Back in late May I was dashing about my kitchen trying to make the kids lunch, empty the dishwasher, answer emails and figure out if I had enough time to chuck some dry shampoo into my unwashed hair before my next Teams meeting, which I was almost definitely going to be late for anyway. I was neck-deep in the kind of mad, plate-spinning chaos that most of us have been thrashing around in since the end of March, if not a good bit before.
So, when the doorbell rang - and, in the new socially distant fashion, the Amazon man gave me a cheery wave and left the parcel on the drive - it would be fair to say I probably wasn’t paying much due care or attention. I went out to get the parcel, tripped over my own feet and fell, breaking my upper arm just below the shoulder.
Now, if you’re going to break your arm, a spiral fracture of your upper arm is how to do it in style. Too mobile for a stookie and too painful for a sling, after a bit of medical debate I managed to dodge surgery and emerged from A&E some hours later in an immobiliser brace, clutching a prescription for enough strong pain medication to fell a bull.
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Fast forward through six miserable weeks of binge-watching Homes Under the Hammer and being utterly reliant on the kindness of family to do the simplest of tasks, and I have now reached the physio stage of recovery.
Having never injured myself before, I was unprepared for what this next stage of healing would be like. Basically, I am teaching my arm to be an arm again. You see, it has suffered a fair bit of trauma and has been out of action for weeks and it now needs some help and support to get back to normal. Much like our children and young people.
The exercises hurt. They feel strange and it’s a bit scary moving my arm about after being told for so long that I must keep still. There are risks attached to moving that are not attached to staying on the couch. But here’s the thing: my arm remembers it is an arm. It sort of knows what I’m trying to get it to do and it goes with it, perhaps craving the return to full function as much as I am. Each time I do the exercises, they get a little easier, a little more familiar. Building new routines and celebrating tiny victories help mark the journey. I tell my arm we are in this together. I try to be patient. I get fed up sometimes and have to start again after a good greet.
This arm of mine might never be the same again, but it will be OK. Incrementally, through hard work and with a conscious focus on keeping well, it will be OK.
As will our school communities. We will heal together, a wee bit at a time, with patience and love and we will pick ourselves up each and every time the going gets rough, as we recover collectively from Covid-19.
I don’t know yet when I will be recovered enough to be equal to full plate-spinning mode again, but when I am and as we seek to establish a new normal across Scottish education, I will be taking things a little slower and focusing my energies on the things that matter most.
