Fear in the Eyes of a Child

It was 1962, baby boomers were alive and well, American Bandstand hosted by the famous Dick Clark was on the rise, drive up root beer stands and hamburger joints were on every corner,….life was just all around happy.

And there I was, a mere child; an awkward second grader with a slight whistle when I spoke due to the missing two front teeth. And when I smiled all you could see was the big gaping hole from the missing teeth. My smile looked atrocious.  So I tried my best not to smile because I did not want anyone to see that I had two missing teeth, which incidentally were missing for two years. In fact, I got to sing the song…”All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”… two years in a row. Somewhere during this time is when I believe vanity began to take stage with me, but that’s another story.

One evening after a long day at school for a second grader, my mother so matter of fact informed me that I was going into the hospital to have my tonsils removed. “What?” “But I’m not even sick!” was my immediate reply. Yet, my mother so casually ignored my protest.

My twin brothers had just come home from the hospital. They both had gone in together and had their tonsils removed. Truth be known my mother probably received a two for one discount on them, which was fine with me. But for some ungodly reason she thought I should have mine removed…..and I wasn’t even sick. Just because my brothers did it did not mean I needed to do the same. It just didn’t make a bit of sense to me.

Trust me when I say, this did not compute in my simple mind. I’m sure this was the beginning of my thinking that my mother had a few loose screws somewhere upstairs. Sadly enough my father did nothing in my defense. Instead, he let her continue with the charades.

Well the dreaded day had come and my mother did exactly what she had said, she took me to the hospital to have my tonsils removed. Scared senseless, it was obvious I had no choice but to go along with the deranged woman.

I still remember that day as if it were yesterday…..As she walked me into St. Joseph’s Hospital I could not believe my eyes….There were witches everywhere!! Sure enough, they were dressed in long black dresses that reached the ground. They stared at me with scowl faces, looking as though they were ready to devour me once my mother left my side. But oddly enough, their black hats weren’t pointed like the pictures I had seen; instead their hats expanded sideways with long black scarves hanging from them and somehow their hair was hidden as if they were bald underneath the mass of material. Trust me when I tell you, there was not an eased bone in my body. All I could think of was…. ”Why was my mother doing this to me?” “Why would she take me to a place so horrible?” Not to mention, it was freezing cold in the place.

Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you…I wanted to turn and run of that place back into the happy world that was waiting just outside the big sliding glass doors. But non doing, it was impossible. My mother had my hand clasped tightly as though she knew I was ready to bolt.

Finally she realized my trauma. I had never seen such a sight, nor had I ever been inside a hospital since my birth. My mother explained that what I was seeing were Nuns of the Catholic faith. They were not witches as I had thought. Yet somehow, even with my mother’s explanation, I was still not at all comfortable with these odd looking creatures walking around and staring at me. They still looked like witches to me.

Then we arrived in what would be my temporary room; at least I surely hoped it would be temporary. There were two empty beds with stark white sheets folded and tucked so tight that you wondered how you could ever find comfort in such a thing. The beds had metal railings on them with sides that were raised as if you would be peering through the bars of a jail. My thoughts were….”could things get any worse?:” Then my mother informed me she would be leaving me for the night….alone…yet, she would return the next morning before I went in to surgery. Somehow her words were supposed to comfort me and help me feel safe in this cold and scary place called a hospital….but I had my reservations and was certain I would never see my mother again. The only thing that did help me is I knew my brothers had been in the week before and someway, somehow, they made it back home. They had shared their stories of eating ice cream after the surgery. So I set my mind on the ice cream and the hopes of survival until then.

My mother, just as promised, was there the next morning to kiss me, hold my hand, and assure me she would be there waiting when I came out of surgery. From that point on it is a blur as to what happened next….until they put me on the operating table. I was so groggy and everything seemed out of focus. I could hear voices all around and see faces peering at me. Straps were bolted across my body, at my chest, my waist, and across my upper thighs. I was locked down and unable to move. Then a black rubber mask came at me. They were actually planning to put it over my face, my nose, and my mouth. Panic came over me as I knew they were going to suffocate me. I began to panic uncontrollably, wiggling, twisting, bucking as hard as I could to free myself and get away from the torment. I began to smell the ether, the gas coming from the horrible mask. I shook my head back and forth fighting with all my might. Someone held my head and two people laid over my body to stop my fight. Finally I gave up the battle and knew that I was doomed never to see my family again….never to enjoy the happy world I had left outside those sliding glass doors that my mother had walked me through just the day before.

Then I awoke. My throat hurt uncontrollably. And my mother was by my side smiling down at me. At that moment I’m sure I smiled back at her…..missing teeth and all….so happy to see her face again.  It was as if I had a horrible nightmare and finally woke up. She gave me lots of crushed ice to chew on and promised in a couple of hours I too would get some ice cream just like my brothers did….for being such a good patient. Little did my mother know that I was far from good. But in my eyes, I surely deserved that bowl of ice cream….no doubt about it!

Finally the day came that I did walk out the big sliding glass doors back into the world I had known only a couple of days before. I walked out a different person…..a little person without her tonsils….and into a lifetime of claustrophobia due to the black mask forced against my face.  But that didn’t keep me from enjoying root beer floats, hamburgers, and falling in love with the music playing on American Bandstand. However,  I can say, I never wanted to dress up like a witch for any reason…..Until this day that is my truth!

This story is dedicated to my mother Eleanor Joyce Turner McFarland whom I hold no hard feelings. I love her dearly and hope she knows this is only the reality of a child…. Fear in the Eyes of a Child.

I  offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your  loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about  your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away  about what you know best….your  loved ones.

Please  continue to read my blog http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed  the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine  McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer  specializing in memoirs,  life story writing,
and capturing memories of  your loved ones.

Copyright, December 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author  retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

 

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