“They decided they don’t want me in the room with Eino,” I told him. “They’re afraid what he has might be—contagious.” Horror of horrors.
Arvo’s comforting voice soothed me, and he took time to hold me closely before turning to take care of the horse we had named Oscar.
Where we found that name I’ll never know, but Oscar he had become the minute we saw him, a little colt, newly born from one of Mr. Hauala’s mares. He had turned into a willing worker—never seeming to mind being attached to the plow or having a saddle on his back. He simply went along with whatever we asked of him with a kind of placid indifference. “Oscar” fit him perfectly.
Dr. Raihala asked Mother and Irma to step out of the room while he examined Eino. We could hear him ask about the stiffness in his neck, whether he had felt dizzy, and about his skin, which we could hear him say felt “tender and sore.”
When he came out of the living room, he looked grave. “He does seem to have some of the warning signs of poliomyelitis. I’m particularly worried about the spasms I’m seeing in his musculature. Did you notice that?” he asked Mother and Irma.
“Yes,” they both agreed.
“The ideal place for him is in the hospital,” he said, “But I understand the difficulty we would have getting him there. So I have some advice: First, be sure to keep flies away from his food and yours.” (We nodded. We had been doing that for some time. In fact, Arvo had rigged up screens for all of our windows and for the front door so we could keep the bugs out.) “Second, wash your hands thoroughly every time you leave Eino and before you eat and on and off all day.” (We nodded. That was a simple precaution, one that we could take with no trouble.) “Third, avoid getting overtired or fatigued. That might prevent the disease from spreading.”
“What can we do to keep ourselves free from catching it?” Mother asked the question that had bothered every one of us.
“There isn’t any proof of what causes the disease. In fact, right now there is a lot of research going into the causes. Some wonder about swimming, but I’ve found little correlation between swimming in the lakes around here, which tend to be clean and free of weeds, and any attacks of polio.
“Right now, I think it’d be a good idea to treat it as if it were polio. As for what you can do, I think it is more of the same—keep him as cool as possible, make sure he stays in bed and rests as much as possible, and you might try hot moist packs to relieve the muscle spasms. You can just take towels, wet them thoroughly in water as hot as he can stand, and apply them to the muscles having spasms. Right now that seems to be his legs.”
“Will he be… paralyzed?” Mother had forced out that last word.
“I hope not, and I honestly don’t think so. I think we might have caught this one in time. Thank God you heard him right away when he complained about a sore throat and a stiff neck. Whatever you gave him also might have helped.”
“It’s an old poultice an Indian woman once gave me. She told me to save it for a time when someone was ‘really sick’ and then to steep it in hot water and give it to the sick person teaspoonful by teaspoonful as long as he or she could keep it down.”
“Well…” Dr. Raihala paused, “that seems a strange way of treating illness, but, you know, sometimes these native people know about methods we as whites are not aware of. If he can keep it down and it seems to make him even a bit more comfortable, go ahead and use it. I think he’ll throw it up before it would actually do harm.”
“He did throw up the first cupful I gave him, but,” Mother also paused, “I think I tried to give him too much at a time. So far he has been able to keep down teaspoonfuls, one at a time.”
“Who knows?” Dr. Raihala concluded. “It can’t be hurting him so long as he is able to keep it down. And the more liquid you can get him to drink, the better. Not milk, but water, cold water, and if you can get some, soda pop.”
“I’ll go to Kivimakis’,” Arvo offered. “We always get the same kinds when we go there. Billy likes the ginger taste. I’ll get him some.”
“Good. I’ll be going then, for now,” he told Mother and Irma and me.
Before he left I blurted out my question, “Will the baby catch it?”
“Are you still nursing him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then he should be all right. Mother’s milk seems to have an incredible power to ward off any kind of illness. Keep at it, girl,” he told me encouragingly.
“I will.” Of course I would. That was my very favorite time of the day—when I could lie down next to him on the bed and he would nurse.
“But just to take extra care,” he said, “be sure to wash your hands after you leave Eino’s room and before you handle the baby.
Mother decided that she would take over caring for Eino, and I would keep up with the house-work.
Ronny had come in to listen to what Dr. Raihala said, and he, too, had asked, “Am I going to get it? We usually sleep together.”
“Have you any symptoms?” the doctor asked.
“No, I feel fine.”
“Well, then, just keep washing your hands. Don’t sleep with the boy, but otherwise you can go about your normal business. If you feel feverish or have a stiff neck or a sore throat, be sure to let your mother know right away.
“And that goes for you two, also,” he told Arvo and me.
“Mrs. Jackson, I leave the boy in your capable hands. I truly think you can do for him just as well as one of the nurses, and at least you have just one patient to worry about. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on him. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to call if you notice any sign of paralysis. Then we might have to consider hospitalization.”
And with that, he left, and soon after that so did Irma. She had her own house to keep up and her own husband to feed. “But I trust you’ll call me if you need a couple of extra hands,” she made Mother promise.
The rest of us all drew deep breaths once we heard the auto’s engine. We had our work cut out for us. The first thing Arvo did was to warm the sauna. He said he could carry Eino there, lay him on a bench, and Mother could go in and put the hot packs on his legs or wherever he needed them.
Mother nodded. We believed that a sauna could cure anything… well, almost anything.
I was relieved to find out that the days went by quickly because I was so busy between caring for the baby and keeping up with the housework, the cooking, and the baking.
Mother suggested I make a beef broth and a chicken broth to see if either one appealed to Eino. I mixed some canned venison and chicken with potatoes, carrots, and onion in two pots. Eino was able to keep down most of what Mother kept feeding him although he most enjoyed the ginger pop. That went down the best and seemed to make him feel better. His stiff neck grew worse, and his fever went higher on the third day. His arms began to spasm, too, and Mother asked Irma to come back to help.
When Dr. Raihala appeared late that afternoon, he said we were reaching the “critical stage” when “it could go either way.” He praised Mother for the moist packs she kept on his arms and legs and for her efforts to keep him drinking… anything.
“But,” he told us with a warning look, “if he starts to have difficulty breathing, then we’re in real trouble. The only answer to that is an iron lung. I have kept one free… just in case…” he assured us.
“What is an ‘iron lung’?” Mother asked, terror in her voice.
“It’s a breathing apparatus that looks much worse than it is,” he explained. “If patients find they’re having trouble breathing on their own, it will breathe for them. It’s a miraculous invention, one that has saved many lives. Don’t worry,” he patted Mother. “If you see him beginning to have any trouble at all breathing, let me know right away. Send Arvo to get me. I’ll leave word when I leave one location where I’m going next so he can find me. We
then will have to transport him somehow to the hospital immediately. And I do mean ‘immediately,’” he emphasized. “So keep a watchful eye on his breathing. So far he seems to be doing just find on his own, and let’s hope it stays that way, but just in case, I want you to be aware of the importance of acting quickly and urgently. You do understand, don’t you?”
Each of us nodded. We had become aware in that instant of the danger that could await our Eino, and it scared all of us to death.
Only Mother remained calm. She looked Dr. Raihala right in the eyes and said, “You can count on me. I know my boy. I’ll know if he’s having trouble before he is aware of it himself.”
“Good,” Dr. Raihala said, patting Mother on her shoulder. “I trust your motherly instinct implicitly,” and he was off again, leaving the rest of us terrified, adding a last warning, “Keep washing your hands. Especially if you touch anything Eino’s touched and then touch the baby! Be very careful to wash your hands!”
We had all taken that warning to heart and kept a kettle of water boiling on the stove so we could wash our hands in the hottest possible water. And I kept changing the towels we used to wipe hands, throwing each one into the boiler I kept heating in the summer kitchen, day and night.
When Arvo carried Eino into the sauna that night, he watched him like a hawk to make sure there was no change in his breathing. When I took over giving him broth and replacing the moist cloths, I watched him breathe. When Ronny came to the door to check on him, he listened to his breathing.
Thank God it didn’t change. Every breath came and went as naturally as it normally did. He said that the sauna made him feel better all over, which made Arvo happy. He thanked Mother for the broth and the soda and the water, and that made her happy. He rested against the pillows, moving sporadically but seemingly without much pain, which made Irma and me happy.
The days went on, one following another, each one seeming the same as the one before. After a couple of weeks, once the threat of the iron lung seemed over, Dr. Raihala suggested Mother begin to do some physical exercise on Eino’s legs. Time in the sauna seemed perfectly suited for this activity, and it was one that Arvo and Ronny undertook to help with every day. Actually, it seemed as if every hour of every day someone was moving Eino’s legs—raising them and lowering them, bending his knees, and finally, after many weeks of this, they actually asked him—with Dr. Raihala’s permission—to stand up for a minute.
The minute was increased to two and three, and soon a short walk was added to the regimen. By then the threat of paralysis had fled, a nightmare of the past, gone with the dawn, and soon he was able to walk—at first just to take one step, and then two, and finally into the kitchen where he joined us for dinner one night. We really celebrated his return to “normal,” although we were all very careful he not become overtired. I had made a chiffon cake with seven-minute white frosting, and Ronny had shot a brace of partridge for Mother to fry and then bake along with some new potatoes and fresh green beans.
Ronny had taken great care of the garden while the rest of us were worrying about the house and Eino and the baby, and his efforts were showing on our table!
By then it was almost blueberry picking time, Nonny was crawling all over the place, pulling himself up on everything to Mother’s and my discomfiture, and we were grateful we were together, whole, a family, united by love and faith, for Mother had asked Arvo to give the blessing when we sat down to eat, and he had outdone himself:
“God,” he began, self-consciously at first but gaining momentum as he continued, “we are so full of your blessings and our own blessings that our gratitude is spilling out all over the place. We thank you for keeping Eino with us and for having him at the table tonight. We thank you for Mother and her care and concern for all of us. We thank you for Ronny, without whose hard work we would not have this bountiful feast. We thank you for each other,” and he reached over to take my hand, “and for the love we share. We thank you for our family, together, one for all and all for one!”
“Amen,” we all repeated when he had finished. I gave his hand a special squeeze because I knew he meant those words with all his heart. After a childhood of want and sorrow and pain, he had found a family filled with love.
“And God is love,” I added.
“Yes,” Arvo said. “God is love. And I’m so grateful to have found you… and it.”
“I know,” I said, my eyes so full I feared the tears of joy would overflow.
But if they did, I knew everyone would understand.
23: Ronny’s Folly
Irma Lofgren was not only our neighbor but also our closest friend. She and Mother exchanged recipes, gossip, news, information, ideas, suggestions, and each other. Only she knew the truth about Father’s death. And only she knew the truth about the end of his life and the trouble it had brought to Mother.
But Mother also was the only one who knew what Irma was going through. Her husband, Ed, had fought in World War I and had been gassed. It had affected his lungs.There were days when he had trouble taking a deep breath.
He never talked about the war—even when Ronny and Eino besieged him with questions. In the letters Ed sent home, he had never told Irma the whole truth about his experiences, we were later to learn.
After he returned from the war—honorably discharged because of his lungs, he became increasingly debilitated. I was stunned to see him at the first dance I attended—leaning on Irma’s arm and sitting with the ladies instead of dancing. Irma watched over him like a hawk, bringing him water when he had a coughing fit, and holding his hand instead of accepting the young fellows’ offers to dance.
Nonetheless, he’d tried very hard to keep up appearances. None of us were aware of how bad he was getting—even during Eino’s fearful bout with polio.
All through that time, Irma had continued to make herself available to Mother whenever she needed an extra hand. There was no indication—no warning of what was to come.
When it did, we were all… startled… and horrified.
One morning when Ed didn’t come in from the barn after milking, Irma sent their son John out to look for him. He found him… hanging by his neck in the summer kitchen. By the time Irma got there, Ed was dead.
He had left a short note, telling her he loved her but he could not continue fighting anymore. He said he’d been fighting ever since he’d left France, and the struggle to breathe had simply become overwhelming. He also said he was of no use to her as an invalid and she should find another husband, a detail she shared with Mother but with no one else.
“How can I find another husband?” she sobbed to Mother and me. “I loved him with all my heart! I knew he was struggling, but I thought we had an understanding… if breathing became too hard, he’d check into a Veterans’ Hospital. But I think he was too proud!”
Johnny, of course, was inconsolable. It had been horrible that he had found his father. Obviously Ed had thought it would be Irma who would have come to look for him.
But no matter which one had found him, the pain was shared not only by the two of them but by everyone else in Korvan Kylla.
At any rate, no matter how much Irma loved Ed, she almost had to remarry soon because Johnny was too young to manage the farm by himself.
Edwin Makela had had his eyes on her for a long time, it seemed. He had been the first one always to ask her to dance and had always been there to help whenever Ed would accept it. So just a few months after the funeral, we had to attend another small wedding. Irma had asked Karl to officiate again “because he did such a beautiful job with Maria’s and Arvo’s wedding,” she said, although she hadn’t been there. Mother must have told her.
Johnny was “best man,” and my sister Aini was “matron of honor” at the ceremony, which took place not at the Rahikainen’s home but in our own living room again.
Irma had told Mother in
confidence she couldn’t bear to be married to another man in the house Ed had provided for her. But of course she had to bring him home there after the wedding feast. Mother had made a layer cake out of a chiffon cake she sliced into three sections. In between the sections, she had put raspberry jam, and she had frosted it all with whipping cream with raspberries dotting the top. It was delicious as were the sandwiches she made out of egg salad and—she really splurged—salmon salad. Canned salmon had been added to the offerings at the neighborhood store, and although it was expensive, it was delicious either in sandwiches or in a loaf she made like meat loaf. She also made a gelatin salad—out of tomatoes—an “aspic” I had learned to make from Grandmother Tikkanen. It was a bountiful meal, suitable for more than just the Makelas (Johnny had decided to take that last name, too.) and the six of us—almost seven, for I was pregnant again.
According to Mother’s ‘old-time’ wisdom, as long as a woman was nursing a baby, she couldn’t become pregnant. Nonny nursed well for about eight months. Then the length of time he spent at my breast grew shorter and shorter until he would just lie still long enough to empty it and then sit up again, ready to go. By nine months, he was completely using a cup.
I had cried, worried I had done something wrong, but Mother reassured me. “Babies know when they’re ready to be weaned,” she said. “Nonny’s just a very bright baby. He knew almost right away he could get milk without any effort from a cup, and so he decided he preferred that method. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you did everything exactly the right way. And be glad he is such a good baby—doing his big jobs on the pot and rapidly learning to do his little jobs there, too. I don’t think he likes being wet.
“And he weaned himself!” Mother marveled at that. “Not many babies do that,” she said. “Most of the time mothers have a difficult time getting them to stop nursing. In fact, I’ve heard of children up to three or four years old who still haven’t given up the breast! He is way ahead of himself,” she said proudly.
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