MY STORY
When I first came to this country, many years ago, I was sent to the Hope
Convalescent Home for crippled children to help nurse the children, and what a
heart-breaking experience that was. I cried myself to sleep every night for weeks but
pity was wasted on those children. They were so courageous and cheerful, such a
happy bunch on the whole, although there were one or two sad introverted souls
among them, and some very sad stories, too.
Nurses were not allowed to show favouritism to any child but I must admit I was
drawn to one little girl in particular. She was fourteen years old, her name was Edna
and she was suffering from polio. She had not walked for years and both feet were
attached to weights with a cradle over her legs. She was the "Mother" of her ward.
The younger children would swarm around her bed and she would read stories to
them, help with homework, listen to their troubles and occasionally act as referee,
Justice of the Peace, or disciplinarian. She was like the Matron of her ward, and she
was always calm and composed, never complained and was so co-operative and
helpful. She also helped to heal quarrels with wisdom and humour. I loved to brush
her long, silky hair and admired her courage. I simply loved that little girl.
One day, after visiting hours, I went in to tidy the ward and found Edna, head muffled
in pillows, sobbing her heart out. It had never happened before and the other children
in the ward were bewildered and upset. It was strange to see our usually happy Edna
in tears and it affected her room-mates badly. Eventually, calm was restored,
everyone tucked up in bed and lights out. Then Edna was encircled in my arms and
she sobbed out the reason for her distress. A priest and her parents had visited that
afternoon and told her that she must accept the fact that she would never walk again.
Anger exploded in me. No wonder the poor little mite was breaking her heart. How
dare these well-meaning people be so insensitive and stupid? Fortunately, my anger
was not expressed in words but I talked to her like a Dutch uncle explaining about
things like miracles and faith. I was really giving her counselling that night, but I don't
know where it came from. Then I put her in the warm vibrating waters of the
hydrobath and soon she was relaxed and sleepy.
Matron was told of the situation and Edna was scheduled for intensive massage and
manipulation. As the Home was short-staffed, I was given permission to spend my
off-duty hours exercising Edna in the baths and, before long she was her old cheerful
self again, dispensing justice and wisdom as before.
It took a long, long time, filled with seesawing emotions – one day full of high hopes,
the next filled with despair, but we struggled on. At last came the great day that Edna
was allowed to stand for a short while with the aid of crutches. I think all the nurses
cried when we saw the radiance on that face. I know I was sniffing. Eventually she
was fitted with callipers and clumsy boots and now the long, hard struggle began,
learning to walk. Her bottom stuck out, her body tilted at a 45 degree angle, and her
stiff legs swung in a wide arc, but to the watching staff she was as graceful as any
ballerina.
This is a true story, although very much abbreviated, and in my memory remains one
of the gems of my life. It is in these places of refuge for handicapped children that
real, true courage is found. Apart from their disabilities, many have a history of
hardship and abuse, but their pluck and cheerfulness is an inspiration to all those
who work with them.