Eugene is having a bath right now, which is making him cry because he can’t breathe when they move him. I feel very bad for him.
Dr. Lear came in a few minutes ago and pretended to walk right by and not know me. He turned around and said, “Where is Noreen? Who is this beautiful girl?”
I could feel my cheeks turning red, but it’s the first time I can remember feeling a bit happy since I got in here. I’ll have to remember he said that, to tell Bessie! I wonder if Bessie is sick too. It’s strange that I haven’t heard from her. I’ll ask Mother.
Grandpa brought some ice cream for me today so Nurse Betty smuggled it in. It was chocolate. He says I am getting too thin. It’s too hot to eat in here and the food isn’t very good. They give me a lot of peas. We even had peas today for lunch. I’d had enough peas so I hid them under my pillow when no one was looking. I shared my ice cream with Eugene. He could only eat one bite, but he said it was delicious.
Because I have to lie down all the time, I can’t even see outside the window, except for the sky. Today it is bright blue with no clouds. I wonder if, when you go really high, the sky is still blue. I’ll ask Grandpa because he knows everything.
I also discovered that when you are lying down all the time, the only thing you get to see are people’s faces bending over you. One day Nurse Winter’s mask slipped off her nose when she was turning me on my side to change the bed. She has really big nostrils. I can see right up inside them. She has lots of hair in there. I wish I could tell Edmund that because he would think it very funny.
It’s embarrassing here sometimes because I have to use a bedpan. When I do they put screens around the bed for privacy. And my short nightgown and little pair of underpants that are like a diaper don’t cover my behind much at all. I do everything in bed, even brush my teeth! Nurse Betty brushes Eugene’s teeth for him because his arms don’t move.
The caterpillar doctor and Nurse Winter are with the woman behind the curtain. We never hear a sound out of her, so we don’t know if she’s worse off than us, or not, but the doctor’s often frowning when he’s finished seeing her.
Wednesday, August 11, 1937, after supper
Nurse Winter found my lunch peas beneath my pillow. She was very mad and said she should make me eat the mess I left. I did feel bad because they were mashed up and had stained the sheets green. She said she would tell Mother how naughty I was. Eugene thought that was very funny, except when he laughed he started to choke because he couldn’t catch his breath.
Nurse Betty told me that the polio had weakened the muscles in Eugene’s chest so he was finding it hard to breathe. She said that in Toronto in Ontario they had a machine called an iron lung that would help people with Eugene’s type of polio to breathe. I tried to imagine what it would look like, but I couldn’t. It’s too bad they don’t have an iron lung here, as it even hurts me to watch Eugene try to breathe.
A man came in this evening to see the woman behind the screen. I was surprised to see that Nurse Winter didn’t kick him out of the isolation ward. When he left he was crying. Dr. Lear was with him and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
Thursday, August 12, 1937
When I woke up this morning, the curtains around the woman’s bed were pulled back and the bed was empty. I asked Nurse Betty where the woman went, and she just said to never mind that. I think the woman died. That is why the man was crying. I’m sorry, though I never even saw her once. Nurse Betty says I’m not going to die, but I wonder if she’s just saying that so I don’t get scared.
Afternoon
Nurse Betty brought me two letters, one from Grandma Robertson with a note from James, and another that I thought was from Bessie because I haven’t heard anything from her since I got sick, but it was from Ann Lute. The letter was short (and the spelling was awful), but it said that she had heard I was sick and hoped I would get better soon. At first I thought maybe she was being mean and teasing me, but I read it again and I think Ann really does hope I get better. It is very nice of her, especially when I wasn’t very nice and threw mud at her and called her names.
I wonder why Bessie hasn’t written me a letter. She is my best friend. And after all, going to the pool was her idea, so she is partly responsible for my polio, so the least she can do is write me a letter.
Right now, if I was home, I would be hoeing the garden, and then I would ride my bicycle to Bessie’s. We would probably go to the river, or maybe play catch with Edmund. That’s what I would be doing right now.
Friday, August 13, 1937
I had to have an enema today. It was so awful, I won’t even mar this diary with a description. I hate the splints. I hate that my legs won’t work. I hate that I can’t roll over by myself and have to wait for the nurses. I hate that I have to use a basin as a toilet and I can only go when the nurse is around because she has to put me on the basin. I want to go home. I cried most of the day, especially during the enema, and Nurse Winter clucked her tongue at me. She can cluck all she wants, but I’ll cry if I want to.
Sunday, August 15, 1937
There is nothing to do. I can’t even find anything to write about. I hate lying down all the time. I’m too hot. I’m going to paste James’s letter in my diary. Nurse Betty says she has some glue.
Dear Pipsqueak,
What do you think you’re doing by getting sick on us? I want to see you walking when I get home, so get better real fast.
Grandpa R. is working me hard. We’re not having as much of a drought here in Alberta, but Grandpa R. says that doesn’t matter because the price on crops is so low he can’t sell anything. I like working on the farm, so much that I think I’ll go to Agricultural College when I finish high school. I’d like to discover crops that don’t need much water, so if there is a drought again, we will still have crops.
Anyway, get better, Pipsqueak.
See you soon.
Your brother,
James
Sunday, August 15, 1937, evening
Reverend McKay came to see me this afternoon and he scared me badly. He came right up to my bed. I guess ministers don’t have to obey the isolation rules. He said that if I really believed in God and prayed to him and had faith, I would be able to walk. And then he put both his hands on my legs, prayed and told me to rise up from my bed, but my legs wouldn’t work. I guess I didn’t have enough faith.
I started to cry and Nurse Winter came rushing over and nearly pushed Reverend McKay out the door, all the time telling him he was in a hospital and there were very sick people here and he was causing a commotion. Later she came and told me to pay no mind to Reverend McKay, that I was a good girl. I was surprised she was so nice to me about it. Later Mother and Dad came and waved from the door. I heard Nurse Winter tell them about Reverend McKay and Dad actually said a swear word. It started with a d and ended with an n. He called Reverend McKay “that d—n man.”
Monday, August 16, 1937
Grandpa sent a radio for me to listen to. Eugene and I are enjoying it. There’s a new patient here today, a teenage girl. Nurse Winter said we weren’t to ask for anything today because they had to take care of the new girl because she was in bad shape. We’re keeping the radio on low.
Tuesday, August 17, 1937
I think Nurse Betty has designs on Dr. Lear. He doesn’t seem to mind though. He is really nice to her. I wish Bessie was here so we could discuss it. I still have not heard from her!
Mother and Grandpa came to visit through the window again. We don’t have a long time, but I like seeing them. The new girl just lies all the time with her eyes closed. She is very, very sick.
Tuesday, August 17, 1937, after supper
I asked Nurse Betty if Dr. Lear was courting her. Her eyes widened and she looked around to make sure Nurse Winter wasn’t nearby, then whispered to me that I was like a spy and knew too much. I think that means yes, but I won’t say anything because I don’t think Nurse Betty wants Nurse Winter to know.
Wednesday, August 18, 1937
/>
I’m going home tomorrow. I am very excited. The old doctor with the caterpillar eyebrows (they really are quite hairy) brought around a whole bunch of other doctors and they talked about me like I wasn’t even there, even while he showed them my legs. He told them that my frog noses wasn’t good. First of all, I only have one nose, and I just finished looking in the mirror and it doesn’t look anything like a frog’s nose does. When he went on to Eugene’s bed, he left the sheet off my legs and I couldn’t sit up to pull the cover up. It’s very annoying to not be able to do things for myself. It’s not that I’m cold, I’m not, but I don’t want my legs hanging out for everyone to see!
Wednesday, August 18, 1937, after supper
I asked Nurse Winter what the doctor meant about my frog noses and after thinking about it for a few minutes she said he must have meant my prognosis, which means my prospects for getting better. I then asked her what my prospects were and she said that I would probably never walk again. I hate Nurse Winter.
Eugene is being sent to Regina because there is an iron lung for him there. I listen to every breath he takes and wait for the next one because I’m afraid he’ll die!
Saturday, August 21, 1937
I came home Thursday. It felt very strange not being able to walk up our front steps. I remembered every time I’d ever run up them and Mother would yell at me to use the back door. I’m trying to remember the last time I walked, and I expect it was to my bed before I went to sleep, and then the next morning I couldn’t get up. If I had known it would be the very last time I’d walk, I would have tried to remember it better, or gone for a long walk by the river.
Dad carried me up to my bedroom, where I slept right through the last couple of days. Before we left the isolation ward, Dr. Lear told Mother that I am to have bed rest, lots of sleep, eat good food and wear my braces all the time and not be mobile. Then Nurse Winter told Mother that the government of Saskatchewan was paying for my hospital stay and for my braces and that Mother wasn’t to let them get dirty or broken because sometimes when people aren’t paying for an item themselves, they don’t take good care of that item. (That’s exactly what she said.) Mother looked like she was going to burst a gasket, like she does when she’s mad at me or Edmund, and I waited for an explosion, but Dad told her to forget what Nurse Winter says and just get me home.
Mother has made a bed for me out of the couch on the front porch. I don’t think it’s so smelly anymore. Nothing is as stinky as the hospital. I never want to go back there again. I heard Mother say that she doesn’t know how she is supposed to take care of me and do everything else she needs to do. I feel bad to be a bother to her, but Grandpa told me Mother was only speaking out of worry and she was really glad to have me home. Mother won’t let Edmund come near me as she doesn’t want him getting polio. He watched me arrive home from the doorway, and he looked scared of me! Maybe it’s just the splints he’s afraid of. They do look scary.
There was a bunch of letters here from the girls I know at school. They all want me to get well. I want to get well, too. It was nice of them to write, but I went through them twice and there wasn’t a letter from Bessie. I wonder why? Maybe she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore because I’m sick.
Saturday, August 21, 1937, evening
I finally told Mother all about going to the pool. I cried and cried and told her I was sorry and that God was punishing me by making me sick. She hugged me and told me that she didn’t think God would make me ill as a punishment. She did say, though, that she was disappointed in me for disobeying her and that she would have a long talk with Edmund. I bet he has to weed the garden every day for the rest of the summer. I told her it was Bessie’s idea to go to the pool, and Mother said it didn’t matter whose idea it was, I should have thought for myself and known enough not to go. I know she’s right.
If my legs would work, I’d weed the garden every day for the rest of my life. I told God that in my prayers tonight. Maybe he’ll make my legs work tomorrow. I feel much better now that I don’t have a secret hanging over my head.
A man came by this afternoon and put a quarantine notice that said NO VISITORS on our door. He said it would only stay on for a week until the doctor said I wasn’t contagious anymore and no one else in the family came down with polio. Mother looked terrified at the thought of someone else in the family getting polio.
Sunday, August 22, 1937
Right now I’m on the front porch on the couch again. This morning Mother bathed me. It’s embarrassing having Mother dress and undress me like I’m a baby. I started crying and she did, too. She said she didn’t know what kind of disease would rob a person of their life! Mother didn’t go to church and we didn’t read Bible verses.
Edmund is in his room and Dad and Mother are in the kitchen. It’s very quiet outside this morning, I guess because everyone else is at church. Mother left all the windows on the porch open, because it is so hot! I can hear a blue jay scream, though I can’t see him. And we must have a cricket under the porch because he keeps chirruping. I can smell cut grass and Mother’s sweet pink roses that she grew from cuttings from her own mother’s roses.
I wonder why I got polio when everyone else went to the pool, too. Why me? I hate being tired all the time. I just want to get up and walk out of my bed and walk right over to Grandpa’s house like I used to.
An automobile just stopped outside our house. I can smell its fumes through the open window. Stinky.
Sunday, August 22, 1937, evening
It was Uncle Tom. Aunt Ella had given him strict instructions to not come into the house, so he talked to Mother and Dad from the edge of the road. Mother and Dad stood on the porch steps. He asked how I was and Mother said I was as well as could be expected. Then Uncle Tom said that Aunt Ella was worried about my future and was there anything they could do to help. Mother got all stiff in her talking and said that she and Dad could take care of my future, thank you all the same. Uncle Tom brought me a chocolate bar which he left at the end of the driveway with some milk and bread. After he left, Mother went and got the food. I never had an entire chocolate bar all to myself. I’ve always had to share with James and Edmund and sometimes Dad because he has a sweet tooth. I was going to eat it all by myself, but Mother looked at me and raised her eyebrows, so I shared it with Edmund and Dad.
Later I heard Mother complaining to Dad that she couldn’t believe Aunt Ella would think we’d need their help. Dad said maybe Aunt Ella just meant to be kind. Mother started crying and said Dad was right and she was just so upset all the time she didn’t know what she was thinking. Then she said, “What is to become of her?” Her is me! Dad came in and took me back to my bedroom, so I didn’t hear anything else.
Monday, August 23, 1937
Dr. Frasier came by to see how I was doing. He listened to my heart and felt my legs and looked at my throat again. (I’m not sure why he keeps looking in my throat when it’s my legs that are sick! I tried to tell him that before I went to hospital, but here he is looking in my throat again.) He told Mother that I needed fattening up. He also told Mother it was very important that the braces not be removed. Grandpa was there and when he heard that, he said it seemed to him that the longer my leg muscles were kept immobile, the worse the chances of my legs ever being able to move again. And then he asked Dr. Frasier if keeping my legs still would give me withered leg. I wonder what that is. Dr. Frasier looked stern and asked who was the doctor here, him or Grandpa.
Grandpa stayed and visited with me for a bit after the doctor left. I asked him if they ever found Amelia Earhart. He said no. He also said that at least she had died doing what she loved and that she had flown solo across the Atlantic. I think I would have been too scared to do that! I asked him if more women would be pilots or would they say women couldn’t fly because Amelia had disappeared. He said he saw no reason why women couldn’t fly planes. He said he believed that one day people would take airplanes as easily as they take the streetcar, except they would go all over t
he world, not just downtown Saskatoon!
Monday, August 23, 1937, after supper
I feel scared all the time. I don’t know what to expect next. I’m scared to ask about my health because it’s always bad news. Mother said that some polio patients’ legs got skinny because they weren’t being used and that’s what they call a withered leg. Grandpa kept arguing with Mother after the doctor left. She finally said that Grandpa wasn’t a doctor, and Grandpa said that he wasn’t a fool either, and that anyone of intelligence knew if something wasn’t used, it withered away. He said that even the American president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who got polio in 1921, agreed with him.
Mr. Roosevelt bathed in warm water springs in Georgia and he found them so helpful he bought the springs and hired people to help patients exercise in the pools. He (Grandpa, I mean, not Mr. Roosevelt) went home mad. Mother banged pots around in the kitchen.
The man came late this afternoon and took down the quarantine sign because Dr. Frasier said I wasn’t contagious anymore. Mother still doesn’t want Edmund near me.
Tuesday, August 24, 1937
Ann Lute came by this morning and brought a gift for me. She came right to the house and left it with Mother while I was sleeping. It was a small lacy bookmark. Ann had made it herself. Mother was quite impressed by the fine work Ann had done on it. Mother told me Ann said some people call that type of work knotting and others tatting. She said that her grandmother had shown her how to do tatting before they moved to Canada two years ago. It is very pretty and is in the shape of a cross. At first Mother didn’t want to give it to me because it was quite grimy, but she gave it a washing in the sink. I’m looking at it now. It really is quite pretty.
To Stand on My Own Page 3
