It’s very confusing. I kept feeling Dad looking at me when he thought I wouldn’t notice. But I did. And then right out of the blue he said, “Maybe your Grandpa has it right about that polio treatment.” But he said it quietly, as if to himself.
Monday, September 20, 1937
I moved my toes on my left foot today! I KNOW I did, though I can’t do it right now. Unfortunately, after I called everyone to see, I couldn’t do it again. Everyone said they believed me, though. Mother hugged me.
Wednesday, September 22, 1937
I DID IT AGAIN! I moved my toes on my left foot again, and everyone got to see! I’m excited, but I also want to be able to move my legs.
I want to be out of bed.
Wednesday, September 22, 1937, after supper
It was a very exciting afternoon. Aunt Ella took me and Mother and Jean to the Bessborough Hotel for afternoon tea. It is like a palace inside. I’ve never been anywhere so grand. Aunt Ella said it was a belated birthday tea. At first I didn’t want to go because I thought everyone would not want me there because I was crippled now. But Aunt Ella said, what did it matter what other people think? I was surprised because I thought Aunt Ella always worried about what other people thought of her and Jean and Uncle Tom. Grandpa agreed with her and Mother said I would miss a lovely time, so I decided to go.
Mother and I spent all morning doing our hair and dressing in our Sunday clothes. Grandpa drove us to the hotel, where a porter (that’s what Aunt Ella called him) came out and carried me into the tea room. I was kind of embarrassed at first as people stared at me, but once I sat down, the tablecloth covered my splints and I looked like every other person there. Mother pretended to put a napkin on my lap, and quickly tied me onto the chair with my dress sash. It was mostly women there and Grandpa didn’t stay, as he said he didn’t need to be part of a hen party. Jean tried to pretend she was bored, as if she went to the Bessborough every day, but I knew she was excited, too. She was also glad to have the afternoon off school! She told me her dress looked very nice on me. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but Mother raised her eyebrows so I thanked Jean.
Mother says I have to stop writing now, as I have to go to sleep after my big day.
Thursday, September 23, 1937, evening
I slept almost all day! Mother says it is because the hotel was my first outing since I got polio, and that it tired me out. I’ll try to finish writing about the tea party before I forget. I want to remember every single detail.
First the tea came in a beautiful teapot with gold trim. Aunt Ella poured the tea into very thin bone china cups that had roses on the sides. Mother has a few cups like this at home, but I’m not allowed to use them. I hope now that she sees that I’m grown-up she’ll let me drink from them on special occasions. Then Aunt Ella asked if I would like some sugar and I very politely said, “Please.” The sugar came in cubes, and I liked the way they melted in the tea. We don’t have sugar often at home, so I put in three cubes and I would have put in another, except Mother gently tapped my foot under the table. Even though it was gentle, it still hurt a bit. Then I put in milk. I took a sip and said, “Very nice,” like I had heard someone say on one of Mother’s radio programs.
Then the waiter brought out a three-tiered china stand with scones, little sandwiches and tiny tarts. He also brought thick cream (I thought it was ice cream at first) and strawberry jam. I love strawberry jam!
Because I was being polite, when he offered me the plate I said I’d only have one, and took a scone, but Jean said, “Well, I’m having two,” and she put a scone and tart on her plate. Mother and Aunt Ella also took only one sandwich each, and Mother smiled at me so I knew I had done right taking only one. Then Mother told me to split the scone in half and put cream and jam on both sides. I’ve never tasted anything so good in my whole entire life. When I was done, Aunt Ella offered the plate again, and this time I had a tiny cucumber sandwich. These would never have filled up Dad or the boys!
We kept eating and drinking until everything was gone. Mother and Aunt Ella talked about how sad it was that Jean Harlow had died and there just wasn’t another movie star like her. And then they started talking about Wallis Simpson again! Then Grandpa arrived to take us home, and Mother grabbed her purse and went to open it, but Aunt Ella put her hand over Mother’s and said, “No, no, this is my treat.” Mother asked if she was sure, and then gave me a look and I immediately thanked Aunt Ella and Jean and told them it was the loveliest afternoon I could remember. Aunt Ella looked very pleased.
After Grandpa dropped them off at their house, and was driving us home, Mother told Grandpa it was a good thing that Ella had paid, as she, Mother, didn’t have a cent in her purse, and Grandpa laughed and said that Mother and I would have had to do the dishes. I told him I would have happily done the dishes for a lovely tea like that. Then Mother told Grandpa that in her opinion, Aunt Ella has spoiled Jean something awful. Grandpa said he loved all his children and grandchildren equally. Mother looked miffed and didn’t say much the rest of the way home.
P.S. Mother came to tuck me in and said she was so proud of the ladylike way I had behaved today. I asked her if I could drink tea from her bone china cups and she pursed her lips and said, “Maybe on special occasions.”
P.P.S. Mother and I were still in our good clothes when Dad came home. He said, “Wow! Who are these beautiful women?” And then Edmund told him quite seriously that we were Mother and Noreen. Edmund can be such a dope!
Sunday, September 26, 1937
I’ve been tired for the past three days. Mother was very worried and kept saying how she should never have let me go out to tea. It’s the longest I ever sat and I was very, very tired afterward and my back ached dreadfully, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’m still in my upstairs bed today, as Mother wants me to keep resting. I think the real reason is that she and Dad and Grandpa are talking about me again! Aunt Ella and Uncle Tom are to come over for a cup of tea later this afternoon. Something is going on, I know it! Now I’m all scared again and just when I was starting to feel a bit better.
I heard Uncle Tom’s car pull up. Mother made me write a thank-you note to both Aunt Ella and Jean. I didn’t mind thanking Aunt Ella, but I just put Thank you for the tea on Jean’s and nothing else.
Sunday, September 26, 1937, evening
Edmund, Jean and I played cards on my bed this afternoon while the grown-ups talked. Jean talked too, all about her school — we go to different schools — and how Edmund and I went to the poor children’s school. Jean also said that Aunt Ella wanted her to go to an all-girls’ school, but Uncle Tom said no. Jean is a big windbag.
Monday, September 27, 1937
Boring day. Maybe my toes move now, but I know I’m never going to be able to walk again, so why should I bother to study. I will spend the rest of my life in bed. I’ll never have a job or a husband or children or a house of my own. I haven’t told Mother, but I am very afraid that if she and Dad die, I’ll have nowhere to go and no one to take care of me. Grandpa’s already old, and I don’t think Aunt Ella would want me. I wonder what happens when people can’t take care of themselves. Where do they live?
October 1937
Friday, October 1, 1937
There’s nothing to write about. Nothing different happens. I’m sleeping a lot. Oh, there was a letter from AN OLD FOGEY in the newspaper again, all about how everyone needs to get together and find a cure for polio. It must be Grandpa, but he still won’t admit it.
Sunday, October 3, 1937, after supper
I’m being sent away! I am going to the Grey Nuns Hospital in Regina. I begged Mother not to send me away and that I would be good and not cause her any worry and try to not be a burden. I said I was sorry about going to the pool. Mother was crying, too, but she said it was for my own good and it was not to punish me at all. I don’t know how being far away from home is to be good for me. That’s what all the grown-ups were talking about last Sunday. About sending me
away! I think it’s because I’m too much work for Mother.
Sunday, October 3, 1937, before bed
I talked to Mother and she insists that me going away is not because I’m too much work for her. She says that Grandpa found a program at the hospital in Regina that has the best treatment for infantile paralysis in Saskatchewan and it is free, paid for by the government, and that she wants me to get better. Grandpa told Mother that this is the best chance I have to get some mobility back in my limbs and that he doesn’t want to see me left in a wheelchair for life. I don’t like Grandpa too much at the moment.
Mother and I will take the train to Regina a week from this Thursday, but she’ll have to come back to Saskatoon the next day and leave me there, alone, because there is nowhere for her to stay there and we don’t have the money for a hotel for three weeks. I have never been away from home before except for when we visited Grandma and Grandpa Robertson and the whole family went. The second time was when I was in the hospital, but that was right here in Saskatoon. I am very scared.
Monday, October 4, 1937
I’ve begged and cried, but Mother says that even Dr. Lear from the hospital said it was a good program for me. I guess I have to go. The only good thing happening is that I can move my right toes now, and my ankles. I showed Mother and said that I thought I could get better on my own, but Mother says I still have to go to Regina.
Tuesday, October 5, 1937
Mother is running around like a chicken without its head on, trying to pack for me to go to Regina. I don’t want to go to another hospital. I’m not talking to anyone in my family now. They obviously don’t want a cripple around.
Wednesday, October 6, 1937
Grandpa lost patience with me today and said I had to look upon this as an opportunity to get better and I should stop crying and feeling sorry for myself as there are a lot of people in worse shape than me. You know what? I don’t care! It’s his fault that I have to go to Regina in the first place. Mother would never have known about the hospital there if not for him!
Thursday, October 7, 1937
Bessie finally came to visit me after school today. She said that her mother wouldn’t allow her to see me before this, because she was afraid Bessie would get sick, too. I don’t believe her.
It wasn’t a very good visit. Bessie’s grown about two inches since I last saw her and she has a CHEST! She kept staring at my legs in their braces and asking what it was like to be crippled. I told her it was horrible. Then she told me all about her friend Marie.
James stuck his head in the door to say hello and Bessie went all sappy. She was poofing her hair with her fingers and smiling to beat the band, but as soon as James left she was just like before. I was mighty glad when Bessie went home. I don’t know her anymore.
A promise to myself: I will not go sappy over a boy in my whole life!
Friday, October 8, 1937
I wonder if Amelia Earhart was ever scared. I wonder if the first time she flew a plane if she thought of landing immediately, or did the sky and the clouds and birds welcome her so much that the fear fell away like the earth.
Saturday, October 9, 1937
I read the bit I’d written about Amelia Earhart to Grandpa because I was quite proud of it. (I’m talking to my family again! It’s hard not to talk to people when you are a natural born chatterer! — that’s what one of my teachers used to call me.) It almost sounds like a real writer wrote it. Grandpa said it was very lyrical and he was proud of me. Ann came over and helped me start to make a cross bookmark for Grandpa — even though I’m still a bit mad at him. While I did my tatting, Ann tried to do some reading from Heidi. I helped her sound out the words she didn’t know.
A secret: I still haven’t sent a note to Ann or apologized to her. I don’t know what to say.
Mother had asked Ann to bring over some of her tatting, and we found out why. Aunt Ella came over this afternoon and Mother showed Ann’s work to her and Aunt Ella asked Ann to make a lace collar for one of Jean’s blouses. She’s going to pay her for it! Ann was very happy and left for home immediately to get started on it. I thought that was very nice of Aunt Ella and even Mother said it was generous of her. I don’t think Ann is scared of my leg braces at all and she never asks me what it feels like to be crippled. It’s like she already knows, so I don’t have to explain.
Sunday, October 10, 1937, late afternoon
This morning Mother asked me how I felt being on my own for an hour while the family went to church, as it was Thanksgiving weekend. Dad said he could carry me into church if I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to see Reverend McKay. I was afraid he might stop in the middle of his sermon and demand that I get up and walk. Mother said I was older now and if I stayed right in bed, I’d be fine. I was a little frightened to be on my own, but at the same time, a little excited. I decided to try an experiment. I decided to see if my legs would hold me so that I could prove I was getting better on my own and didn’t need to go to Regina. Mother would have been so mad if she knew what I did. I’m glad my diary is secret.
After everyone left for church, I rolled over to the side of the bed and managed to prop myself up with my arms. It was hard because I had to move my legs with their heavy splints with my hands and I kept losing my balance and falling back on the bed. I was hot and tired just doing that, but I managed to dangle them over the bed’s side. It took me nearly all the time church was on to just get them over the side! Then I held onto the bed and put my feet on the floor. Then I tried to stand, but my legs gave out and I fell back onto the bed — thankfully not onto the floor. I pulled myself back to the headboard. I slept after that for a couple of hours. I didn’t even hear everyone come in from church.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand or walk again. I don’t even know why I try.
Monday, October 11, 1937
Thanksgiving
Edmund and James are happy to not have to go to school.
Grandpa made me study the origins of Thanksgiving from a book of his from school. He’s doing this as part of my History class. He says that I’m a part of history now. People in the United States think it is their holiday, but Thanksgiving has been celebrated in Europe long before Canada and the United States were settled. People gave thanks for their harvest. The first Thanksgiving in Canada was in 1578 when the explorer, Martin Frobisher from England, arrived on the eastern shores of Canada, years before the pilgrims landed in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Grandpa makes lessons a lot more interesting than school does.
The house smells wonderful with the scents of pie and turkey! I don’t really feel that thankful though. It’s hard to be thankful when you can’t walk. Or when you have to go away from your family to a strange city and stay in a hospital. I won’t know a single person. It’s really hard to pray to God right now.
I wonder if Ann’s family has a special dinner today.
Wednesday, October 13, 1937
My stomach is all in knots today. Tomorrow we leave for Regina.
Grandpa came by and rubbed my legs and that helped me feel better. He said he fully expected me to walk off the train when I got home from my treatment. Dad is borrowing Grandpa’s car to drive us to the train station, even though he has to take time off work. Dad says this is more important than work.
So I gave Grandpa a big hug because I knew that he knew I was mad at him. But I’m not anymore. Grandpa made me promise to write in my diary every day because he wants to know all about the polio treatment. He gave me three new books to read. They are all animal stories by Thornton Burgess. I also made sure Mother packed my Heidi book. Heidi could walk, but she still had a hard life until she went to live with her grandfather in the Alps. Then her wicked aunt took her away to be a companion to a girl in the city who was in a wheelchair. Heidi got so homesick that she pined away and got thinner and thinner. Mother says she hopes I get fatter at the Regina hospital. She has been sewing for two days. I wonder what she is making. I’m taking my tatting with me so I can finis
h Grandpa’s bookmark. It actually looks like something now other than a mess of knots.
Friday, October 15, 1937
Mother just left. She came to the hospital early this morning and kissed me goodbye before she took the train back to Saskatoon.
I am sharing a ward with three other girls. After Mother left, I asked the nurse to roll me on my side toward the window so I could nap. It was really so I could cry and not let the other girls see, though one of the girls (Edna) guessed I was crying and said that everyone is sad when their parents leave. I was crying too much to answer her.
I found out what Mother was sewing. She was making over one of Jean’s dresses for me. Mother took out all the seams, cut away the extra fabric, and it really did turn out quite lovely. She used some of the leftover fabric to make a new trim for my old hat. Mother wore her Sunday dress and coat and hat on the train. She said we’d make a good impression when we arrived at the hospital. She brought us some sandwiches and apples for the trip.
I was glad to have something nice to wear on the train. It almost made me forget Dad carrying me to my seat and the splints on my legs. I did notice, though, a couple of ladies bending their heads together and whispering when they saw me and I heard one say, “Poor girl.” I think they meant because of my legs, as I was wearing my new dress and Mother had trimmed my hair before we left, so I think I looked very nice and not poor at all. I wonder if that’s being vain. Being called “poor girl” bothered me, though.
To Stand on My Own Page 6