By Rebecca Durfee
I remember being so scared — terrified, really. The indoor pool was noisy. Inside the pool, wooden tables lined the sides. At one end of each table was a semicircular piece of wood designed to keep a person’s head above water. Kids lying on the tables were undergoing physical therapy. The whimpers of scared children and the screams from those who were having painful muscle stretches filled the air.
Just a few days ago, I was a happy toddler of two and a half. Today, I could only move my neck and left wrist. I thought that if my head turned sideways, it would be in the water and I wouldn’t be able to move it and something bad would happen.
That is all I remember of the weeks and months of therapy following my diagnosis of polio. The virus ravaged my little body for several days, and I have been dealing with the consequences every day of my life since.
I’m not sure exactly when, where or how I contracted polio. What I understand is that we were visiting the United States and were unable to get the polio vaccine because we (my three siblings and I) were sick. We were going to get the vaccine as soon as we arrived home to Mexico, where my parents were missionaries. My parents weren’t too worried because Mexico had done a good job vaccinating. On our way home, we stayed at a motel with a swimming pool in Arizona, I think. We didn’t know at the time that there was an outbreak going on in the Southwest. I most likely caught the virus from the pool. Polio has a two-to-three–week incubation period, and counting back from when I first got sick after we got home, the pool is the most probable source.
Due to successful vaccinations, very few people now know or have seen a person who has had polio. So I invite you to accompany me as I describe a day in the life of someone coping with the effects of this disease 65 years later. I don’t mean to sound alarmist, but these effects might soon be felt by your children, or grandchildren, or maybe the children down the street from your home.
Pain wakes me. Weakness in my right hip and shoulder, pain across my left chest as muscles struggle to support the side of my upper body that has been doing the work of two. Breathe. Breathe, I remind myself. Again, breathe, as I slowly move stiff joints before getting up.
Time to start my day. Carefully standing up, I check my balance before taking a step. Hanging onto shelves, doorways — anything to keep me steady — I crab-walk the 12 steps to the toilet. It will be easier to walk after I put on braces and shoes. My left leg does most of the work since the virus left my right side very weak. My right foot drops and I have to swing my hip high to clear it off the ground. My back and hips strain from the effort, and tears form in my eyes as I fight back the pain. I angrily brush them away.
I haven’t even gotten started with my day.
