When Mom was in the Hospital

Mom was not a healthy person.  By the time I joined the family, she was very overweight, diabetic and hypertensive.  Like her younger brother Dick, she had a tendency towards blood clots and what she called, "bad circulation."  She had to be hospitalized at least a couple of times in the mid-sixties for blood clots in her legs.

Back in those days, children were not allowed to visit in the hospital.  It was scary and strange to not have mother at home. I remember one particular time when she was in the hospital.  I was about 4 or 5 years old.  Lynda actually took me to the hospital and since I couldn't go inside, we stood on the grass outside the tall building.  Lynda told me to look up very high. Sure enough, there was Mom in the window waving at us.  It made me feel so much better to see her, even if it was a great distance up.

The one good thing about not having Mom at home was that I was able to spend some time with Dad.  He read me the newspaper funnies and did the daily kids word puzzle with me. For breakfast, he had two menu choices:  We would have either:  Pancakes with butter, syrup and sugar, or White bread broken up into pieces, tossed in a bowl, splashed with milk and sprinkled with sugar. You had to eat the latter really quickly, before it turned into a soppy sugary mess. Dad set up blocks all over the living room with me, and he sat me up on his huge garage workbench and gave me nuts and bolts and other things for me to play with while he worked on his projects.  He was a kind and patient man when Mom was in the hospital.

One night during one of Mom's hospitalizations, I woke up late at night from a nightmare.  I left my room and wandered down the hall, making a right turn into the kitchen.  It was very dark, with just a tiny night light making the kitchen a shadowy grey instead of completely black.  There was a big water cooler on the kitchen counter near the sink, where Mom dumped bottles of Pure-Flo Distilled water.  She covered the opening on top with a plate, and then kept her ripe bananas in a basket on top of the plate.  And even though it was a familiar object, present since I joined the family, the silhouette it created in the dark was terrifying.  I was certain it was an enemy robot.

Look behind my head and you will see what I thought was a monster robot 6 years earlier. The basket in right upper corner usually held bananas and sat on top of the cooler.  I don't know why there is a wax paper dispenser up there in this photo

I immediately launched into what my father termed a "blood curdling scream," which brought him running out of his bedroom.  He flipped on the overhead light.  Big black roaches, who had been roaming around on the floor, went skittering under the sink to escape the light.  Dad picked me up and asked me what had happened.  Through my hysterical sobs, I told him about the nightmare and about the monster robot in the kitchen.  He wiped away my tears, sat me up on the counter and had me pour a cup of water from the cooler.  When I was calmed down, he told me I just needed a little something in my tummy and then I would be able to sleep.  Setting me back on the floor, he told me to go to the cupboard and select whatever I wanted from our collection of canned goods.  I picked out the Princella candied yams.  He opened the can, dumped the yams in a little metal sauce pan, heated them on the stove, and served me up a few pieces.   Then he sat with me while I ate.  I was able to go back to sleep and never had a fear of robots again. And to this day, candied yams are my ultimate comfort food.

And here is a great memory from Lynda:

"Jeff was just a baby when Mom got another bad blood clot in her leg.  She went to the hospital and was there for a week. They put her in a bed and placed cold compresses around her legs.  The compresses were made of pale green heavy rubber and contained some kind of squishy jell material that froze up quickly when placed in the freezer.  Mom missed baby Jeff and was afraid he would forget her.  It was the mid 60's, and little kids under the age of 12 were not allowed to visit patients. Mom pleaded with them to make an exception, but they would not. Jeff was a very sensitive and sweet boy, and he really missed Mom and wanted to see her too.   I had to do something.

Dad, Tammy and Baby Jeff, in 1966, around the time of Mom's hospitalizations.

Well, I came up with an idea that I was going to try. Security was not a factor at hospitals back then.  They didn't have all the security guards walking around like they do now.  So I thought my idea would work.  I got a big strong cardboard box, just big enough for Jeff to fit into.  In the living room, we played with it, I put him in the box and let him play inside it.  I told him if he wanted to see Mom, he would have to stay in the box and not make a sound.  And then we practiced.  I told him to keep very quiet no matter what sounds he heard until I said "NOW." And then when he heard that word, he could stand up in the box.  I told him this was the only way he would be able to see Mom in the hospital and if he didn't do exactly what I told him, he could not go.  After practicing many times, I felt he was ready.

I decorated the box with a big homemade bow and drove to the hospital with Jeff and the box.  After parking the car, I put little Jeff in the box, reminded him to be very quiet, and carried the "gift" into the hospital, onto the elevator, and down the corridor, past the nurses station and orderlies, until I got to Mom's room.  Jeff was quiet as a mouse the whole time.  Mom looked up when I entered her room.  And then I said, "NOW!"  Right on cue, little Jeff stood up, pushing the lid up.  Mom and Jeff were ecstatic.  And then a nurse walked in.  After freezing with a look of shock on her face, her expression softened.  She briefly smiled, then said, "I am going to turn around and walk out of here, and the box better be gone by the time I get back." Mom hugged and kissed little Jeffrey.  They had a sweet reunion, and both felt better.  Jeff didn't want to get back inside the box, but he did.  Mom, being her typical self, took advantage of the smuggling situation by placing one of the hospital's rubber cold compresses in the box for me to smuggle out with Jeff so she would have a way to treat her sore legs at home. Wonder what ever happened to that compress bag?"

Thanks Lynda!  I do remember those green compresses.  Mom had 4 or 5 of them in the freezer even to the day she died in 1986!   They were perfect for icing my injured knees and sore back, and I took them to live in my own freezer into the 90s.  At that point,  I loaned them to my husband's parents and I never saw them again.