What have you done for me Lately?

The two school years after my surgery were also very productive ones. My left leg regained some of its strength and the limp became less noticeable. But by the time the time the 2002-2003 school year began, I was slowing down again and the limp was more pronounced.

In every teacher's career there is always a group that is more challenging than most. For me, the most difficult group of students I ever taught greeted me at the beginning of this school year. Most of the seventh grade teachers tried to be helpful and give me some tips and guidance when dealing with a new group of students. Usually I listened to this advice politely, said thank you, and ignored their opinion. I didn't think it was fair to judge students before I even met them. This is one year I should have listened to my colleagues.

"They're not bad kids," one teacher informed me, "but there are no positive leaders in this grade. All the good students are meek and quiet. They're mostly followers."

"They're very smart," another said, "but they are way too social and kind of lazy."

"Watch out for Dee Dee," a third one cautioned. Those words were almost my epitaph that year, only I didn't die. It just felt like it because my teaching career almost did expire.

Dee Dee was extremely intelligent, but was more interested in gaining followers than learning anything I had to offer. She soon found a willing disciple in Violet. I had them in my first language arts class of the day. Time after time throughout the year, they set a negative tone for the rest of the day.

At the end of the first week of school I had to escort their class to the gym for school pictures. I had a standing rule for all classes passing through the halls: Talk quietly and do not disturb other classes. This class was very loud and a few teachers even came out of their rooms to see who was causing the disturbance. I was very embarrassed.

When we arrived at the gym, I ripped them for being so loud. While I was reprimanding them, I looked at Dee Dee and she started laughing. Violet picked up her lead and started laughing also. That was it. Soon about ten students were laughing. That seemed to set the tone for the whole year: being ignored and laughed at.

Meanwhile, I had made an appointment to see my third neurologist since my surgery three years earlier. I saw Dr. G. in September and she ran a bunch of tests throughout the month and into October. I took a day off in early November to visit her again.

"This is never easy to tell a patient," Dr. G. began, "but I'm afraid you have multiple sclerosis."

"How can that be?" I protested, "Dr. M. said I didn't have enough white spots on my brain to have MS."

"They're not the problem," she continued gently, "this is." Dr. G. showed me an MRI. "You have a huge hole in your right ventricle. That's classic MS."

She let me sit quietly for a moment, taking it all in. I knew multiple sclerosis is an auto-immune disease, like diabetes, so I pursued that angle. "How come I have two auto-immune diseases and most people never even get one?" I asked her, still genuinely confused.

"Once you have one auto-immune disease you're susceptible to others. It's unusual to have two of them, but not unheard of."

"Will I have to quit teaching?" I asked her, remembering how difficult it was becoming to move around the classroom. Teaching middle school requires a high level of energy, and I was constantly feeling fatigued, also.

I don't think so," Dr. G. said, "but let's monitor the fatigue closely. Come back and see me during your Christmas break."

As I drove home, I thought of how to break this latest devastating news to my wife. I knew there was no easy way to do this. I called Cindy and told her the diagnosis and waited for her and Noelle to get home. Noelle was in second grade now and attended Cindy's school.

I waited for them at the kitchen door as they came in from the garage. Cindy and I hugged and cried as Noelle came in behind her.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Noelle asked with alarm in her voice. She had never seen us like this before.

"The doctor told Daddy I have a bad disease," I said, trying to calm down.

"Another one?" Noelle asked me, disbelief in her voice. She had seen me cope with diabetes since she was a baby. "What's this one called?"

"It's called multiple sclerosis," I answered, "it's a nerve disease. It's the reason I can't walk so well anymore."

"Oh," Noelle said, not knowing what else to say. Then she went to get a snack. Kids can get over things so much easier than adults.

Hindsight is always 20-20. It's easier to figure out the critical mistakes in one's life after the situation has passed. It's far more difficult to do it in the heat of the moment. I really did not understand how multiple sclerosis was going to impact my life, personally or professionally. In retrospect, it would have been wise to take a leave of absence so I could evaluate my physical and emotional state and proceed from there. The only time I took off before Christmas was the day I was diagnosed with MS.

I returned to work the next day and told my teammates and administrators my diagnosis.

"I don't know how long I'll be able to continue teaching," I told them honestly. They had all witnessed my physical struggles, especially my teammates, Christine and Tony, who saw me up close everyday and knew how difficult this particular group of students was for me personally.

"Are you going to tell the kids?" Christine asked.

"I don't think so," I answered, "at least not right away."

I waited a week to tell the students about my diagnosis. I was surprised by their reaction. They were very sympathetic and their behavior mellowed out until Christmas break.

By January, they were back to their nasty, surly selves. Many kids were very understanding, but the influence of the negative leaders predominated over the majority. The atmosphere in all of the classes finally improved just before spring break, and we forged an uneasy truce for the remainder of the year.

I learned some invaluable lessons from my students that year. Chief among them, despite the way I was feeling physically and emotionally, a teacher's focus needs to be on his students and not himself. My inability to focus on the needs of my students that year almost had disastrous consequences. I was only 53 years old and in my 21 st year at Columbia, but I considered retiring. I had an eight year old daughter, and I knew that retirement was not a viable option at that time.

I had also made another critical mistake that year. Ever since 1992, I had prayed regularly for my students, both individually and collectively. In the year when my students needed prayer the most, I consistently forgot to pray for them.

When the year ended, I took my yearbook home and prayed regularly for the students who would be eighth graders for the coming year. I prayed for their health and safety over the summer, and that they would come to eighth grade with a positive attitude about school. It worked.