After Franklin D. Roosevelt contracted polio while on vacation at his family's lake house in New Brunswick, Canada, the association between recreational swimming and the disease was made, thus keeping people clear of lakes and swimming pools during polio breaks throughout the 1950s. That meant if even one person in St. Louis was diagnosed with polio, all pools and lakes in the entire state closed. No Swimming! the signs declared, and not a soul protested. Polio terrified people and when in 1954 public schools were provided with Dr. Salk's vaccine to inoculate students, I stood in the long line of little children in the hallway with my knees shaking from fear while I waited my turn for my "shot." I don't recall even one child that day left behind at his or her desk because a parent refused to sign the permission slip. The teachers manned the halls to ensure we moved forward in a timely fashion and did not "get out of line." No one smiled or offered us bribes of lollipops. No one consoled our quaking little hearts. Get in line, shut up, and wait your turn. I was a "mommy's baby" and in the third grade, but we all marched toward the stab without our mothers. I remember wanting to cry but didn't dare for fear someone would make fun of me or the teacher would get annoyed. The nurses administering the vaccine, although kind, looked ancient (at least thirty years old) and their crisp white uniforms and hats reminded me of the time I was in the hospital to get my tonsils removed. My breath came in uneasy gasps, but I stood straight and didn't make a sound. That is what my parents taught me: to behave myself and not to embarrass them or myself in public. The shot really didn't hurt and the tear that trickled down my cheek afterwards was not from pain, but most likely relief that I had not succumbed to my fear. My daddy, who I idolized, would be proud of me. Like he had been, I was a brave soldier. Only this was a different kind of war; it was a battle against a scary disease called polio. No one that I knew of found any reason to refuse the vaccine, although I believe there were those who did. I remember my parents talking about the vaccine at the dinner table, their relief and gratitude that their three children would be protected from a virus that could cripple them, entomb them in an "iron lung," or worse, kill them. They already had two of their children, my brother and me, who lost much of their hearing and eyesight after a bout with the measles. They were aware of the price of so-called childhood diseases and did not take them lightly.
For what it is worth, I grew up in an era and in a family that respected science, the medical field, and health care workers. Somehow science was science and had nothing to do with our Sunday mornings at church or who my parents voted for in elections. Science had nothing to do with their freedom. My father was a paratrooper in WWII and fought in Europe; he knew what freedom meant. While vaccines kept people alive, keeping our Constitution strong and exercising our right to vote kept people free. It was all pretty simple back then.
Today, my brother and I suffer from profound hearing loss and acute myopia after a bout with the measles. I was six, my brother was three. Life lessons came to us early. Disease could disable us, maim us, or kill us. Being brave wasn't always about carrying a gun and going into battle. Sometimes, bravery was about keeping quiet and doing the right thing no matter how you might feel. At other times, being brave was about standing straight, keeping your chin up, and staying in line. When I was growing up, no one wanted to be called a "cry baby." This, after all, was right after a war that claimed nearly a half million American lives. At that time, people considered this a great loss and the entire nation mourned. My daddy risked his life to fight in that war. Even at eight years old, I understood this: that sometimes, we must sacrifice for others.
When my mother and father were first married, they got by on very little money. After all, they were only 21 when they brought me into the world and dad was still attending college on the GI Bill. Mom did without many pretty things in her closet because she wanted her children to dress nicely for school. She often took care of her older siblings when they were ill, found a few dollars to give them when they were in need, and all the while rarely complained about trying to make ends meet. She sat for hours sewing costumes for my dance recitals. Where she got the money for dance lessons is beyond my comprehension. There were no grandparents, siblings, or relatives to help out or slip her a few dollars. Mom and Dad were on their own. Even as a married adult, my mother's response to any whining I might do about my failures or unhappiness was: "If you fall down, you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back on your horse." Mom, I don't have a horse, I'd joke. Or how to pay it forward: "If someone lends you a hand, take it gratefully and then use your other hand to help someone else." On feeling sorry for yourself: "Don't expect others to help you. Don't ask for help. But when someone else does help you, make sure you show your gratitude by getting back on your feet. Don't keep rolling around in self-pity. You are not and never will be the only person with problems." About unfairness: "Life ain't fair and there aren't any guarantees. Period." Maybe the philosophy wasn't Aristotle, but the woman had a point.
A good example of what I felt was unfair as a kid, polio, and swimming pools converge in an experience I had one summer. At eight years old, life was all about me and especially about my summer freedom and fun. My eleven-year-old cousin and I rode our bikes up the highway to the local swimming pool about a mile from our neighborhood. Yes, that was okay back then. With our parents' permission, not only did we ride our bikes on a major thoroughfare, we paid our quarters to get into the pool without adult accompaniment and swam the whole day on our own. Then, we rode our bikes home. On one particular day, our swimming adventure was interrupted when the pool was abruptly closed due to "FLOATING TURD." The large and buoyant banana-shaped object sailed past a large-breasted woman donned in a rubber swim cap decorated with multiple colored rubber flowers. Not quite as buoyant as the brown banana, like a walrus climbing from the sea onto the rocks, she screamed as she heaved herself through the water and hoisted herself onto the pool's concrete ledge: POOP! SOMEONE POOPED IN THE POOL! CALL THE POLICE! The lifeguard did not call the police; instead, he loudly blew his whistle and shouted for everyone to immediately clear the pool. Initially, my cousin Bobby and I roared with laughter. The big lady with the flowered cap, the floating turd, the people shouting and flailing to scramble from the pool was all hilarious and fun. But we discovered the pool would be closed for the rest of the day because feces carried polio and the water could be contaminated. NOT FAIR, my cousin and I pouted. I didn't shit in the pool, did you? my cousin asked, his eyebrows arched with suspicion. No! I protested. My poop isn't that huge! We were annoyed that someone else had ruined our day and because they hadn't the decency to get out of the pool to defecate, we had to go home early. We had to ride our bikes home in the heat without having had the chance to properly pucker our skin. The right amount of vasoconstriction in our fingers after a day of submersion in the water was our cue to go home. Now, what in the world would we do all day? I parked my bike by the garage door of my house and slammed through the screened back door. Mom was standing at the kitchen sink. That, I always assumed that was her favorite place. What are you doing home so early? she asked. Someone pooped in the pool and it was excavated. You mean evacuated, she corrected. Okay, I conceded. But some dummy ruined my day! I'm hot and bored! Bobby went home to watch television and I don't have anyone to play with. It's not FAIR! I wailed. Mom crossed her arms and scowled at me. She was very good at scowling: deep lines furrowed between her eyes and she took a long and hard puff on her cigarette before responding. "Well, who in the world ever told you anything was fair? Speaking of fair, it's not fair that I have to stand here and peel these potatoes so pull up a stool to the sink and finish the job for me." WHAT? My day is ruined and now you want me to peel potatoes? What is this? The army? I got no answer. Without a word or blinking an eye, Mom grabbed my arm, sat me up on a stool in front of the sink piled with potatoes and handed me a pairing knife. Then she smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Thanks, babe." I peeled the potatoes. That evening, nothing was said when I failed to eat my vegetables. In fact, mom casually placed a bowl of ice cream in front of me after dinner. Again, without saying a word. I got it. I understood. Life wasn't going to always be fair, but she always would be. Thanks, Mom.
Thus, the Covid vaccine does not frighten me. I am grateful to all those who have held out a hand when I needed one and I consider my failures to be my greatest and best life lessons. I have survived to be 76 years old NOT because I am special; I have survived because there have been people who were willing to help me. And while medical science is far from perfect and research and technology has yet to find cures to all our ills, I am still grateful for it. After all, I am a living testimony to the blessings of medical science: I am still here.
Surgeries, annual screenings, colonoscopies, mammograms, medication for old-age related issues, OB-GYNs to safely deliver my babies, vaccines to help keep me from getting diseases that used to kill and disable tens of thousands of people such as:
diphtheria, influenza, hepatitis, measles, mumps, meningitis, tuberculosis, pertussis, rubella, tetanus, yellow fever, rabies, smallpox, typhoid, shingles, malaria, Ebola, cholera, pneumonia . . . and so forth. Frankly, I will take my chances and choose the vaccine every time.
Comentários