstairs to break the news. By now, of course, the rules for Christmas had changed, all our plans involved people now marooned in tier 4, so my corona was not going to be the cause of spoiled Christmas plans. However, there were plenty of other consequences.

I have to admit I cried. Many times. Everything set me off. The thought of potentially ruining so many other Christmases. The fact my wife had to cancel and refund all her Christmas orders. Knowing my mother-in-law, who is in our bubble, would not be able to spend Christmas with us meaning that she may face it alone. The knowledge that my children, who have soldiered on through the country’s toughest restrictions, living as we do in Bradford, and not even an area of Bradford that got out of local lockdown for a while, would have to endure more time indoors with only each other as company. Heightened emotions may be a symptom – then again, its legitimate for it to be that upsetting without that as an excuse.

I completed my Test and Trace information, and the academy’s counterpart. Thankfully it was deemed unnecessary to ask anyone else to isolate, due to the mitigations in place and my keeping to them. That was a weight off my mind, although I spent each day of the holiday waiting to hear that someone else from work had come down with it because of me. At the time of writing, I have heard only of one very tentative transmission, and am hoping that when I speak to my colleagues again in the new year, all will report a healthy Christmas holiday.

And the thing just left me weak, wheezy and a waste of space. Unable to go out, incapable of doing anything of any value. I par-watched a film, and an episode of a series. Reading, writing, music had very little draw – besides the initial headache that came with my Covid prohibited these activities. I slept on and off. I mostly just felt guilty – I know it wasn’t my fault - and sad that my wife was having to take on everything. My muscles ached, my skin felt like it was on fire, my head felt like it was sunburnt.

At some point, it robbed me of my sense of smell, leaving me with only a partial sense of taste. All that Christmas food! Would I be able to taste it? That was if I even had the appetite for it – usually ravenous the whole time, I certainly experienced some fluctuation in my desire to eat.

It felt unfair. We’d stuck to all the rules. I’d survived the term, always being there at work, covering when others thought they might have had it, or indeed, when others did have it, plugging away finding never-ending solutions to all the latest Covid problems. We’d ridden wave after wave of the UK’s harshest restrictions, very rarely losing hope.

Even after a week, I was still dog tired. I woke up on the 23rd feeling a bit brighter, a little more energised, but as the day wore on, that wore off. If there’s one thing this virus does well, it’s robbing its host of their vitality. Perhaps the exhaustion was due to my body fighting of the illness effectively enough for me to remain at home, instead of being hospitalised? I suppose if that was the case, then I am thankful for the tiredness.

Of course, friends and family rallied round. Many a kind message was received, people picked stuff up for us, dropped it off. Entertainment for me and the children was sent. My wife did a cracking job of keeping the morale high despite everything.

Christmas Eve was merry – I was feeling a lot better and managed to join in with all the day’s activities – still inside the house, isolating of course. Just before we headed out for a drive around to look at the Christmas lights loads of my family members came to the street and sang to us – a lovely, heart-warming moment, and a chance to sample some of my dad’s Covid Carols live! But we weren’t only going to see the Christmas lights, we also made a second trip to the test centre: my wife had begun with a cough -  a cough which by now was plaguing me to the point of perceived pain in my lungs.

And on Christmas morning, whilst preparing the meal, her text came through: positive.

And the so the saga continues. Thankfully by Sunday 27th (my official release date) I was feeling normal enough again to do a decent job of having a good time with the children, feeding the family and keeping the house in some sort of semblance of order. I took the kids out for a brief walk in the woods and it did us good. At the time of posting, my wife is still ill in bed, experiencing her version of all the symptoms I had.

Friday 22 May 2020

What will we do to best support the mental and emotional wellbeing of children on the reopening of schools?


My colleague Yasemin Cevik asked me to join this Teachmeet but unfortunately I had to decline her offer. Instead I wrote a quick answer to the question that is up for debate. I tried to take one particular angle, expecting that other speakers would pick up on other aspects of the answer to this question. It's about Bradford but it goes for all children:

“What will we do to best support the mental and emotional wellbeing of Bradford’s children on the reopening of schools?”

I think the key word here is ‘best’ as it acknowledges that there is no perfect way to do this – we can only do our best. As teachers we often strive for perfection – it’s because we care so much – but perfection is unattainable.

That sounds pretty pessimistic but if we want mental and emotional wellbeing for Bradford’s children then we need to pay a lot of mind to the mental and emotional wellbeing of Bradford’s education workers.

‘You can’t pour from an empty cup’, goes the saying. And it is true for this situation that we find ourselves in. Teachers who are striving for perfection and setting themselves unattainable goals are not going to experience good mental and emotional wellbeing. And, once we have more children back in (the word ‘reopening’ is incorrect – we have been open the whole time), teachers, co-teachers, leaders and other school staff are going to need to be emotionally strong and resilient so that the children have the chance of experiencing the same.

Yes, there are plenty of things we can do directly for the children: a Recovery Curriculum, as written about by Barry Carpenter (1), covers most of what school staff need to think about in terms of emotional wellbeing, and we must take care of all the logistics of keeping the school a safe place to be so as to curb the spread of virus (2). But in doing all of these things, the school staff who are responding to this unprecedented situation put their own mental health on the line.

This must be a key concern for school leaders, and for those who wish to be a supportive colleague regardless of their position. We are all in this together and everyone involved will need support. Headteachers will benefit from an appreciative word from a recently qualified teacher. Regular check-ins from a more experienced teacher will be essential for trainee teachers. Mentors and coaches will need to cast aside their regular agenda in order to focus on how their mentees and coaches are coping with the changes in policy and practice. A little encouraging message from colleagues will be a balm to the soul of members of SLT, working away in the background on the nitty gritty of wider opening.

My point is this: we can all help each other to weather this storm and as we help each other, we will be best placed to help the children. Kindness is essential at this time. Yes, kindness to ourselves – get your sleep, eat well (but don’t forgo all treats), exercise, watch your favourite series, get outside, keep in touch with family – but kindness to each other, too.

Empathy will be key. Never suppose you know how someone is feeling – although we are experiencing the same pandemic, we are not all experiencing the pandemic in the same way. Take the time to find out how people have felt during all its different stages, and make sure you know where they’re at presently. Don’t assume to know based on your own experience. This goes for staff and for children.

Much of the time when we open schools to more children should be spent in this exploratory manner. With adults it might be more obvious, with children it could be more subtle. Make time for discussions which allow children to air their views – do this in different group sizes, or 1-to-1 if necessary. Allow your story reading to flow into conversations about how the characters’ experiences mirror the children’s own thoughts and feelings. Make time for collaborative activities (they can still be socially distanced if you want to go for that), team quizzes and games and other activities where children connect with one another mentally and emotionally. Whatever the activity, allow people the chance to share, and be sensitive to their needs as they do.

We can best support the mental and emotional wellbeing of Bradford’s children on the reopening of schools by taking care of the members of staff who will be taking care of them and by knowing and taking into account of each individual’s experience of the last couple of months. Empathy and kindness will be king upon wider opening – any school who attempts anything other than this will take a hit in the years to come, both in staff and pupil wellbeing.
______________________________________________________________________________

1. Carpenter, R: A Recovery Curriculum: Loss and life for our children and schools post pandemic (https://www.ssatuk.co.uk/blog/a-recovery-curriculum-loss-and-life-for-our-children-and-schools-post-pandemic/)
2. Gov.uk: Coronavirus (COVID-19): implementing protective measures in education and childcare settings (https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/coronavirus-covid-19-implementing-protective-measures-in-education-and-childcare-settings)

Wednesday 18 March 2020

Why We Cancelled Our School Residential

Written before the announcement that schools will close to children other than those of key workers. I have also just heard that the council made the call to close the residential centre this afternoon, too.

And what if a child begins to display symptoms of COVID-19 in the middle of the night? I asked myself as I added to my risk assessment for our very imminent residential visit. I’d already imagined a scenario in which we didn’t have enough staff or children on the morning we were due to leave to make the visit viable.

At first the night time scenario seemed like the worst thing that could happen. But then I began to consider what would happen if a child or member of staff began to show symptoms during the day.
A member of staff would have to contact me, wherever I was: down a cave, climbing a gully, trekking though the Dales. Mobile phone reception isn’t exactly forthcoming out in the wilds of North Yorkshire.

I’d have to contact the school – with the same complications as above - who would then need to contact parents. Then what would happen? Would we ask parents to come and collect? Or should I ask the member of staff who had brought a car to take them home? But what if it was more than one child? Should I actually be taking the school minibus so that I could return poorly children to school as quickly as possible?

And what if it was members of staff who came down with something? Would we be left with insufficient ratios to really safeguard the children on an outward bound adventure holiday? Would we call on other staff from school to join us? But what if school had begun to experience staff absences? I didn’t even consider what might have to happen if I – the one who had spent endless hours planning the visit – got ill. Did anyone else know enough about the ins and outs of the residential to be able to run it in my absence?

So many questions. No encouraging answers. In my mind I came to the conclusion that if a child or adult developed a dry cough or a high temperature, I’d have to get them home as quickly as possible, followed swiftly by the rest of the children. If one child had it, then how many others might have been infected during the stay?

The evening after completing a risk assessment which had led me to believe that actually, this residential was quite a risk – one I was not happy to shoulder the burden of, the government upped the ante with their advice. The words ‘non-essential’ were used several times. Although I totally believe in the importance of such an experience for children living in the city, I was pretty sure it fell into the ‘non-essential’ category.

Sir, is the residential still on? I was asked by eager children the following morning. They were aware of the fragility of the chance of it going ahead. I had to give disappointingly non-committal answers – I didn’t want to cause undue upset. I was asked the same question by parents on the gate – some of whom wanted to know when they should start packing, others expressed their own concerns.
But I had found myself at a standstill. I thought I should cancel the trip, but that would risk a financial loss to the school. Should I wait for the venue to cancel, or should I go ahead? I spoke to the deputy of another school who were going to the same venue as us during the same week – he was in the same position.

I came clean with the manager of the venue: we were worried about the risks but didn’t want to lose the money – he was honest with me: they too were waiting for further guidance on school closure as to whether they were going to cancel forthcoming visits. I broached the subject of a postponement and requested potential dates for next academic year for the same cohort of children.

The happy ending to this story is that our trust’s early start date in August meant that we could find an early September slot that no other school would be able to take. All being well, the children will get to experience the great outdoors together for three days, albeit in six months’ time. We are all disappointed that although schools remain open, we won’t get our residential this year but safety comes first. A decision which puts the health and wellbeing of children and staff first is the best decision.