Polio

ACCEPTANCE COMES SLOWLY    By Jonnie Sue Gillum Willis
     My sister, Jonnie, who I always think of as the Angel of Fourche Valley, tells in her own words of the struggle to save her life when Polio hits. Jonnie lived a full life, raising two fine girls and teaching young children for 30 years. Her determination drove her to find a way to do whatever needed to be done. In her book, I read " I always thought I was weaker that anyone else." I was shocked. Growing up 12 years behind Jonnie, I always thought she was the strongest person I had ever known. I still do.
Sadly, we lost Jonnie to Post Polio Syndrome a few years ago. Those breathing muscles, regenerated many years ago while she was in the Iron Lung, finally gave out. Jonnie was a blessing to our family, and everyone around her.

     " My parents, and my two older brothers and I lived with my Grandma Gillum until I was four and a half years old. From the start, I was the family weaklin'. They tell me that Grandma rocked me in her lap as long as she could hold me. Then I sat beside her as long as there was space. I remember rocking so hard in my own chair that I turned over. This girl might have been sickly, but determination led her to pick up the chair and ride it to many big towns which were foreign to my country environment.

     It seems that I had tonsulitis very often. The doctor never considered  me well.enough to remove my tonsils, until I was grown. Because of my weaknesses, I had to take many medications. Many months of my fifth grade year were spent in bed. I had some problem with my heart, and the doctor advised complete bed rest. Santa Clause Brought my gifts to my bedside table that year.

     Because of my frailty, Mom insisted  that I wear long handles and long stockings to school. My first grade picture reveals my rebellion. The stockings are rolled down and the long handles are rolled up.

     Several months of my first grade year I had to stay home battling bronchitis and tonsulitis. By that time, I was so caught up in the magic of reading, writing, and arithmetic that I kept up with my school work at home. School was such a joy.

     As I reached those pre-teen years, I felt it necessary to play as rough as my brothers and sisters. We would ride homemade carts with blinding speed down hills, played in the creek, built playhouses around trees, played ball, rode bushes to the ground, swung on grapevines, and climbed every tree in our yard.

    

     From a very young age, I struggled to get a squeaking sound from our worn-out pump organ. Then one day, I succeeded. That was it! I wanted to play the piano. Of course that was out of the question. We couldn't afford to buy a piano, and there was no piano teacher available in our small rural town of Wing. That didn't keep me from dreaming. I walked around playing the notes with my fingers in the air. One day I found an advertisement for music lessons by correspondence. I begged and pleaded and continued to play in the air until my Dad finally found an old piano that he could afford. Then he agreed to order 12 of the 96 lesson correspondence course. After he saw how faithfully I practiced, how hard I worked, he ordered the remaining lessons.I could picture myself as a famous musician, music teacher, or at least a church pianist. (This was a major, major concession for Dad, coming at about the time the sharecroppers notes were being paid off, many years after the Depression had ended - for others.) 


      In January of 1946, I accepted Christ as my Savior. I was on top of the world. I just knew I'd outgrown the health problems and live happily ever after. Ours was a very busy life, and I always enjoyed my part in our many jobs to be done. When a new brother, Pat, arrived I learned to help with the cooking, housework, food preservation, gardening, etc. I continued to make time for those all-important piano lessons for one year. That's when my world came tumbling down.

     The pain in my neck began on a hot, dry August day in 1946 when I was 13. My right arm was weak. Mom insisted that I rest while she, Jan, and Barbara continued to carry water from the creek, bringing it up the hill to water the flowers. (Mom always kept a variety of pretty flowers around the house, and always made time to care for them.) I insisted on carrying a bucket after they got it in the yard. I never realized that this would be the last thing my right arm and hand would ever do.

     The next day, I was in bed, in pain, with total paralysis in this arm and hand. My entire body grew weaker as I lay in bed for three days. The country doctor had never seen a case, but he suspected polio.(That country doctor was uncle Arthur) My parents hired a neighbor to take us to a doctor in Russellville. In a short time, he headed us to the University Hospital in Little Rock.After the painful spinal tap, my diagnosis of polio was confirmed. My memory left me after I was rolled through a door with a sign which read, "Isolation Ward - No Admittance." I was put to bed, unconscious, on a Saturday afternoon.

     By Tuesday morning, the doctor felt sure that I'd never survive, so he allowed Mom to put on a mask, a gown, and gloves to visit me. Evidently this was the turning point, because I remember the tears flowing as I opened my eyes and saw her. I couldn't talk because of a tube through my nose to my stomach. Also, my entire body except my head was in an iron lung. I can still hear the laborous sound as it forced my lungs to breathe. Since I am a very modest person, I still remember the embarassment as the doctor came to check on me daily, housed in this respirator for a week, no gown or covering was placed over my naked body. The pain in my neck had intensified because of the rubber collar surrounding it. I still have a scar from the irritation of that collar..

     Gradually, I learned to breathe without help. Then I was placed on a firm bed with no pillow. My left hand, eyes and mouth were all that moved above my waist. Both arms were tied above my head at night. Later, I learned this was to help my lungs expand.

     Two weeks after the initial attack, I was moved to Children's hospital. There was my Dad outside that isolation ward. He had spent many hours there the past two weeks. Tears of joy flowed from my eyes as he rode in the ambulance across town with me. During all this time to save my life, no brush or comb had ever touched my hair. It was matted, tangled, and dirty. I felt like a mess, but I was alive! As soon as they had me in bed one nurse shampooed and brushed my hair. After a bath I began to feel much better.

       Now the real workout began. The heat packs felt good to my sore, stiff muscles. Slowly, the physical therapy began to loosen my limbs. Strength gradually returned, and I couldn't wait to be on my feet again. I can still see the frightened shock on the nurse's face the first day I put one foot against the side of my bed and raised myself up. She was afraid I would fall flat on my face, but I didn't! From that day on, I began to experiment to see what I could do. Many days, planning creative ways to do simple daily tasks was half the challenge. There was no time to say "I can't". The act of sitting up in a wheelchair one afternoon was one of the hardest tasks I ever accomplished. I gradually relearned to walk, feed myself, and to write in manuscript with my left hand  (before polio, I was right handed.) Soon I was able to help other girls, and I felt like the most blessed girl in the ward.

     After three months I was fitted with brace around my body which held my right arm out and up. "Oh please, don't make me wear this out in public," were my thoughts as the nurse strapped it on. The Barnum and Bailey Circus had come to Little Rock and the nurse was taking some of us. "You might as well wear this and start getting used to the public," she said as we left the hospital. After I began to enjoy my first circus, I soon forgot how I looked.

    Just before Thanksgiving the doctor said I could go home. My dreams of going home and starting to school in the 8th grade had kept me going all those sleepless nights in the hospital. Dad came on the bus to get me. Normally the bus didn't come by our house. However, the driver made an exception and took us to our driveway. Seeing my home again and my family running to meet us brought tears of joy. I was a survivor, and I was home!"