I have been asked to explore some other methods of telling my story besides the blog and poetry. So I have attempted to put a few memories down on paper. This will be a 2 part read since it has many more words than most blog posts ever attempt.

At age three I broke my thigh playing with my sister and her older friends in a neighbor’s driveway. They were doing Double Dutch jump rope where they swing two ropes simultaneously in opposite directions and you jump in on the side of one of the rope turners. (See photo above.) The girls let me try. I broke my leg. Obviously, way too complicated a sport for a 3-year-old.  Someone ran to my house and told mom. She came to get me.

We rode to Good Samaritan hospital from Loveland to Clifton in the car. I was in the back seat. I only remember someone lifted me into the back seat. There were no freeways then. No idea how long it took us to get to Good Samaritan. I was taken to that hospital because my Dad was already admitted there with a heart attack. 

The hospital doctors decided to put my leg in traction for six weeks to heal. I suppose they numbed my leg or more likely put me to sleep when they set my leg?  I have no memory of that. When they put me in traction, I do remember being furious that they put me in diapers. I was so insulted. I was certainly fully potty trained! It was hot and there was no air conditioning. My long dark hair was cut off in a short choppy bob. Below is a photo of me in traction, hair cut short and sweating. Once while I was asleep, the staff brought my meal. When I awoke the milk was no longer cold. I loved cold milk. My mother obtained a glass of ice and poured my milk over it. I was so angry. I had never had milk like that. Could be I was a 3-year-old brat? Or simply confused and frustrated at my new situation.

One day during my stay they rolled my bed into the room where my dad was a patient. It was such an unusual situation for a young child. I do remember he talked with me and our hands touching.

Someone came to visit and brought me a white stuffed dog that I named Casey. He had a metal nose (which at age 73 I still have). His ears seemed to be made from real fur, sort of like a curly tanned hide. The rest of him was a stuffed white dog shape. Someone else brought me Brach’s cream filled Royal caramel rolls in a metal can. To this day I use that can for candy. Once I saw the same can used as a prop in a movie!

I do not remember there being a television in my room. I am certain televisions were not standard equipment in 1954. Certainly, no computer tablet to play upon. I might have tried to color, but lying down that would have been difficult! Hopefully someone read me stories.

After six weeks, my leg was put in a cast. I do remember being alone with the Sisters of Charity when they decided it was time to cast my leg. Somewhere to my side, across the room, there was a sink. Men in white coats came towards me with large white steaming sheets. I had no idea what those were. I was so frightened. Those men began to wrap my leg in the warm plaster preparation. The nuns comforted me. I left that hospital wanting to be a nun. I have no idea where my mother was during the casting. Perhaps she was not allowed in the treatment room? Maybe she was with my dad in the cardiac unit? All I do know is that the nuns (in full habits) comforted me. I went home in the cast.

I left the hospital wanting to be a nun. My parents bought me a Nun doll for Christmas. I have her tiny rosary in my keepsake cabinet. When I chose to be baptized my mother forbid me to become a Roman Catholic. She said my grandfather, a Methodist minister, would roll over in his grave. I eventually joined the Episcopal church. They came closest to what I felt was true worship. Also, as close as you can get to being a Catholic but without the Pope and such strong emphasis on Mary.

It must have been difficult for my mom to care for me, especially while my dad recovered from yet another heart attack. I do know we had a babysitter named Myrtle. Towards the end of her life, she wanted to see my sister and me one more time. She visited us because she was dying of cancer. She gave my sister and me a tiny white New Testament and signed it “Love, Myrt and Gerald.” My first and at times best New Testament! I still have it and use it occasionally.

I have no memory of the doctor or a tech taking me out of the cast. I do not remember any kind of physical therapy. I do remember the doctor talking with my mother about fears that one leg would be shorter than the other.

Part Two on Wednesday will complete the story!