The Life of a Story in Progress: 002 the Hospital Stay of 1960

The year is 1960. I am 5 years old and I live in my grandmother's house on Ferry St. in S. Grafton, MA with my mother and younger brother and sister. As usual, my father is not around, this time he's in Japan. I don't know why he was there but I've seen pictures of him there. He was, presumably, not only a disc jockey but also a young airman with some other job responsibilities that were more substantive. But this is not a story about my father.

At some point during 1960, during the warm months, there came a time when I got an infection in my nose. Yes, that's a very strange thing, I know. I awoke one morning to find the entire left side of my face swollen and malformed. I saw myself in a big dresser mirror and I was very upset by what I saw. I didn't look like me at all. I went and found my mother, and judging by her reaction, seeing me with this distended and swollen face was quite alarming.

I don't remember the mundane events that followed but I do remember going to and staying in the hospital at the Army Post in Fort Devens, MA. Another quick note about my father, during the time I spent in the hospital, he came home. I don't think it was because of my medical problem, but I don't really know.

I spent a week in the hospital. Alone. It was a very strange experience. My parents told me they'd come visit me every evening, but that they couldn't come on Thursday. I don't know why. Each time they came, they brought me something to do. They gave me several sticker books, and back then they weren't self sticking. You had to lick them.

The days were usually uneventful, except when a doctor would  see me. I don't remember anything about any treatment I was given. I do remember being doused with copious amounts of Phisohex (Hexachlorophene) which had a very distinct odor. It was then touted as THE disinfectant of its day, but was subsequently found to have deleterious effects on children.

There were many people in the ward in which I spent my time. The beds were lined along the walls on both sides of the room and at the end of each bed was a small table on which was placed a stainless steel basin for washing (and presumably to disinfect) your hands. The color of the basin 's liquid contents varied from bedside to bedside. I used to run around the room and dip my hands into the various different colored solutions. No one ever told me not to do this. Somehow, when I think of it now, it doesn't seem like a good idea at all.

Thursday evening came and I remember it as the only time I felt lonely/alone during the week. To some degree, I think my parent's efforts to mentally prepare me for this "visit-less" night made their absence more notable. I'm sure it was difficult for them to have their son in the hospital, an hour and half car ride away (there was no Rt. 190 highway then, driving from S. Grafton to what is now named Devens, MA took much longer than it would today). Note, my mother was only 23 at this time.

Oh yes, I remember having pajamas (which I wore all day long) with slippers that were 'sewn on" to the end of the legs. I would run and then slide on the slippers. This, I was told not to do.