Sugar House (9780991192519) Page 13
There was no one on the street. Everyone was at the park for the baseball game and picnic. Matka looked around desperately for help. She couldn't carry both children for two blocks. But for once, the streets were empty.
"Frank, you're a big boy, aren't you?" she asked his little brother. Frank nodded that he was. "You are going to walk next to me and I will carry your brother. Can you do that like a big boy?" Frank nodded again, his eyes wide with worry as he looked up at their mother. Matka picked up Joe's hot tired body and lifted him onto one shoulder. Avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk with the tiny heels of her shoes, she began to make her way toward their home, little Frank toddling behind her.
Matka set Joe down on the front step when they reached home. "Can you walk up the steps, Joe?" she asked.
"Yes, Matka," he said attempting to stand up. With his mother's assistance he made it to the top of the steps. He was so fatigued he felt like he had run several miles. His mother helped him into the house and into the rocking chair by the empty fireplace in the living room. She covered him with the quilt from her bed and brought him a cold drink of water. Joe took a couple sips and began to cough again. Pushing the quilt off, he knelt on the floor as the spell overtook him. Matka wanted to get Joe up to bed but she couldn't carry him up the stairs, and she didn't think he could make it himself.
"Joe, if I help you can you walk up the stairs to your room?"
"I think so, Matka," he replied. He couldn't understand how he could play ball that morning but now he could barely walk up a flight of stairs without help. He only knew his body was burning up and his muscles felt like jelly. Together they managed to get him up the stairs and into his bed. Matka pulled his sweaty clothing off him and covered him with a light blanket. She pulled up the shade and opened the window to let in some fresh air.
"Can you ask Ojciec to come up to my room and tell me what happened at the baseball game as soon as he gets home?"
"Yes, Joe. Now, just rest please." She smoothed the cool sheets on the bed. Her hair had fallen out of its upward arrangement and Joe realized how taxing carrying him had been on his small mother. His bright eyes widened in anxiety as he remembered the baby she was carrying inside her.
"Oh, Matka! The baby… I forgot. I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about the baby, my Joe. Your Matka is much stronger than you think. And you are not quite as big as you think you are." She pushed his damp hair back off his forehead tenderly. "Now close your eyes and rest, and concentrate on getting better." Joe immediately drifted into a heavy sleep.
When Joe awoke the sky was dark outside his window. Cold air was drifting into the room, chilling his skin. He slowly sat up, trying to reach the glass of water by the side of his bed.
"Whoa, son. Hold on there," Ojciec said. He'd brought up a chair from the kitchen and had been watching Joe as he slept. "I'll get it for you." He handed Joe the glass. Joe took a long drink and handed it back to his father. Ojciec turned on the small gas lamp on the dresser, and the room was bathed in warm, yellow light.
"Thank you, Ojciec," he said quietly. "How was the baseball game? Did your team win? Before his father could answer, another coughing fit overtook him and he lay back down, giving into it. Speckles of blood sprinkled the light blue blanket he covered his mouth with. "Am I going to die, Ojciec? Why am I coughing blood?" he asked.
"No! You are not going to die, Joe. We've sent for the doctor and he's on his way. You are going to be just fine. Don't worry." He started to give Joe a small grin to show his confidence, but the grin stopped halfway from completion. Joe was overtaken by yet another cough.
"Blanca, come quick!" he yelled out the doorway. Joe's mother bustled into the room carrying a bowl of hot water and a towel. Setting the items on the small bedside stand she sat on Joe's bed.
"Are you having trouble breathing, Joe?" she asked.
"Only when I cough, Matka. Why am I coughing blood? What's the matter with me?"
"I don't know, Joe," she said. "Mikołaj, go and see what is keeping the doctor, please." Joe could hear his father running down the stairs and out the front door. His mother removed his undershirt and washed his perspiring body with the warm water and towel, then dressed him in a dry undershirt.
"Lie down, Joe, and don't worry. The doctor will be here soon." She brushed his light hair with her hand. He closed his eyes again and fell asleep.
Joe was awakened by a strange voice outside his room. A German-accented man was speaking to his parents.
"How long have you noticed the cough?" Ojciec translated the man's words for his mother, and she responded in Polish.
"Just yesterday," Ojciec repeated to the doctor..
"The boy has been tired, ja?" Again Mikołaj translated.
"My wife says she just noticed yesterday and made him stay home from our festival. She thought it was funny that he agreed without much argument."
"Ahh… well it is difficult with young boys. They are so full of energy—spinning like a top around and around until they drop—it is difficult to tell with them," the voice replied reassuringly. "Let's go have a look at the patient, shall we?"
Joe was stunned to see his parents accompanied by an elderly Jewish man. He wore a traditional yarmulke and had long sideburns and a beard.
"Kochanie, this is Dr. Levy. Your father found his office over on Hastings Street. Ojciec has brought him to look at you."
"Come, young man, sit up for me." Joe sat up and the doctor put his stethoscope on Joe's back. "All right, now can you cough for me, Joe?"
Joe tried a small cough but it quickly turned into a two-minute ordeal, leaving him again exhausted with speckles of blood on his hands.
"All right, lie down, son." The physician continued his examination, listening to Joe's chest and feeling his abdomen. "Are you having trouble breathing?"
"Just when I'm coughing," Joe said. His voice was raspy.
"How long have you not been feeling well?"
"A few days." he replied quietly, avoiding his mother's eyes.
"Ahh… well it might be too early to tell but I am sorry to say that I think he has acquired tuberculosis. He will have to be sent to the sanitarium so as not to infect anyone else."
Ojciec translated the doctor's words to Matka.
"No," she told Ojciec. "I will care for him. He is my son. I will not send him away when he is sick. Just last week I saw a cure for tuberculosis in the Polish newspaper. It was called… Eckmans Alternative. Yes, the advertisement said calcium deficiency was responsible for the disease, and Eckmans contains lime salt that can cure it. Mikołaj, you can go to the druggists now and buy it. Joe will get better and he can stay here with us."
Mikołaj translated for Dr. Levy, although Joe was sure the doctor already understood Matka's argument.
Dr. Levy smiled at Matka. "Those medicines don't work; Mr. Jopolowski. They are made by quacks and charlatans. The boy needs to be treated away from the community. Tell your wife that he is highly contagious and she needs to think of your other son and her neighbors. I can recommend a very good place for you to send him."
As Ojciec turned to explain the doctor's words to his mother, Joe pulled on the bottom of the elderly man's suit coat. "Please sir," he whispered, "my mother is carrying a baby. Tell them I will go away to this place. I don't want anything to happen to the baby because of me."
"You are a brave boy and a good son." The doctor interrupted Joe's parents to repeat what the boy had whispered to him. "Now, I cannot force you to send Joe away, but I cannot emphasize enough how important it is for him to get treatment and for you not to expose your young son and mother and baby to the disease. If you will let me, I can take him to the sanitarium tomorrow. I have business there I have to attend to, and he can ride with me in my car. It is not far from here, but I would prefer the boy doesn't go by streetcar as I don't wish him to expose anyone else."
"Where is this place, Dr. Levy? What are the costs? It must be expensive for him to stay there?" Mikołaj asked.
"Please, Matka? Let me go with the doctor. I don't want you or Frank to get sick because of me. I'll be fine—I promise. And Ojciec can come and see me soon."
"Yes. Yes. And Joe can get paper and write letters to you every day. You can write, Joe?" the doctor asked.
"Yes sir." His voice cracked.
"Now, see? He will be fine. He is a brave young man. Now let's go downstairs and discuss the arrangements and let this boy rest. Goodbye, Joe. I will see you tomorrow." The adults left Joe alone in his bedroom and made their way downstairs.
Joe was too tired to worry about going to the sanitarium. He was happy there was a place that would take care of him and not bankrupt his father. A worried Frank tried to sneak in the bedroom while the doctor was talking to his parents in the living room, but Joe sternly told him to go play in their parents' room and stay out. Frank pouted but obeyed his older brother. Joe fell back asleep before Dr. Levy left.
The next morning he was awakened by his mother. She was packing a small leather case with his few items of clothing. Her pretty blonde hair peeked from underneath the blue babushka she wore. Her hands moved quickly, folding his clothes and placing them neatly in the case. She turned and saw he was sitting up in bed staring at her.
"Joe, kochanie, are you hungry?" she said, startled that he was awake.
"Yes Matka, a little."
"I will bring you some broth. I made some this morning. But first let me help you wash up." Matka washed him with warm water and dried his skin softly with a towel. She helped him get dressed in his brown knickers and ivory shirt. "Now sit here while I get you some broth."
Frank peered behind the doorway as their mother's skirts bustled out. "Don't you come in here, Frank. I mean it," Joe said.
"Joe go?" Frank asked.
"Yes, I'm leaving, but I'll be back soon. And you will get the bedroom all to yourself while I'm gone."
"Don't want Joe to go," Frank had tears in his eyes.
"I won't be gone long, Frank. Listen, Frank. Can you do something very important for me while I am gone?"
Frank nodded yes, his dark blue eyes staring at his brother.
"Will you take care of Matka while I'm gone and help her by being a very good boy?"
"Okay!" Frank toddled off down the hall in search of some new entertainment or a snack.
Matka came in and gave Joe a bowl of steaming broth. Joe drank the broth, but the steam caused him to start coughing and his mother took the bowl from him.
"Oh, Joe, how can I let you go? I will miss you so much. I will tell the doctor we have changed our minds, and I'll take care of you here at home."
"No, Matka. I need to go to the Children's Hospital. Please don't worry. I'll write you a letter every day to let you know how I'm doing. I'll be home before you know it, and you will be yelling at me to come in from playing street ball and complaining that boys bring in more dirt than horses to a barn."
Matka smiled and patted Joe's head. She squeezed his hand. There was a knock on the door. Ojciec let the doctor in. His father wrapped Joe in Matka's quilt and carried him to the doctor's Model T that was idling in front of the house. The doctor opened the door, and Ojciec gently placed Joe in the front seat.
"Get well, son. I'll come see you as soon as Dr. Levy says I can." Blinking away a tear, he closed the door and walked up the steps and into the house.
"Well, let's get going," said the doctor. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Joe wished he felt better so he could enjoy his first automobile ride. The air was chilly in the car, and Joe pulled the quilt tighter around his body. The car bumped down the cobblestone street till the doctor turned onto Woodward Avenue, where the street was paved with concrete. The ride immediately became smoother. Joe looked out the window at the people walking to Sunday Mass.
Joe apologized to the doctor. "Sorry you can't go to church today because you are taking me to the hospital."
"My Sabbath is on Friday night, Joe. All Jewish services are held then." The doctor chuckled.
"Oh, right," Joe replied, embarrassed. "I forgot."
"That's all right, son. Just rest and we will be at the hospital soon."
After a few minutes, Joe's curiosity got the better of him and he had to ask, "Why is the hospital free for children?"
"Well, Mr. Hiram Walker gave one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars to build it about twenty years ago, when his thirteen-year-old daughter Jennie Melissa died. Mr. Walker owned the Canadian Club whisky distillery in Canada, and he was extremely wealthy. He was an American who lived here in Detroit. When his little girl died he wanted to do something for all the sick children, so he built this hospital and left money to help with the cost to run it."
"Was she his only child?" Joe asked.
"No, no, he had three older sons who run the company now. Not sure how long they will fund the hospital though, with the temperance movement in full swing over here."
"Temperance?" Joe asked.
"Yes. A lot of people over here have been fighting to make liquor and beer illegal to sell or drink."
"Why would they want to do that?" Joe inquired. His father drank beer almost every day and the idea that people would make a law banning it puzzled him.
"Temperance supporters believe society would be better if men did not consume alcohol. Oh, they all have their own ideas mind you. The Anti-Saloon League preach total abstinence, while others are only against liquor and still others believe in moderation in regards to drink. I am of the latter opinion. But I understand why some feel abstinence is the only solution. Too many husbands getting drunk in this country and beat their wives and children. If passing a law to ban alcohol meant not one more wife or child would be hit in drunken anger; I would be behind it one hundred percent. But human nature being what it is; I don't think banning liquor will bring about the results the temperance movement is looking for."
Dr. Levy looked down at Joe and smiled. "My turn to apologize to you, son. What you need now is a doctor and not a man on a soapbox. My point is that I'm not sure how much longer Mr. Walker's money will be able to fund the hospital if the government bans the sale of liquor. Well, here we are now, young man."
Dr. Levy pulled into a curved driveway and parked the car under an arched tower that led to the entrance of the stone-walled hospital. Two nurses in white uniforms and large caps came out and put Joe in a small wooden chair with wheels.
"Goodbye, Joe. I will check on you after I go on my rounds. You are in good hands." Dr. Levy climbed back into his car and drove off to the back of the hospital.
The nurses wheeled Joe inside and went through the process of admitting him to the sanitarium portion of the hospital, where all the children diagnosed with tuberculosis were housed. They gave him a bed in a long room with nine other beds. Boys between five and twelve years old lay in the small metal beds with white sheets. Each bed was placed in front of a window that was open to the air as the doctors believed sunlight and fresh air could cure their disease.
Chapter Fifteen
1916
The following six months were a haze to Joe. He read books and played board games with his ward mates, but mostly he slept. Exhaustion overtook his small body and he felt cold all the time. The windows of his ward were always open, even when the temperatures dipped below zero. Once a day the boys were wrapped up in blankets and taken outside to sit in the sun for two hours. They were expected to silently rest on chaise lounges to encourage the sun to heal their lungs. Most days the goal of quiet rest was not achieved, because the boys' teeth chattered so violently.
The nurses were kind but strict. Often Joe fell asleep to the sound of o
ne of his ward mates crying. Doctor Levy kept his promise to check on Joe's progress every week. Towards the spring, Joe's father was allowed to visit him. The nurses would wheel Joe outside to a small covered patio behind the hospital, where he and his father would visit for an hour. Ojciec brought with him the children's section of the Detroit News and a copy of the Dziennik Polski. Joe enjoyed reading in his childhood language; it helped lessen his feeling of homesickness. His mother sent cookies and candy for him to share with the other boys. The sugary sweets would momentarily lift the melancholy atmosphere of the ward. Joe missed home but was so tired and weak his homesickness was secondary to his desire to feel better.
His health improved in the spring, and Dr. Levy began discussing his discharge, but he experienced a severe setback at the end of June. Again, his father was not allowed to visit. Joe felt like he was never going to leave the sanitarium. Long, cold, lonely hours encompassed his nights, and grueling coughing spasms his days. The relapse lasted two weeks and left him weaker than before. He couldn't get out of bed without assistance. The nurses worried that he wouldn't regain his strength and the disease would cause him to be an invalid.
Joe overheard the nurses discussing his condition one evening at the end of the ward when they thought the boys were all asleep. The women whispered to each other, occasionally glancing down the ward to where they thought Joe was asleep in his bed. That morning the doctors had determined that one of Joe's lungs did not work and it never would. "How will the poor child recover now with only one functioning lung?" one asked. The others only responded, "It's a pity" and "It's in God's hands now."