Natasha Regehr

Tag: health (Page 1 of 2)

You asked…

14 months since our first school closure in March 2020, my government has finally asked for my opinion about the matter. Here it is.

Dear Mr. Ford,

Thank-you for your recent letter inviting responses to your questions regarding school re-opening in Ontario.  

I am an elementary educator and have seen firsthand the effects of crowded classrooms, inadequate facilities, understaffed buildings and under-funded programs.  Many of these issues predate COVID-19, and their effects have only multiplied under the additional stresses of pandemic conditions.  As teachers we have tried our best under difficult circumstances to provide a safe and healthy learning environment for our students — and we have tried in vain.

I teach in a portable with 28 students.  The desks are so close together that I have to walk sideways to pass between them.  In what other situation would such an environment be considered safe for anyone? I teach in a school of 400 with only two small washrooms.  Most of the classrooms don’t have sinks, and those we do have are unusable because of mould issues.  In what other situation would such facilities be considered hygienic?  We have footsteps painted on our floors and walkways indicating a distance of two metres — and four children lined up in between each one, because a line-up of properly-distanced children would send us around the block.  The masks, the children’s sole remaining layer of protection, come off twice a day while students sit side by side eating their lunches.  How many restaurants are allowed to function right now under similar circumstances?

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A Holiday Sing-Along

Twice this year, classes in my school have had to quarantine for the holidays due to positive COVID test results in the building. I wrote this little ditty over the Christmas break, and added a special Easter update today. Feel free to sing along.

 I wore my goggles and my mask: 
   Somebody sneezed on me!
 I sanitized my withered hands: 
   Somebody sneezed on me!
 I don't have plexiglass
 In my cramped, crowded class:
 I stepped sideways, but alas!
   Somebody sneezed on me. 

     Now we're getting COVID for Christmas,
      Students and teachers are mad.
     We're getting COVID for Christmas,
      'Cause Dougie's been nothing but bad.
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Coronaware: A Story of Malaise

In the beginning we had Fear.  Fear and Novelty.  And that amounted to a bracing dose of quasi-Solidarity.

The fear was first conceived as mild disinterest in a foreign malady that would never find its way Here.  It gestated in the womb of skepticism (“This will not affect us.  We are different.”) and false reassurance (“We learned from SARS.  We are prepared.”).  And then, suddenly, driving home from a normal day of work, we heard government announcements of a province-wide shut-down.  States of emergency.  Clean out your desk.  Tomorrow will be your last day.

“We heard government announcements of a province-wide shut-down.”

That was when the Fear was birthed, attended by financial panic and the stomach-gutting realization that People Would Die.  Real people.  Our people.  Right here.  Everywhere.  Store shelves emptied as the masses stockpiled toiletries in preparation for Armageddon.  Doors closed.  Everything stopped.  It was Unreality, unfolding in unreal time.  Things changed hour by hour.  We hovered, breathless, over our devices, awaiting the latest statistics.  Following the spread from one network to another, and eventually to Here.  These are “unprecedented times,” said our bewildered advisers.  We slept last night, and woke this morning in a blind Unknown.

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Greece, Part 1: Taking the Plunge

IMG_4731I love water.  I love being in water.  I love being in deep water.  I love being upside down in deep water.  I love gliding through it, feeling its silky caress against my skin.  I love the aquamarine blueness of it, the way the light dances through it, the way I drift and float and submerge and emerge with perfect ease and grace.  I love the serenity of this glowing world to which I can escape and suspend time — until my lungs oblige me to surface for a little bit of oxygen.

You can imagine, then, the appeal of staying in this underwater world indefinitely, unconcerned about the trivialities of inhaling and exhaling — just drifting from one delight to the next in a slow ballet of submarine bliss.

Scuba diving, I thought, is exactly what my life has been missing.  I must go scuba diving.  I will be a natural at manoeuvring through this liquid paradise.  I will feel utterly at ease in my favoured element.

Not so. Continue reading

2016 Gratitude List

I am thankful for the big things: the people who make my world beautiful every day, both here in Morocco and in my other happy home in Canada; for the many places in between that I’ve been able to visit this year (twelve airports, if I’ve counted correctly!); for the rich cultures and histories that intersect my days; for meaningful work; and for the provisions that allow me to keep on living this colourful, promising life.

But every Thanksgiving, I take a few hours to collect all the smaller thanksgivings I’ve recorded throughout the year as well – those things that, at the end of each day, remind me that there is always, always a little goodness to be found, or to create, with a small turn of the mind.

Here, then, is my 2016 Gratitude List, beginning with last year’s Thanksgiving trip to an all-inclusive resort in Southern Morocco, and ending with yesterday’s roast chicken at home. I invite you to walk through my year of thankfulness with me: Continue reading

A Canadian in Paris, Part 1: Under the Eiffel, Eh?

IMG_5936“Let’s meet under the Eiffel Tower at 10am.”

How’s that for a statement you don’t hear every day? Particularly from your pals in humble Peterborough, 6,000 km from anything remotely Parisian?

It was March, 2016, and I was living in Morocco. I had some medical concerns that I felt weren’t being adequately addressed in Casablanca, and had planned a last-minute consultation with a specialist at the American Hospital in Paris. I was desperate for a conclusive diagnosis and action plan for my increasingly distressing health situation; but what I ended up with was so very much more enlightening than the coveted doctor’s report.

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So Long, Drama Queen

It’s not every day that your doctor hands you your fibroid in a jar.

And if that’s too much information for you, then you’d better stop reading right now.

My fibroid and I have just ended a long and pretty-much-pointless relationship. She (shall we call her Effie?) has been living and growing inside me for years, or so I’m told, but for some reason chose the moment of my arrival in Morocco to manifest herself. She then proceeded to wreak havoc with my body in all sorts of ways that I will not get into.  Continue reading

Tonique!

What do Canadian teachers do when Morocco grants them a Wednesday off to celebrate Independence Day? Why, they go to the spa, of course, to work out all the knots and kinks acquired on Monday and Tuesday.  This knotty exposé (the closest to kinky prose you will ever find on this site) explores one woman’s search for the nonexistent no-man’s-land between “relaxant” (relaxing) and “tonic” (???) massage.  Relax, dear reader, and enjoy the show.

IMG_3582Massage in Canada involves sheets and undergarments.  Not so in Morocco.

I should have been prepared for this.  I discovered at the doctor’s office that those modesty-inducing hospital gowns are nowhere on the Moroccan radar.  I made a similar discovery at the esthetician’s and at the hammam.  Why would I think massage would be any different?

I will not trouble you with an exhaustive narrative of the experience; I will simply provide you with a helpful chart for future reference.  I suggest you print it, laminate it and keep it in your purse; it will be an invaluable aid next time you are considering an afternoon of pampering in Casablanca:

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Chins up!

Things for which to be thankful, upon schmucking your chin with great force upon your classroom floor:

  • Just yesterday you dispatched a child to the office for some boxes of tissue: essential in staunching the blood as you dispatched yourself to the nurse’s office…
  • …which is conveniently located just one floor up from your music room…
  • …which no longer looks like a crime scene, because someone came and mopped up all the little pools and trails of blood.

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