POLIO
August 15, 1929

On August 15, each year, you did not speak to my mother, as this was
a day she loathed and would withdraw to her room. This was the day
that had ruined her plans of college and a life with choices for
happiness. This was the day she relinquished the ability to run with
the wind, to swim with her friends, to come and go when ever and
where ever she pleased. This was the day that made my mother bitter
on life.

The story, that I was told, was she was packing for her Freshman year
at the University of Connecticut. She and her friends had a picnic
down at the river the day before. There was lots of food, some
beverage, swimming, and good camaraderie, as each one there was about
to embark on their life's journey. This is why she thought it was
the picnic that made her feel ill that night. In the early hours she
woke her uncle, as she had a horrible headache. The pain was severe
and she was scared. Her uncle was a doctor, and she had been living
with him and his sister for several years. August 15th was the day
she was taken to the Waterbury Hospital and they diagnosed her as
having polio. That was where she stayed for many months. Most of the
time there consisted of routine care. Since she could not move her
arms, a priest made it a point to sit by her bed every noon and feed
her, her uncle came every evening. Gradually she learned to move
her arm to her mouth and could take a bite if someone put the food on
the spoon for her. She told of the Sister Kenny treatments that were
used on her legs with warm towels, peanut oil and massage. Then,
after several months, came the long leg braces and crutches. When she
returned home, the rest, therapy and time would finally allow her to
again be mobile and basically independent, that is as independent as
one can be with braces and crutches.

Life progressed, nine years later she married my father. They had
met in school and both worked on the school paper, she writing poetry
and my father writing the editorials. Then my arrival. The baby
pictures and pictures of my early years never showed my mother's
braces or crutches. "I would not allow any pictures taken of me
unless someone put those crutches out of sight." She had given up
wearing the braces, before my birth.

In her later years she became an occupational therapist and worked
with young people with disabilities, teaching them tasks like
printing names on napkins and match books and simple lacing of
leather book marks. As other tasks came into the rehab center, she
would guide the workers on how to do them according to their
ability. That was what she excelled at, adapting a task to be done
in an alternative manner. This was the gift that she left me, a gift
that will make my years with PPS more tolerable. Though my mother
always remained bitter from having Polio, because of her, I have
learned that polio is just something to make one find another way to
do the things you want in life. "Sorry mom, in my life there is no
time to be bitter, but thanks for the life's lesson." by Julie Lahr