The Road to Leadville

The Road to Leadville

Chapter 3
The Saturday night ritual was most painful for me, Mother would wash my hair and pin curl it, and get the turpentine out. She would scrub the stubborn tree sap from my hands and arms. “Barbara” she would scold “If you would stop climbing trees I would not have to scrub your arms so hard”
Mother tried desperately to make me a perfect looking lady for Sunday School and Church each Sunday. I dreaded this night more than any other.

Time passed all too quickly I turned five years old that June.
The aspen trees had begun to change to vibrant gold; the scrub brush had a tint of red to it now. School bells sounded for me as I joined the other kids and walked off to Kindergarten.
Susan was one year younger and was not old enough to go with me. I felt sad, as Susan watched from her front window. I would wave to her until I went around the corner and could not see her anymore.

I enjoyed school but I kept getting sore throats. I would remember mother putting her hand on my forehead and say as she shook her head back and forth “I guess you won’t be going to school today.” She would then tuck me back into the covers of my bed and go prepare breakfast for Karol, Paul and Coleen.

My kindergarten class was a blur that year. When I was able to attend I loved the story time and the finger painting. I quite enjoyed the squish of the paint between my fingers as I placed the different colors on the paper. I hated when I would get sick.
I remember going to the doctor’s office and getting shots every time I had a sore throat. The doctor said that something call a tonsil was making me ill.
Whatever this tonsil thing was I hated it. The only bright spot in this sore throat saga was Mother would buy me any kind of soda pop I wanted. We only got pop when we were sick or on a picnic. Still I did not feel like drinking much of it.

The last day of school arrived but I was not able to attend because once more I was stuck in bed. My throat was on fire and my head ached. I heard the doorbell ring as I lay on the bottom bunk of the bed I shared with Coleen.

I could tell that mother had let someone in the house and soon I heard footsteps coming down the hall. It was my teacher Mrs. Prtotzman. In her arms was a large box; I rose up on my elbow to get a better look. Mrs. Protzman sat down on the edge of my bed and asked me how I was. I don’t remember what I answered because I wanted to see what surprise awaited in the box. She placed the box on the floor and I peered into it. There were blue, red, yellow and green colored bottles of finger paint and a roll of paper to use for painting. “I know how much you enjoyed finger painting so I brought over what was left so you could paint during the summer.” Mrs. Protzman said. I was ready to hop right out of bed and start right then and there but mother said I had to wait. I did not even see mother in the room until that moment. Mrs. Protzman talked with me for a while said goodbye and walked back down the hall with mother. I put my hand into the box and felt the cool bottles. I hoped I had remembered to say thank you to Mrs. Protzman.
It was not long after the visit from my teacher that mother took me to the hospital called Saint Vincent’s. I had never been there before. It was a large brick building with pictures of Jesus and things on the wall. It had the same smell as the doctor’s office. A nurse with a long black skirt and black and white scarf on her head helped me get my pajamas on and settled into bed. She had a large cross around her neck; I watched it swing back and forth as she pulled my shirt off and dressed me in the bed cloths. It was strange to have my pajamas on in the middle of the day. I was not real sure why I was being made to go to bed in this strange place. Mother had explained that the doctor was going to get rid of the tonsils that hurt my throat all the time, and this is where he would do it. I looked around the room and saw a big steel crib with a small baby.

The baby’s legs had white things on them and were hung from a pole. The poor thing could only be positioned on its back. One of the arms had a white thing on it too.

The nurse in the black dress told me the white things on the baby were called casts and that the baby’s arm and legs were broken and this was a way to make them better. I just thought it was mean.

I continued my scan of the room I saw Jesus hanging on a cross, his face looked awful! My heart skipped as I looked at him. I was so afraid of this. Mother tried to comfort me and told me it was called a crucifix. I did not care what they called it; I had never seen Jesus look like this before. I had seen the cross at my church but it did not have Jesus on it. “Please don’t leave me here.” I whaled, but mother said she would be back soon and walked out the door. The nurse put the sides of my bed up and exited too. Anger began to well up in me. I was not a baby why did I have to have the sides up on the bed? I questioned.
My mother had left me, this was injustice! I threw myself back on my pillow in defiance, tears still streaming down my cheeks. I looked over my head and saw the crucifix again. I stopped crying and froze in fear on my bed. “Mother, please come back.” I whispered to myself.

Another big nurse in a black robe came back and took me for something called an x-ray and blood work. The x-ray was OK but I hated the blood work because they stuck a needle in my arm and took some of my blood! Why had Daddy let Mother bring me here I tried to figure out in my head?
When Mother returned to my hospital room she had lots of coloring books and things for me to play with. She also brought a toy for the baby on the other side of the room. She hung it on both sides of the crib so the baby could touch it with the good arm that it had. Mother spent too much time with that baby and I was jealous. I began to throw a fit by screaming and howling at the top of my lungs. I wanted her attention; after all it was because of her I was in this place. Mother scolded me for acting like this. “This little guy does not have a mother to come visit him.” She said. “He needs to feel special too.” Mother continued. She said a lot more stuff too and I felt bad that I had been resentful of the baby. I felt sorry for the little guy then.
Another nurse dressed in black brought me a tray of food and I got to eat it right there in the bed! This nurse was nicer than the other ones. I wondered why they all wore the same looking clothes.
I wondered about a lot of things.
Mother went away again but promised to be back early the next morning. I went to sleep with one eye on that crucifix above my head.
Mother did return and about the same time they gave me a shot in my bottom it hurt a lot but the next thing I remember was waking up much later. Mother was stroking my head and I had a real bad taste in my mouth. The room looked funny too, I could not see it as well as before, the figure of Jesus was still hanging above my bed but I did not care anymore.
Everyone kept offering me ice cream. I tried to eat it but my throat hurt and anyway it tasted funny! I think my Daddy was there too but I am not sure if I dreamed it or not.
Mother drove me home the next day. Boy was I happy to see my own room, my sisters Karol and Coleen and my brother Paul. It was good to be home!