Ruby Rose
Location: Canadian Prairies
In 1954, Jonas Salk began successfully vaccinating children against polio, thus lifting a great black cloud of fear from every home. Below is a true story prior to the discovery of Salk vaccine, recounted to me back in 1994, which I just had to commit to paper. It was read aloud by me at a Mennonite convention in Saskatchewan, Canada.
The year was 1949 and little Bobby had just turned eight years old. Bobby lived in a small house in a tiny town in Saskatchewan with his brother, mother and father. Outside, yet another winter storm was in progress and the thin flawed walls of the small house admitted unwelcome icy drafts of wind. One evening, during this wintry prairie gale, after listening to the blustering sounds of the cold wind and feeling the chill admitted by the frail housing, it was decided that perhaps it would be best for all to retire to their beds.
It was to be an unforgettable night for all. As in the middle of the night, little Bobby woke up with such severe head pain, he felt as if it would burst. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he twisted and turned his small head from side to side on his pillow trying to shake off the unrelenting pain. Then his chest started to hurt as well and he had difficulty breathing.
Bobby's mother sleeping in the next room separated from his only by a curtain on a rod, heard sounds of moaning and got up to check. She found little Bobby burning with fever - searching in vain for a cool spot on his pillow. It was assumed that he had contracted a cold. She sponged his little face, gave him a drink of water and went back to bed. The next morning, as Bobby was not at the breakfast table as yet, his dad went to check on him and found his son burning and delirious with fever. He called to his wife and said: "This is no ordinary cold, I am going to get the doctor!" And he did.
The weary town doctor took one look at little Bobby and he knew...as he had been called out several times now - late in the night for similar symptoms. The disease poliomyelitis had seeped in the small prairie town that year. At that time, little knowledge of this disease was known, therefore, there were no miracle drugs. One only did the best one could in keeping the patient comfortable by trying to abate the symptoms present.
The January wind whistled shrilly and entered through the window cracks bringing in an unwelcome yet welcome chill to Bobby's room as his fever raged on. Bobby's eyes - mere slits and out of focus - saw his mother, father and brother as shadows dancing in front of him. The town doctor visited constantly. But it was now believed by the doctor and the family that death had tip-toed in Bobby's room and lurked in the shadowy corners...waiting.
Then one night, Bobby's pet cat - a mouser - one of many - had slipped into Bobby's room and unbeknownst to the family, hopped onto his bed. In the night, Bobby woke up feeling a soft warmth sitting on his chest - loving and licking....accepting. Then, he drifted into a sound and peaceful sleep.
The next day, Bobby's breathing, to the astonishment of all, improved and his fever broke. Bobby opened his eyes and reached out to pet his cat. When his mother saw the cat, she became hysterical and said: "Get that filthy animal out of here - he belongs outside." Bobby tried to voice a plea to say: "No, no, mommy, the cat helped me get better." But his voice was still a mere whisper, thus, his plea fell on deaf ears and the cat was thrown out.
The doctor arrived and upon checking Bobby now pronounced him out of danger. He was amazed and couldn't understand what had happened. He was sure little Bobby would have died in the night...as had some of his previous cases. As the disease was known to attack the muscles of limbs, everyone waited to see how Bobby would fare. But other than feeling generally fatigued, no paralysis was noted and he was soon up and about.
When Bobby was stronger, he told his parents once more that his cat had made him better. It was then believed and the tale retold over and over again to neighbours and friends that a mere cat had lay on little Bobby and absorbed the killing fever.
The cat - a mouser - one of many - skulked away one day...shortly after...with trouble walking...perhaps to die...never to be seen again. Bobby was the only one who looked upon the cat as a pet and lavished love on it...paid in full!
Bobby grew up to be a strapping young man, left home and made his way in the world...and always retained a fondness for cats.
"A Friend in Need"
By Ruby Rose
By Ruby Rose
The year was 1949 and little Bobby had just turned eight years old. Bobby lived in a small house in a tiny town in Saskatchewan with his brother, mother and father. Outside, yet another winter storm was in progress and the thin flawed walls of the small house admitted unwelcome icy drafts of wind. One evening, during this wintry prairie gale, after listening to the blustering sounds of the cold wind and feeling the chill admitted by the frail housing, it was decided that perhaps it would be best for all to retire to their beds.
It was to be an unforgettable night for all. As in the middle of the night, little Bobby woke up with such severe head pain, he felt as if it would burst. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he twisted and turned his small head from side to side on his pillow trying to shake off the unrelenting pain. Then his chest started to hurt as well and he had difficulty breathing.
Bobby's mother sleeping in the next room separated from his only by a curtain on a rod, heard sounds of moaning and got up to check. She found little Bobby burning with fever - searching in vain for a cool spot on his pillow. It was assumed that he had contracted a cold. She sponged his little face, gave him a drink of water and went back to bed. The next morning, as Bobby was not at the breakfast table as yet, his dad went to check on him and found his son burning and delirious with fever. He called to his wife and said: "This is no ordinary cold, I am going to get the doctor!" And he did.
The weary town doctor took one look at little Bobby and he knew...as he had been called out several times now - late in the night for similar symptoms. The disease poliomyelitis had seeped in the small prairie town that year. At that time, little knowledge of this disease was known, therefore, there were no miracle drugs. One only did the best one could in keeping the patient comfortable by trying to abate the symptoms present.
The January wind whistled shrilly and entered through the window cracks bringing in an unwelcome yet welcome chill to Bobby's room as his fever raged on. Bobby's eyes - mere slits and out of focus - saw his mother, father and brother as shadows dancing in front of him. The town doctor visited constantly. But it was now believed by the doctor and the family that death had tip-toed in Bobby's room and lurked in the shadowy corners...waiting.
Then one night, Bobby's pet cat - a mouser - one of many - had slipped into Bobby's room and unbeknownst to the family, hopped onto his bed. In the night, Bobby woke up feeling a soft warmth sitting on his chest - loving and licking....accepting. Then, he drifted into a sound and peaceful sleep.
The next day, Bobby's breathing, to the astonishment of all, improved and his fever broke. Bobby opened his eyes and reached out to pet his cat. When his mother saw the cat, she became hysterical and said: "Get that filthy animal out of here - he belongs outside." Bobby tried to voice a plea to say: "No, no, mommy, the cat helped me get better." But his voice was still a mere whisper, thus, his plea fell on deaf ears and the cat was thrown out.
The doctor arrived and upon checking Bobby now pronounced him out of danger. He was amazed and couldn't understand what had happened. He was sure little Bobby would have died in the night...as had some of his previous cases. As the disease was known to attack the muscles of limbs, everyone waited to see how Bobby would fare. But other than feeling generally fatigued, no paralysis was noted and he was soon up and about.
When Bobby was stronger, he told his parents once more that his cat had made him better. It was then believed and the tale retold over and over again to neighbours and friends that a mere cat had lay on little Bobby and absorbed the killing fever.
The cat - a mouser - one of many - skulked away one day...shortly after...with trouble walking...perhaps to die...never to be seen again. Bobby was the only one who looked upon the cat as a pet and lavished love on it...paid in full!
Bobby grew up to be a strapping young man, left home and made his way in the world...and always retained a fondness for cats.
THE END
