There is something about being unhealthy physically that makes one revert back to being about 5 or 6 years old.
I use the term physically unhealthy because if I were not to do so, this little dissertation would have to include the mentally unhealthy. The reader has not that much reading time to spare, nor do I have that much writing time left in my life to write on that topic to do it adequate justice; even if I were to limit the discussion just to my own personal experience.
Illness was quite common in my growing up years as I did not receive immunizations for measles, mumps, or chicken pox because none had yet been developed. Indeed polio was still a distinct possibility for someone from my generation until that precious little pink drop was given out during the mass oral vaccine clinic held at the Town Hall in the early 1960s.
So being ill and lying quiet while the world turns around me due to fever, pain, or nausea is not something that is foreign to my experience. But what is foreign is that when I am experiencing any of these symptoms my mother is not there to relieve them.
My mother was the BEST when any of her children were sick. She had the innate understanding of what it would take to make an ill child feel just that little bit more comfortable and cozy. Fresh crisp linen on the bed with a fluffed and turned pillow, along with clean pajamas waiting to change in to after a night of feverish sweating* were just a few of the sick luxuries one enjoyed. Snacks and meals served on a tray would include special dishes from the china cabinet. Toast with jam would be cut up into 1/8ths in restaurant type triangles. There would be jello or ice cream along with easily digested vanilla wafer cookies. Sore throats were cooled with a glass of the rarely tasted Apple Juice.
Bibs and towels, along with baskets and 'calling' bells were bedside ready for any unforeseen incident. The 'sick' would be preciously tucked into mama's bed just down the hall from the kitchen where one would be easily accessible if one called out. I can remember hearing the MixMaster running as the radio played in a distance while Mom went along her busy rural 1950's housewife duties, made busier by my presence in her bed.
I say that Mom had an 'innate' understanding of being able to make a sick child feel well, but actually that isn't the truth. My mother had this understanding because she, herself, had spent 10 months in hospital suffering from a severe accidental scalding received at the age of 9 during the early 1930s. This accident placed her life in jeopardy more than once over that time.
She carried the scar from that experience on her left arm for the rest of her life, but just as the hot water seared her skin, I believe it was the devoted and caring life saving nursing that she received while in Brandon General Hospital that gave her the ability to care and nurse her own children.
I hope I was able to tap into a little of Mom's nursing ability whenever my own children suffered through broken bones, fevers, sprains, pneumonia, and allergic reactions. They should be grateful that I did, however, shy away from mustard plasters and the Vick's On Sock Wrapped Around Neck cures.
The smearing of Vicks on a grey sock and wrapped around a child's neck while pinned in place at the back was believed to be therapeutic in treating soar throats, colds and sniffles when a child would finally be sent back to school. It more likely simply contributed to the disease not spreading as no one would approach the wearer due to the warning odor which accompanied the neck decor.
*This was in the days when clean PJ's were usually only allowed once a week as time washing with a wringer washer and cistern rain water were premium commodities in rural Saskatchewan.
I use the term physically unhealthy because if I were not to do so, this little dissertation would have to include the mentally unhealthy. The reader has not that much reading time to spare, nor do I have that much writing time left in my life to write on that topic to do it adequate justice; even if I were to limit the discussion just to my own personal experience.
Illness was quite common in my growing up years as I did not receive immunizations for measles, mumps, or chicken pox because none had yet been developed. Indeed polio was still a distinct possibility for someone from my generation until that precious little pink drop was given out during the mass oral vaccine clinic held at the Town Hall in the early 1960s.
So being ill and lying quiet while the world turns around me due to fever, pain, or nausea is not something that is foreign to my experience. But what is foreign is that when I am experiencing any of these symptoms my mother is not there to relieve them.
My mother was the BEST when any of her children were sick. She had the innate understanding of what it would take to make an ill child feel just that little bit more comfortable and cozy. Fresh crisp linen on the bed with a fluffed and turned pillow, along with clean pajamas waiting to change in to after a night of feverish sweating* were just a few of the sick luxuries one enjoyed. Snacks and meals served on a tray would include special dishes from the china cabinet. Toast with jam would be cut up into 1/8ths in restaurant type triangles. There would be jello or ice cream along with easily digested vanilla wafer cookies. Sore throats were cooled with a glass of the rarely tasted Apple Juice.
Bibs and towels, along with baskets and 'calling' bells were bedside ready for any unforeseen incident. The 'sick' would be preciously tucked into mama's bed just down the hall from the kitchen where one would be easily accessible if one called out. I can remember hearing the MixMaster running as the radio played in a distance while Mom went along her busy rural 1950's housewife duties, made busier by my presence in her bed.
I say that Mom had an 'innate' understanding of being able to make a sick child feel well, but actually that isn't the truth. My mother had this understanding because she, herself, had spent 10 months in hospital suffering from a severe accidental scalding received at the age of 9 during the early 1930s. This accident placed her life in jeopardy more than once over that time.
She carried the scar from that experience on her left arm for the rest of her life, but just as the hot water seared her skin, I believe it was the devoted and caring life saving nursing that she received while in Brandon General Hospital that gave her the ability to care and nurse her own children.
Brandon General Hospital circa 1930
*This was in the days when clean PJ's were usually only allowed once a week as time washing with a wringer washer and cistern rain water were premium commodities in rural Saskatchewan.
Patient: "Nurse, I just swallowed my pillow!"
Nurse: "How do you feel?"
Patient: "A little down in the mouth."
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