PART 2 The Months They Broke Me Slowly

Disclaimer: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect privacy. Real drug names are used with the understanding that individual experiences vary. The medical experiences described are the author’s personal account.

A Case File of a District That Chose Cruelty Over Humanity

You don’t wake up one morning and suddenly realize your workplace has turned into a battlefield.

It happens slowly.

One unanswered email at a time.

One ignored medical warning at a time.

One perfectly avoidable humiliation at a time.

Until one day you’re sitting in your car, shaking, crying, and realizing the building, the district that you hand-picked because these were the students you had in your heart to teach, the people dedicated your life to,

would rather let you crawl than help you walk.

Cancer didn’t do this to me.

People did.

People with job titles.

People with authority.

People with badges that say “leader,” but hearts that say nothing at all.

These are the people you leave your students with everyday.

This is the part where the story stops sounding like

tragedy and starts sounding like evidence.

Because everything that happened next is documented.

You learn a lot about growing up quickly when everything thrusts you into adulthood so hard, you document everything without hesitation.

EXHIBIT A — August 11, 2025, 11:58 AM

I sent an email to make people aware that I had updated my phone number:

“On a side note, I’ve been locked out of my email because my summer phone troubles got the best of me, and I had to get a new number. If you need to reach me, my current number is ______.”

Clear. Direct. Transparent.

I updated my number. I communicated. I did my part.

Yet somehow, months later, the narrative from "them" becomes:

“She was unreachable.”
“She didn’t update her phone number.”
“She wasn’t cooperating.”

A lie is still a lie, even when adults tell it.

EXHIBIT B — August 19, 2025, 9:20 AM

From "them"

“You are not able to come into the building at all until the day the doctor’s note says you’re able to come in.”

Crystal. Clear.

I was banned from entering the building.

Not “discouraged.” Not “limited.”

Banned.
I know, oh goodness, they didn't use the word BANNED, but here is the definition:

noun

1.an official or legal prohibition

Yet later, certain individuals — let’s call them LiarLiar and PantsOnFire — would claim I was ignoring requests to come in, implying I was non-compliant, unprofessional, or uncooperative.

You cannot accuse a person of failing to enter a building I was explicitly barred them from entering.

But they did.

Because narratives are easier to manipulate than facts. Or in some cases, cover up.

EXHIBIT C — August 25, 2025, 3:48 PM

Me, again:

“My new number is ______. I did just speak to HR and I was unaware there were issues with my FMLA paperwork…
I apologize that my health has taken such an inconvenient turn.
Is there anything else I should be doing?”

This is not the email of someone refusing to cooperate.

This is someone scared, sick, and trying to follow the law.

I apologized for my health.

Meanwhile, the people paid to support me treated me like a burden.

THE SCENE THEY DIDNT CARE ABOUT

and

I WILL NEVER FORGET

This part isn’t an exhibit.

It’s proof of what it looks like when a district forgets that a teacher is a human being.

When I "could" enter the building briefly,

before the ban,

I went in using a walker.

It took me over five minutes to reach a bathroom

down the hall from my door

because my legs were failing me.

And when I finally got there?

The bathroom was locked.

I should've known that would be the case,

even though I had asked multiple times, to multiple higher-ups,

I required a key. I began asking last year, this is because I have a lot of damage to my bladder.

And I was barely able to make it to the "teacher restroom" on MULTIPLE OCCASIONS, I had accidents, although this obviously did not matter to the top.

The only available restroom was on the other side of the building.

I couldn’t make it.

Not on a walker.

Not with a body collapsing from cancer treatment, autoimmune disease, and structural damage.

So I made it to the only place I could:

My car.

And that is where I sat, crying, shaking, humiliated, peeing myself

because my district didn’t bother unlocking a bathroom,

but had plenty of energy to accuse me of “inconsistencies.”

Do you know what it does to a grown adult to sit in their own urine

because of decisions made by people who claim to “care about staff”?

I do.

And they do too.

Because they’ll read this.

Or hear about it at least.

EXHIBIT D — The Message

Months go by.

I’ve asked repeatedly to pick up my belongings,

the curriculum I’d collected for my little humans,

materials worth hundreds of dollars, research, and personal property.

Silence.

Then, out of nowhere:

"They" message me saying I can come get my items.

Which would be great…

if I hadn’t been banned from the building by the same "they" claimed couldn’t reach me.

Let’s be extremely clear:

They said they “didn’t have my number.”

Except I sent it twice.

And updated it with HR.

And emailed it.

This wasn’t a miscommunication.

This was a setup.

A paper trail designed to frame me as uncooperative so the district could wash their hands of a medically complicated teacher without backlash.

But they forgot something:

I keep receipts.

THE QUIET PART THEY NEVER EXPECTED ME TO SAY OUT LOUD

I was made to feel like a liar.

Like an inconvenience.

Like a problem they needed to shove out the backdoor quietly.

Meanwhile, I was losing weight from muscle wasting.

My legs were failing.

I was incontinent from medical trauma and chemo-induced damage.

I was terrified.

And I was doing everything the law required — and more.

I should not have written lesson plans.

Legally — under FMLA — I didn’t owe them one second of labor.

But I still did.

While sick.

While collapsing.

While being treated like a criminal trying to sneak into my own workplace.

They hung me out to dry.

And then they tried to rewrite the story.

But this time?

I’m writing it back.

CALL TO ACTION — FOR EVERYONE READING THIS

If you are a teacher, a parent, a survivor, or a human being with a spine:

Start asking districts why they treat sick teachers like liabilities instead of people.

Ask why administrators:
Ignore medical documentation
Accuse employees of lying
Bury FMLA rights
Throw away personal property
Demand medical details they are not legally entitled to

pressuring me to let them talk to my doctors!

Humiliate disabled teachers instead of supporting them

ASK THEM

WHY IS THERE SUCH A HIGH TURN-OVER RATE?
Why are particular schools losing so much staff?
Is it their CRAP communication?
Why are staff leaving under suspicious circumstances?
Why won't they talk about it?
Who is to blame?
Why do your students feel unsafe?
Why is COVID not being taken seriously anymore and why are teachers coming in who are testing positive for COVID?

Yes you read that correctly, last year, I tested positive for COVID, the first time ever, I let my higher-ups know, the response:

"They are treating like a cold now.... You dont even need to wear a mask."

This is not an “isolated experience.”

and let me tell you this is not the worst of the system. I am quickly finding out.

This is a symptom of a system that prefers silence over accountability.

And I’m done being silent.

Come back for Part 3:

August:

The Month They

Finished What Cancer Couldn’t

The One Piece is from Mr. Taquito. He is missing you guys also!

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