One morning in 1954 I was too sick to go to school. It was early September. School had started only a few days before and in my family you only missed school if you were at Death’s Door. It turns out, that’s where I was.
The doctor came to the house midday to try to figure out what it was and by that evening my family drove me to the emergency room of the big hospital downtown (Detroit). I had a spinal tap and was diagnosed with “Infantile Paralysis” (polio) and hospitalized and quarantined that night. They didn’t let my parents hug me before a kind man wheeled me to the isolation ward. I was 7-years-old.
They thought I would die. The Red Cross brought my 18-year-old brother home from Fort Knox, Kentucky where he was newly stationed in the Army so that he could say goodbye and be with the family.
A few days later I was out of quarantine. A nurse taped a handwritten note at the head of my bed, “Do not feed by mouth.” It was written in red pencil. I remember asking, “What am I, an animal?”
I had an IV for nourishment and they tied me in restraints so that I wouldn’t pull out the needle by moving. This protected me from choking. A major danger of polio is choking. It has to do with our tiny throat/swallow muscles. I have to pay attention, even now, to swallow my regular saliva production. If I get too tired I aspirate spit and start coughing like crazy.
When I didn’t die they said, “but she’ll never walk.” Wrong again. It took a long time, a lot of falls and scabs, exercise, rest, physical therapy and epsom salts baths before everything came together and I could aim and walk straight and strongly. It wasn’t until I was 41 and my own son was 6 that I discovered that not everyone fell off of his or her bike a dozen times a day until he or she was 13. Every day my parents conned me into thinking I was normal and if you saw me today you would never guess my health history. I’m healthy and active. Not a marathon runner, but I get around.
Why am I writing this post? I’m not exactly sure. But it has something to do with a deep gratitude and reverence for life. That and I’m totally pooped from a recent, wonderful, 2-week trip to SoCA and am leaving again soon for a similar trip to MI.
I may need to get serious about honoring my stamina as I plan these things.
p.s. Robbers and other disrespectful characters. Don’t think of coming onto my property while I’m gone. It’s monitored from North, South and West by friends and neighbors and there’s a 27-year-old man who lives on my property in his own space. And to come from the East? You’re going to have to take on several hundred yards of open pasture occupied by some Black Angus characters. Ever dealt with a really, really big bull who does not know who you are or why you’re in his territory? Good luck.
