Surviving a Pandemic

To use the word “surviving” regarding the current pandemic while living in a large, beautiful home near the beach with a waterfall in the backyard is a gross  misrepresentation of my current situation. Actually, our lives have changed very little in the last few months. We write and I edit. We do this at home, even during “normal” times. Instead of eating in restaurants, we have been ordering meals delivered from our favorite local places. We want them to be here when we can feel comfortable about going out again. (We’re not there yet.)

I do miss seeing my friends in person. I miss being able to hug people. I miss attending church. I miss taking long walks at the marina. However, for my safety and that of people I care about, I will be doing none of these things for quite a while.

I will continue to connect with friends on Zoom, Skype, and by phone. Not the same thing as being together in person, but it works for now.

I was not alive for the 1918-1919 Spanish Flu pandemic, but my husband’s great-uncle died in the second wave in the late fall of 1919. His family was greatly affected. Larry’s dad’s cousin came to live with his family when their grandfather died as well.

In 1957, Larry attended he Boy Scout Jamboree at Valley Forge. Nearly every attendee contracted the Asian Flu—boys and adults. They left the jamboree and spread this disease throughout the country. This was the second pandemic of the twentieth century.

Polio was the third. A classmate, Al Ferguson, is currently writing his memoir. He gave me permission to share his experience with the polio pandemic with you.

My sister, Betty, was learning classical piano. She couldn’t play without sheet music. She got angry with me when I ran by and snatched her sheet music from the piano, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Often, she evened the score, though. It was all in fun as we really cared about each other.

When she was six years old, Betty came into the front room one summer afternoon using her favorite baton as a cane. I had seen her play that way a few days earlier. Mom told her to put the baton away and get ready for dinner.

Betty didn’t do it, and I remember Mom being stern. “Betty Jill, go put that baton away, and come to dinner right now.” Becoming frustrated with her, Mom took the baton away, and Betty fell on the floor crying. I don’t remember much from when I was ten years old, but I remember this day. The ensuing days are foggy.

I remember going to White Memorial Hospital in L.A. with Betty and my parents. The doctors informed them that Betty had polio. If I close my eyes and think about it, I can see the tears on Mom and Dad’s faces, which I had never seen before. We sat in the waiting room while the doctors took more tests. We heard Betty scream as they performed a spinal tap on her. Mom was crying and Dad consoling.

After all these years, it is something I will never forget. I can almost hear her screams now.

Our family now stood on the threshold of an unknown, lifelong struggle. Sleepless nights and uncontrollable crying became our norm. Polio, an entity whose only purpose seemed to be the destruction of a young life, became our constant companion.

Betty’s polio was confined to her left leg. She began a strict regimen of exercises day after day, year after year. We had several hospital-style hot packs. We took turns applying them to her leg. In those days, there were no microwave ovens, so we had to boil the hot packs in a pot of water on the stove. When they were hot enough, we removed them from the pot with tongs, placed them in a towel, and then rolled them up to keep them hot. Then we covered her left leg with them. Once her muscles were loose, we took turns exercising her leg and foot by pushing on her foot to stretch her Achilles tendon while she lay flat on her back. Afterward, we applied lots of lotion to keep her skin from drying out.

Then, there were the leg casts. Lots of them through the years. They stifled her leg growth by about twenty percent.

Betty became used to the rough regimen and went along with the program. No doubt about it, this was rough on everyone, but mostly Mom. She’d had a tough childhood, which had made her really strong.

Betty missed a lot of school, and, being home all the time, developed a love of books and playing her piano. She caught up with her grades, eventually graduating from high school.

She married her love and moved to Phoenix, becoming head of the medical library at Good Samaritan Hospital. Betty and Tim never had children, but they each had their own airplanes, and Betty became president of the Arizona Pilots Association for one term.

Years went by where Betty became more sedentary, and the lack of exercise finally got to her. She passed away at sixty-five after Mom had died. Thank God, as Mom would have died from guilt and depression. Miss them both.

I have known several people who also recovered from polio, but they continue to experience problems directly related to the disease.

So, comparing the current situation is far cry from earlier pandemics as long as we all take the necessary precautions. Staying home, wearing a mask when out in public, and staying six feet apart are hardly the same as watching family members suffer and die or caring for family members as Al did.

I am very grateful to be living today when everything we need can be delivered safely to our doorstep, I am thankful we have work to keep us occupied. I appreciate being able to call and talk with friends and family. I appreciate social media where I can remain in contact with my broader circle of friends.

You won’t hear me whining!