Quarantined

This pandemic has aspects which are unprecedented, but memories of the Polio Epidemic are returning to me.

In late fall of 1947, just after starting first grade, I was quarantined. 

Dr. Karrer, a very tall, distinguished man, always in a suit and tie with his large black bag at his side, came down our front stairs. His eyes were focused straight ahead and he did not see me shyly standing below in the living room doorway. Following him came the two men in white, a wheeled stretcher between them, and then my mother. As they all hurried out the door, getting into the awaiting ambulance, I silently shed a few tears. 

A kind lady leaned down and whispered into my ear, “you must be sad to see your sister sick and going to the hospital.” I nodded, but I did not know what was happening with my sister, and as she was surrounded by the men, I did not see her on the stretcher. I did not tell the nice lady that my tears were because my mother was leaving me.

The memory is vivid; the uniformed Public Health nurse, large and imposing, hammering a big red sign on the screened door, right in front of us. She saw my older brother (12 going on 13) and me (just turned 6) standing behind the screened door, but said nothing to us. Just pounded the nail in the door, turned and hurriedly walked off, as if frightened or angry. 

For the next three weeks, I did not see or hear from anyone outside of our immediate family.

Mother and father came and went, father to work and mother to the hospital. I think my mother visited the children’s hospital almost everyday until my sister came home 4 months later.

I could not read yet, and the Victrola console sitting in our living room was only for the grown ups. It was a silent time. My brother lived in his world, and I lived in mine.

I guess I was scared and lonely, but as no one talked to me about any of it, have never thought of it that way. Just soldiered on, grateful for the many blessings of my life.