Open letter to teachers

es·sen·tial /əˈsen(t)SHəl/ -noun a thing that is absolutely necessary.

Six months ago, our lives collectively changed forever. Some of us were ordered to stay home and some of us were deemed “essential”. Essential workers including but not limited to--nurses’, doctors’, nurse practitioners’, physician assistants’, patient care assistants’, unit coordinators’, and environmental service workers’ geared up and headed into work. Headed into a nameless reality.

Six months ago, it felt like I was driving through a terrible rainstorm, the worst storm ever. I had my hands white-knuckled on the wheel at 10 and 2. The windshield wipers were working overtime, I could only see a little bit of the road ahead of me, mostly it was blind unknown. I kept driving because I had to. I was essential. As I drove the rain kept falling but seemed to slow up a bit, so I loosened my grip on the wheel. The windshield wipers kept doing their job and my adrenaline lessened. The road became a bit clearer and my fears began to subside. The storm did not stop, but I became more confident in my driving skills and that the windshield wipers, like our current infection control, would do their best to protect me.

Fast forward to today, our teachers start their journey as essential workers into their own blind unknown. It is still a storm out there. My advice is to put your hands securely on the wheel and the driving will get easier, the adrenaline will wane, and the windshield wipers will do their job to protect you.

You can pull over and breathe when you need to. You can lean on each other. You can cry. You can laugh. You will do the best you can, as you always have, just in a new way. After all, this road trip is like no other and the trail is unmapped. Whatever the outcome of the upcoming months never forget--you are absolutely necessary. We love you in any form; remote, hybrid or in-person.

This my opinion, not that of the hospital I work for or the board of health I sit on.