So how do you come to such a momentous decision? To follow the unconventional route in life is a daunting prospect; essentially I am a conformist, a follower. Yet my whole way of life is about to change.
When my husband suggested that I take a break from teaching last September I was excited. It wasn't a total shock as we'd discussed the possibility before; I was optimistic at the prospect of such an opportunity. I felt lucky to have such a supportive husband; who wouldn't? He's always been amazingly tolerant of my habit (see - about me) but this was the ultimate evidence of his faith in me.
Poised to begin the new academic year, I planned to wait before handing in my resignation. I would have to give a term's notice anyway and it seemed rather unfair on my new classes to abandon them almost as soon as we'd begun. The school timetable and the distribution of classes is a complete lottery every year. Meeting each new class is like meeting your in-laws for the first time; destined to spend time in their company, you pray that they are, at the very least, tolerable.
Typically I was assigned some lovely classes that term. This complicated my decision as it would mean handing them over to another teacher half way through their respective GCSE and A level courses. Why hadn't I been given difficult classes like I'd had over the years? Groups of teenagers in which the sheer number of big personalities in the room at one time made it almost impossible to teach them anything. Classes like the one which almost made me leave teaching altogether. Leaving 10g and 12b was going to be tough; like a spoilt child, I hated the idea of someone else sharing their success.
During the October half-term I faced an unexpected delay to my plans; further fuelling my procrastination . I'd say I've always been one of the healthier members of staff. I didn't really do illness; I rarely visited the doctor. I treated disease with impatience; I didn't have time in my schedule to be ill. But then I encountered a technical hitch which delayed my resignation even longer; I had serious health scare. Following a mystery virus in the spring, I'd been struggling to breathe all year - both whilst running and riding my horses x-country. Believe me it's quite unnerving jumping a course of solid fences whilst gasping for air.
My GP eventually sent me to a specialist. It was the asthma clinic (who carried out a routine blood test to check my haemoglobin levels) who discovered that I was seriously anaemic (my level was 6.4 - normal is between 11 and 15) Initially I didn't really understand the full implications of this - only that it was probably why I couldn't breathe properly. Further research revealed that I'd been operating in a physical state similar to being at high altitude. No wonder each hill I'd attempted to run up had felt like Everest; with each climb I'd been pushing my heart to its summit.
Having failed to test my blood themselves, my GP surgery went into panic mode. My own doctor (the one who had advised me to carry on running as it would be good for me!) was on holiday so I received an urgent call from from an Indian locum offering me a transfusion. He informed me that 'if I were an old person I would likely be dead...' I declined; the thought of having someone else's blood didn't seem right. After all, I was still standing. Despite these scare tactics, I couldn't get an appointment for a full blood test for another week - the fact that I might have been dead by then made little difference to the receptionist - she insisted it really was the only availability. You might think that at the very least (being the perpetrators of the fear within me) they might corroborate their patient details. Apparently, the NHS doesn't work like that.
On my next visit to the GP she calmly informed me that anaemia is a symptom of more serious illnesses such as cancer; she thought it highly unlikely but she had to warn me of the possibility. She said that I might be bleeding from my gut and would refer me to a gastro-enterologist. I faced the prospect of a gatsroscopy (camera down) and a colonoscopy (camera up) - or a top and tail as the medical profession like to call it. My rational mind accepted this; I had no other symptoms and was relatively young and fit. But how do you stay logical when faced with even the slightest possibility? When you have watched your own mother die of the same merciless disease? I tried to quell the fear, the panic, the thoughts of death....The waiting began...
My husband suggested that I hold back my resignation until we were given the all clear - ever practical, he suggested that it was probably better not to be going self-employed just as I might be facing long term illness. His pragmatic support was typical. Its normality was a comfort to me; ironically it probably enabled me to survive the waiting process. Too much sympathy might just have encouraged my self pity.
By Christmas we knew they hadn't found anything; sinister or otherwise. I revelled in relief over the holiday. The last few months really had forced the realisation that I must sieze the day. If I were to die without having pursued my dreams I might regret it; forgive the paradox. I made the decision final and planned to approach the headmaster in January. Then came the snow and several weeks of interrupted teaching. Finally towards the end of the month the weather improved. I made my way to his office to deliver my news - I wanted to resign with effect from the end of August. I expected an abrasively dismissive response; I was a small cog in a complex mechanism after all. Infact he was very positive; he told me I was making a very brave decision and at least I wouldn't look back and wonder what if?
It's only now that I realise just how right he was - how daunting it is to step out of your secure comfort zone. To discover if you really can survive in a very different world: to choose the road not taken.
