Green Smarties

The other day on television I saw a very interesting documentary about the first polio vaccines developed in the 1950s. This brought back vivid memories for me of when I was four years old.

I had a very high fever and no-one was quite sure what was going on. It was a hot summer and I lay on a canvas camp bed – left over from the 2nd World War – out in the garden in the shade of a tall cedar tree, and waited for the specialist to call.

The woman specialist told my parents I must be isolated immediately as the result of some tests had shown that I had diphtheria plus it would appear polio at the same time. It was 1947 and the beginning of a polio epidemic in Bournemouth.

I shall never forget the ambulance man sweeping me up into his arms to take me out to the waiting ambulance. I even remember saying ‘I am so excited I’ve never been in an ambulance before’ and in my innocence I was expecting it to be just a trip out and that I would be back home the same day.

The reality was that for 8 weeks I lay flat on my back in the isolation unit at Gloucester Road, unable to move and paralysed from the neck down. Fortunately polio had not paralysed my diaphragm so I did not have to be in an iron lung. Even so it was a lonely and frightening experience. My parents and brother were only allowed to visit once a week, and then they could only look through a glass window at me. No communication. I longed to be held. I could not take any of my trusted toys with me as they would have to be burnt for fear of infection. My mother used to make me little dolls out of wool that could be dispensed with without too much emotion. My imagination was my companion and I made up stories in my head.

I remember to this day the smell of tea being given to me from the aluminium feeding cup shaped like a small teapot as I lay helpless on my back.

I also remember two nurses. One – who I always called Nurse Giraffe (her real name a mystery to me) was kind and gentle. The other – whose name I never remembered – was unkind and rough. She used to say to me ‘not crying again are you Mary?’ I was four, paralysed, frightened and missing my family terribly. I just wanted to go home.

My Doctor was a brilliant man – Dr. Hyman – he was an Austrian refugee who had escaped the Nazis. Kind and clever he kept an eye on me and all the other patients. However, he had to ensure that my home was fumigated to eliminate any possibility of transfer of either virus, and he had to make sure that the family were immunised against diphtheria. The polio vaccine did not exist at that time. My brother was kept off school and used to sit in an oak tree in the garden overlooking a path where his school mates walked past – he used to pelt them with missiles!

One day my mother received an angry call from the normally gentle Dr. Hyman. ‘Where is this baby’ he demanded ‘you never told me you had another baby, she must be immunised too’. My mother was puzzled ‘There is no other baby’ she said. ‘Elizabeth’ he insisted. Then it dawned on my mother – I had a beloved black doll called Elizabeth, and to me she was a real baby and I missed her too!

Eventually I was over the infection. Eight weeks in hospital unable to move had taken its toll on me and I was painfully thin and pining to go home. The Matron insisted I could not leave despite my parents’ and doctor’s plea. She said the only way I could travel home would be in an ambulance flat on my back, and she refused to order one.

At the time my father was secretary and chief executive to the Mayor of Bournemouth. The Mayor heard of our plight, and sent his official Rolls Royce to collect me – chauffeur included! The back seat was long enough to lay me flat. The Matron was furious and as she handed me over to my mother, my head fell backwards – and Matron said ‘Well I did warn you your daughter was completely paralysed’.

After that, I began to recover slowly. Home made all the difference. I had regular physio under the guidance of an excellent physiotherapist – who it turns out was the aunt of Jane Goodall (the chimpanzee expert). I sat with others in a big ring around a special lamp – we all wore dark glasses – and my parents were told to get me out in the sun as much as possible, so they hired a beach hut.

For nine months I could not walk, and for a year I dragged my right leg – but the fantastic treatment I received saved me from permanent problems – except for intensive cramps and spasms in my feet which have bothered me all my life. It is a small price to pay for survival.

It is so good that these days children in hospital are allowed to have their parents close. I am convinced this is what helps with their healing and cure more than anything else.

My experience at the age of four was one of the reasons I so wanted to be a nurse. I wanted to make a difference to how patients felt while vulnerable in hospital.

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