They were beautiful. The old timey cherry trees on our farm were in full bloom. To me, a
seven year old, it looked like they were covered with popcorn. Soon the flowers began to
lose their petals. With the slightest breeze they floated to the ground like snowflakes. I
loved to stand underneath and let them fall all around me. It took my mind off an upcoming appointment and I really didn’t understand what that was all about.
My Mom and I were to be at Ashe Hospital in Jefferson, North Carolina on the last day of June in 1946. We were there waiting in our room when Dr. Jones came. He talked with Mom briefly, then picked me up and carried me down a long hallway to a bright area. The nurses were all dressed in white and so nice. That is all I remember about that day, except the smell and taste of either, and a very sore throat for a very long time. Dr. Jones had removed my tonsils. He said they were enlarged and bad so that when I ran and got hot they swelled up almost closing off my airway.
When I came home from the hospital cherries were ripe. They looked so good and I could not eat even one. My niece, Patsy ate them though. She ate lots of the big, juicy red ones. My older sisters were busy picking and seeding cherries and getting them ready to can for winter. Patsy got to help them but I had to rest, doctor’s orders. As time passed and I recovered, I decided I wanted to be a nurse. Before Christmas that year I wrote a note to Santa asking for a nurses kit. On Christmas morning there it was setting under the tree along with a new baby doll, peppermint candy and oranges – all for me. I was so happy and I practiced nursing the rest of the winter. When the first warm days of spring came I set up my hospital in the old ham curing house. (BAD CHOICE)
There were tables in there that I used for beds and all of my dolls were my patients, except one grown up doll and she did not want to play. Some bandages were applied, temperatures were down and all was well when Mom called for me to come to the house for supper. It rained that night and when I did go back to check on my patients all was not well. They were all very sick! Their skin was peeling off. It was awful! I tried to help them, but I could not. They all died. They were just babies and there was nothing I could do but cry. My Dad said moisture in the air mixed with salt from the hams curing caused the painted on skin to peel off my dolls. Then their composition arms, legs and heads just fell apart. Composition is made of glue and sawdust pressed into forms that were used for doll making. Only their cloth bodies were left to dispose of. A hospital is supposed to be a place of healing – not destruction – it was terrible! I put my nurse’s kit away and after a while I thought I might be a teacher, but I had no pupils except one grown up doll and she didn’t want to play. She survives today because she did not want to play, but that’s another story.
The old rock building is still standing in Jefferson, NC, although it is no longer used as a hospital. Opened in 1941, it was built by WPA (Workers Progress Alliance) which was a government backed program to provide jobs during and after the Depression. My hospital, the old ham curing house, stood through the Depression but has long since faded into history.
