The train was very nice and I might have enjoyed it thoroughly if I wasn’t so scared at what was at the end. I did, though, have to squeeze myself between the wall of the train and Mother so I could stay upright when the train swayed. It is very hard to keep your balance when your legs don’t work properly.
We stopped at one small station where I saw a horse hooked up to an automobile! Mother said the owners probably didn’t have money for gas, so the car had become a buggy. The fields we passed were all brown dirt pushed in drifts against fence posts as if it was snow. I saw the top of a tractor that was almost buried in soil. The fields looked stripped and bare outside the windows. Mother said it was a sobering sight.
At the train station in Regina, an ambulance was waiting to take Mother and me to the hospital. It was a bit embarrassing being put into an ambulance in front of everyone, and a bit scary. I had trouble not crying.
The hospital here is very big. They have a separate area just for children with polio — one ward for boys and one for girls. We’re not in isolation, as we’re not contagious. A nurse told Mother and me when we arrived that the treatment at the hospital was to get me as mobile as possible. At the end of my treatment in three weeks, Mother will come back and be shown how to do massage and other exercises so she can carry on my treatment at home. Three weeks seems an eternity. The treatment is free and the government is even paying for Mother’s and my train tickets.
Friday, October 15, 1937, evening
I had another little cry after supper, but then the girls in my ward started talking and that distracted me. They ignored me for a while, but I saw Edna stealing glances my way, until she saw me look up from my diary and then she asked me where I was from. There are three other girls on this ward. Edna is from Regina. Then there’s Thelma, who is from a farm outside of Willow Bunch, and a very timid girl, Julie, who is from a small town called Harptree. Julie is fourteen and is like a little mouse. Even her hair is mousy brown, but her face is quite sweet, if only she didn’t look scared all the time. Edna is the oldest of us and is seventeen. She appears to have been taken with me from the beginning, maybe because we are both city girls. Thelma is thirteen and quite homely, with a long, horsey face, and one of her eyes is set up a little higher than the other so her face looks crooked. I don’t feel very kind, saying that, but it is the truth and she knows it because she stares right at you as if daring you to comment on her face. I think she’s tough.
We got chocolate ice cream for dessert tonight. That was a nice treat!
Friday, October 15, 1937, late
I can’t sleep because I keep thinking of the women in the train saying, “Poor girl.” Every time I think of those words, it’s like something nudges me and says, “You’re NOT poor. Show them you’re not poor!” I wish it would stop nudging me because I’m tired and want to go to sleep. I have twenty more days here.
Saturday, October 16, 1937
Because it was Saturday, we didn’t do too much except get to know each other a bit better. Edna is tied on a wooden frame (she said it’s called a Bradford frame) which keeps her splinted legs apart, and her arms are splinted and held up at a 90-degree angle. It looks very uncomfortable. The only thing she can move is her head (and her tongue, as Thelma pointed out). Edna is quite pretty, with curly black hair, and she says she is worried that her illness will make her a poor prospect for marriage. She said it like it was a joke, but I think she really is worried. She has already kissed a boy and promised to tell us more about it later. Julie is quite scandalized that Edna kissed a boy, and I was a bit, too, but I didn’t want to show it, as I am from the city. Edna can’t even brush her own teeth. At least I can do that.
Where we are is called the Poliomyelitis Orthopaedic Hospital, set up at the Grey Nuns Hospital in Regina. It’s almost brand-new and has twenty-five beds just for polio patients. There are other wards, including that one with boys down the hall. We can hear them laughing and once they raced past our door in their wheelchairs. Thelma has a wheelchair, too. She said eventually Julie and I would get one. It will be nice to go somewhere without being carried.
A physical therapist — she told me to call her Lillian — came in this morning and introduced herself to me and Julie, as we are the newest arrivals. Julie got here a day before me. She told us that our treatment would be massage (like Grandpa did) and we would strengthen our legs and learn to use braces and crutches to help us learn to walk. She said we would also be fed a good diet to make us healthier.
We are all in narrow, iron beds, though there are cheerful quilts on top of each and the walls are painted a soft blue and there are pictures of cows and pigs and stars hung on them. I just realized the beds have sides to them and if they are pulled up, it will look like we are babies in cribs!
I have the bed beside the window. I felt sort of bad, as it is probably the best bed in the ward. I asked Edna if she wanted it, but she said she doesn’t see the point of a window when all she can see is the sky!
The nurse came and brought us lunch. At least I can feed myself. Edna has to have a nurse feed her! Like she’s a baby!
Saturday, October 16, 1937, afternoon
We all had to have naps. Again I felt like a baby, but I was very tired and slept for two hours.
Later in the afternoon
I must have fallen asleep because a woman came in, a volunteer from a ladies’ church society, and woke me up. She handed out colouring pages and crayons to keep us occupied. She made a little speech and said that our illness will make us stronger people in the long run. I have no idea what she is talking about. After she left, Thelma said, “Honestly, can’t the woman see we are a bit old for colouring?” and Edna said, “Can’t the woman see that I can’t move my arms or fingers, so how I am supposed to colour?” Thelma told her perhaps she could use her tongue.
I think that was a joke. We all burst out laughing.
Thelma just asked me what I am always writing for. I told her it was my diary. She said I better not write about her. I crossed my fingers and said I wouldn’t. Edna said I could write anything I like about her.
Nineteen more days.
Sunday, October 17, 1937
This afternoon a minister came in to visit with us. He didn’t preach or anything, though he did say a prayer before he left the ward. I was glad because I thought he might want us to all try to walk. He just asked how we were doing and he was quite nice. I actually coloured my paper because there was nothing else to do. It must be extra awful for Edna, who can’t move anything. Maybe that is why she talks so much.
A thought: Maybe she talks like I write — to stop from being afraid.
She says she loves movies and had harboured hopes of one day being a movie star herself. I think she could have been because she is so pretty.
Supper was roast beef with beans and carrots and potatoes, and as it was Sunday, we also had peach pie. No peas. I ate everything.
Edna’s parents came to visit this evening, as they live here in Regina. Edna’s mother is as pretty as Edna, and she is very cheerful, and talked to all of us, but I noticed that when she looks at Edna, her eyes fill up with tears, though she quickly begins to laugh again. I am beginning to think that everyone has a way to not be afraid. I write in my diary, Edna talks, Thelma is mad all the time, and Edna’s mother laughs. Edna’s father works for the railroad. Edna said that they can go anywhere for free by train because of his job, and then she said that the very first place she’ll go when she walks again is to New York City or Hollywood. She said it like she was mad!
I wrote a letter home to Mother and Dad today. Mother gave me paper and four envelopes with stamps on them ready for mailing, and she had written our address on them so all I had to do was write a letter and the hospital would mail it to her. The girls found out I had Heidi with me and want me to read it to them before bed each night. Edna had read it before when she was younger, but Julie and Thelma had never heard it. Edna said it was good enough to hear over and over again.
> Eighteen more days.
Monday, October 18, 1937
I can’t believe it, but Julie and Thelma have never been to see a movie in their entire lives! They say they live too far away from anywhere with a movie house. Edna says they will never know that feeling of anticipation when the lights go down and the curtain is pulled aside and the movie screen lights up. She says it’s her most favourite feeling in the entire world.
So we told Thelma and Julie about some of the movies we had seen! Edna says her favourite is Top Hat with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. She loves the dancing. After she said that, we were all quiet for a few minutes because we knew none of us would likely be dancing up a storm anymore. Then I told them that my favourite movie is Poor Little Rich Girl with Shirley Temple. And then Edna said that Gary Cooper and Cary Grant (her favourite movie stars) are dreamy. That is Edna’s word for a good-looking boy. They’re dreamy or dreamboats.
Thelma has been here the longest. She was in the isolation part of the hospital when she was first ill, then on a convalescent ward, then here — and that was over six months ago! Edna came to this ward two weeks ago after being in the isolation ward for three weeks.
Monday, October 18, 1937, evening
It was a busy day today so this is the first I’ve had time to write in my diary. I had a leg and back massage today. It’s sort of embarrassing to lie naked on the table — except for my underpants — though I had a towel over my behind. Lillian massages much harder than Grandpa and Mother ever did, and she did my back, too. She said all the muscles are connected so they all have to be massaged. It hurt, but I didn’t cry. Julie and I got shown how to use wheelchairs, though we have to be tied in for the first few times so we don’t fall out and we can’t sit in them for too long. Lillian said we’d sit longer as we get stronger. We also got shown how to use the toilet, which has a bar right next to it that we can hold to keep upright and not fall off. Lillian said for the first little while we should have a nurse help us into our wheelchairs and onto the toilet. She said that soon we would be able to use the bathroom ourselves! I’m tired tonight.
Seventeen more days until I go home.
Tuesday, October 19, 1937
I was standing today! This morning Lillian took the splints off my legs and put leather and metal braces on them. They lock my knees and hold my legs straight. Then she pulled me to my feet. I held on to her like mad because my legs wobbled so badly, but I was standing — only for a few seconds, but for the first time since I got polio, I was standing! Edna and Julie cheered! I was grateful to flop back onto the bed, though — I was exhausted afterwards and slept all afternoon. Lillian said that being tired like that was normal because I was asking my body to work hard.
She wanted Thelma to try to stand up, but Thelma refused. Lillian said that she couldn’t help Thelma until Thelma wanted to be helped. Thelma just scowled.
Tuesday, October 19, 1937, evening
It gets darker much earlier now, right around suppertime, and that is when I feel the most lonesome and homesick. At first I couldn’t eat my supper because there was a big lump in my throat, but Thelma said to eat or they’d put a tube through my nose to my stomach and feed me. Edna told Thelma to be quiet and said that wasn’t true, but I ate my supper just in case it was.
Tonight the boys are racing their wheelchairs up and down the corridor. One boy wheeled right into our room and said hello and that his name was Henry. A nurse came immediately and shooed him out, as boys aren’t supposed to be in the girls’ rooms. They play catch with an old towel made into a football and are quite noisy about it until someone yells, “Quiet, she’s coming!” She is Head Nurse Stanfield. Her shoes squeak on the floor, so we know when she’s coming down the corridor and everyone is suddenly quiet. The student nurses are terrified of her. They scurry about and bump into each other when she stands in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest (she doesn’t have much chest as she is tall and skinny — I guess that’s rude, but it’s my secret diary, to say anything I want), and watches them as they change our bedding or give us a wash. She calls everybody “Miss,” even me. I’m “Miss Robertson.” She’s not mean to us, just strict, like the principal at school. One of the student nurses, who does not look much older than me, says that not a day goes by that Nurse Stanfield doesn’t make one of them cry. The student nurses and the nurses all live together in a residence next to the hospital.
Sixteen more days until I go home. I have to read Heidi now.
Wednesday, October 20, 1937
Again this morning, Lillian pulled me to my feet and after balancing me, she took her hands away for a few seconds and I was standing completely on my own. I wished Mother and Dad and Grandpa had been here to see. After she put me back in the bed, a man came by and measured me for crutches. Lillian said once the crutches are made, I might be able to take a few steps. A secret: Lillian told me this is how the American President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, gets around, though most people don’t know that, as he won’t let anyone take pictures of him in a wheelchair or with crutches.
She then showed me how to swing my legs around and lower myself into my wheelchair that is always beside my bed and then she went with me into the bathroom and showed me how to get on and off the toilet. She had to help me the first few times, but after a bit I could do it myself. Lillian said my arms are getting much stronger. I won’t have to use a bedpan anymore!
She tried again to get Thelma to stand, but she wouldn’t. I think Lillian is quite frustrated with Thelma.
A teacher came in this afternoon and tested me with some Spelling and Arithmetic questions. She said I am exactly where I should be for my age and grade, and said I must have a good teacher at my school in Saskatoon. I told her Grandpa used to be a high-school teacher and was tutoring me at home so I wouldn’t get behind.
Fifteen more days.
Thursday, October 21, 1937
I got the biggest surprise of my life. We were trying to get Edna to tell us about kissing a boy and suddenly a man walked in and it was Dr. Lear. He said, “How is the prettiest girl in Saskatoon doing?” I could feel my face get real hot. He said he came to Regina to see how the polio ward was set up and how the treatment was done, because he hopes to get a similar program started in Saskatoon. After he left, Edna said Dr. Lear was dreamy. I told her he already had a girlfriend in Saskatoon.
We are allowed to wear our own clothes in here and I just realized that Thelma has on the same skirt and blouse every day. Between our beds are little white cupboards where we keep our clothes and personal items, and one day when Thelma opened hers, I saw it was nearly empty. There were only a few pairs of underwear and a single nightgown. The nurses take our clothes to be washed once a week in the evening when we have our nightgowns on. I have two skirts and three blouses and my dress that Mother made me to travel to Regina, but I won’t wear it again until I go home, as it is too good. Edna has to wear a hospital gown and diaper type underpants because she is on a frame. She hates being changed like a baby and using a bedpan. Julie has two skirts and two blouses. They are a little big on her, so I think they are hand-me-downs like my clothes. Thelma must get tired of wearing the same things every day.
I stood by myself (Lillian was nearby) for two minutes today.
Fourteen days.
Friday, October 22, 1937
I told Thelma she could wear one of my blouses if she wanted and she got really mad at me. She said she didn’t need my charity. Now she won’t talk to any of us. We were a gloomy bunch today. Even the weather outside is grey and wet.
Edna had a little cry because she says she’ll never have any kind of a life tied to a frame. Julie and I are homesick. Tomorrow is Grandpa’s birthday. He is seventy-two years old. Ancient! I wrote him a letter on Monday and wished him a Happy Birthday. I wish I was home. I want to see the cake with seventy-two candles on it! I want it to be like it was before I got polio. I want to wake up one morning and find out it has all been a really bad dream.
&nbs
p; Edna just asked me to read from Heidi as it might help to cheer us up even though it’s afternoon and not bedtime.
Friday, October 22, 1937, evening
I just got a letter from home, and inside it were letters from the entire Grade Seven class that I will be in when I go back to school. They must have known I’d be homesick right about now. Everyone wrote something to me. It’ll take me all weekend to read them, so I read the ones from home first.
Edmund said school is boring. James said he was going to move into my room if I didn’t hurry up and come home. Mother has been putting up vegetables and fruit for the winter. She asked me how my tatting was coming along, which reminded me I haven’t worked on it once since I got here. Dad said he missed me, and Grandpa asked how my schooling was going and if I was reading the new books he gave me. I haven’t but I’ll write and tell him I’m reading Heidi to the girls. I didn’t know whether to be happy or cry after I read the letter. I told the girls that I’d been here an entire week and was going home in thirteen days. I stood for almost three minutes by myself today. Next week, Lillian says I can take a few steps and when I do, she’ll telephone Mother and tell her.
To Stand on My Own Page 7