We all have stories of trial and difficulty, and I had a spell of difficulty when a small boy—a medical condition.  I share this, because there are others in the midst of their own struggles—many far worse, and I thought they might relate in some small way.  And you know by now I like memories particularly those that have unusual strength.

To the best of my recollection, I was five or six when the “adventure” began.  It was close to the Christmas holiday season, and I was looking forward to what that special day would bring when what appeared to be a flu was beginning to take hold.  I’m sure we have all experienced the symptoms of fever, aches, and upset stomach which usually peak and then begin to subside after two or three days.  Though fortunately, I was not vomiting, my temperature continued to increase…102, 103, 104.  I remember being placed in a tub of ice and how I complained that it burned.  I remember chewable orange flavored children’s aspirin and not wanting even one more tablet.  I remember the stern faces borne of worry staring down at me.

In a time when going to doctor or hospital wasn’t routine, my parents and grandmother were doing everything they knew to do, but a very particular symptom developed which my mother, who had had some nurses’ training, found troubling—when I raised my head my feet involuntarily rose.  Mom immediately called the pediatrician and he said he would meet us at the emergency room as that symptom could mean I had spinal meningitis.

By this time, I was falling in and out of a fretful sleep and woke lying on a gurney with a nurse leaning over me explaining in a gentle yet firm voice that “I needed to stay stiff as a pretzel.”  She said this because I was about to have a spinal tap and if I moved during the procedure nerve damage could result.  I remember being shifted from gurney to stainless steel table that hurt like the ice had as my limbs contacted the cool surface.  Then the nurse who had advised how statuesque I must stay bent over me, encouraged a fetal like position, and held me firmly saying I was going to feel a “pinch”.  The needle designed to extract my spine’s fluid was then inserted in my back.  It was quite a pinch, but with nurse’s strong embrace to aid, I didn’t move.  Off to the lab my fluid traveled, and they found no meningitis but instead discovered strep that had gained a dangerous foothold.  I was put on a regiment of penicillin—the original wonder antibiotic.  Day after day I received injections in butt cheeks.  I recall each nurse asking which cheek I felt would elicit the least pain, but after a while it didn’t matter whether I chose left or right.

My parents visited each evening and sometimes at lunch as they had to work, but they brought me Christmas presents to make my stay easier.  Colorforms were among my favorites.  For those unfamiliar with this pre-smartphone simple toy, it consisted of several sheets of thin pliable plastic made-up of printed cut-out characters and cut-out articles of all manner.  They were easily separated from sheet and applied to a stylized scene.  My memory may not be perfect in this regard, but in my mind, I see views of city streets, circus rings, farm landscapes and the like.  I would immerse myself creating custom worlds by positioning and repositioning these cut-outs until everyone and everything had its proper place.

After I had eaten my dinner, I was given a banana and a glass of chocolate milk.  I learned to like that combination and looked forward to it.  Today I rarely eat sundaes, but I occasionally enjoy ice cream topped with banana and chocolate sauce or hot fudge and I attribute this to those evening snacks.

Though I was only in hospital for a few weeks the evenings grew more difficult to endure as a loneliness would set in when the lights were extinguished and the floor quieted.  Mom and dad’s voices had long faded, and I had finished my banana dessert leaving only dark room and me.  I suppose even at my young age I knew I craved normalcy, a desire for the familiar—I wanted to be home in my own bed close to parents and siblings.

When the doctors were deciding whether I was fit for discharge I was instructed to walk up and down a long corridor.  They wanted to see if my trauma had caused permanent damage as they said my fever reached 106 degrees Fahrenheit and there can be repercussions to the brain.  Mom thought I was walking abnormally and perhaps she detected something that had changed, I don’t know.  Later in life I had health problems that my physician thought could have resulted from my battle with strep, though he said it was difficult to absolutely confirm.  What I do know is by God’s grace and by the love of family and by the skill of a medical staff I survived, and I raise head each morning without my feet obligatorily following suit.