Chapter 12 My Grand Opening

Chapter 12

My Grand Opening

By 1958 I had already earned most of the money for my seat on the charter plane by working at the Nursing Home and baking and knitting. When I became ill and was rushed to the hospital, all my savings went on the hospital bill. Doctor John Faust suspected I had bulbar polio, and the staff at Fort Dodge Lutheran hospital had been alerted to get an iron lung out of mothballs for my arrival. A medical team was in readiness to give me a lumbar puncture. Dr Faust drove me to the hospital in his car.

It was not polio! A large, angry Bartholin cyst, which felt like the size of a football, was causing most of the infection throughout my system keeping my temperature and blood pressure accelerated and causing some concern. It took six days to get both my temperature and blood pressure stabilized and by then, after many tests, they had found I needed surgery for four different problems: the obvious one, the cyst; repairs to the cervix and an umbilical hernia. The fourth problem was an afterthought. It was suggested that ‘during surgery for the hernia it would be a simple matter to also remove the appendix’.

“Of course, Doctor! As long as you’re in the neighbourhood!” (I must be losing my touch; nobody thought that was very funny.) My appendix had flared up many times since I was 15 years of age, but none of the doctors in Australia would operate unless it was about to burst. The worst attack I ever had was on the war brides’ ship as we went under the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Several of the girls wanted to get the ship’s doctor, but I wouldn’t let them in case they put me off the ship.

Two days before surgery I was feeling great, well enough to go home. I was joking with the new surgeon who had recently joined the staff at the Lutheran Hospital - I was to be his first surgical patient. “Well, Doctor! After my surgery, I am going to serve coffee and doughnuts for my grand opening. It’s not often one can get four for the price of one!” The doctor turned to Bill, patted him on the back and walked him to the door. “I bet she leads you a merry chase, Bill!”

“Could you do me a favour Doctor?” Bill asked seriously.

“Of course, Bill! You name it - just tell me what you need.”

“When you have Ruth on the operating table, could you reach up and pull her tongue back in a couple of inches?” They walked down the corridor in a jovial mood, at my expense!

The announcement of the free doughnuts and Bill’s request for a shorter tongue went all over the hospital, and several doctors, nurses and patients came to my bedside to collect their free treats after I came out of surgery. They also asked me to poke out my tongue, as they wanted to measure it. When the clamps were ready to be removed, my surgeon arrived with two nurses carrying a rusty pliers and screwdrivers. They never let up! I just wanted to be left alone!

Children were not allowed to visit in the hospital at that time, because of a recent spread of infection, but I insisted Bill bring the children the following day so I could talk to them through the ward window. I hadn’t seen them in over two weeks and was missing them desperately.

It so happened that my ward was right above the main entrance. Billy called out loudly while an audience of onlookers gathered for the entertainment. “Mom! Are going to bring home a new baby? I would rather have a puppy!” One of the nurses pushed me in a wheelchair around to the chapel so I could see the children one at a time. Janis hung back, afraid to touch me in case something fell off.

“You won’t break will you, Mom?” Janis was excellent medicine for me. But, oh! It did hurt to laugh!

I hugged her as tightly as I could; Janis, our baby, was growing up. She had outgrown the habit of stripping off of all her clothes and wallowing in the mud puddles in the front of the house. The neighbours were amused at Janis’s strange behaviour, but it made me wonder what was in our genes to make our daughter behave in such a fashion. We did laugh about it often.

We proved that laughter was the best medicine. I told the staff at Fort Dodge Lutheran Hospital as I was leaving, that I would miss them all very much and I hoped I would never see them again. Jerilyn and Diane were the best nurses I could wish for when I returned home. Being the eldest, Jerilyn took charge, while Diane complained that her sister was too bossy and made her work too hard.

During my recovery, I continued writing short stories and my monthly column, Up From Down Under. I received letters from several Australian girls saying they didn’t marry rich American serviceman and they couldn’t afford to go home for a visit. If we could get a charter plane, then the cost would be two thirds of the full commercial fare. At that time it was only at the talking stage, with an airline that showed some interest. The Aussie girls’ problems became my problems as I read their letters from my overstuffed postal box. I wanted so much to be able to help them. Like me, they were in a low-income bracket and couldn’t afford to make the trip to Australia without earning it themselves. Hoping to inspire them I told them about some of the things I was doing to earn my fare; baking cookies, cakes, making jelly and jams, baby sitting, knitting, sewing and creating gift ideas.

Writing at my desk, a favourite spot facing the window, I shut out the noise of Billy and Janis playing on the floor behind me, and gave my full attention to the column. Under a heading dated November 1957, I started a story about selling Fashion Frocks from Cincinatti, Ohio, hoping some of my ideas would rub off on the Aussie girls. As a helpful suggestion where young families needed consideration, I put forward the idea of a house party where their friends could get-together, choose from the catalogues and place an order for the various garments offered.

Jerilyn and Diane were in school; I put Janis down for her nap and resumed my writing.