Memories of Childhood Illness

Cousins take over the kitchen at Midridge Farm during the summer of 1958

Old-fashioned medicine, an oasis of family, and craving freedom

By the time I was born, what Ma called “the triple vaccine” was available. That is now known as DTAP—for diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis (or whooping cough). I am positive that I, and later my brother Needly, received the DTAP before we moved to New Hampshire, and of course our family doctors and friends the Chamberlins kept our immunizations up to date after that. We got all the other childhood ailments for our generation: measles, German measles, mumps, chicken pox, even, in my case, scarlet fever.

Let me take a minute here to explain 1950s culture for illness: bed rest. Period. If it was a heavy cold, fever, stomach upset—bed rest. Meals on trays. If you had something relatively comfortable, like a sore throat or feverish cold, flu, it was generally paradise. You had all the books you could read, the radio on for entertainment. Dr. Gene Chamberlin would look in with an encouraging word and maybe a new medication (this was still the heyday of housecalls). He was conservative with antibiotics, which was lucky for us, and we learned young that they were ineffective against viruses, which could only be treated symptomatically unless you developed a secondary infection. Ma was wise about medication too. Both were ahead of conventional wisdom at a time when the newer antibiotics seemed miraculous and many doctors threw them at everything.

Kate, Pooh, and Ray Sprague at the dining table with Drs. Gene and Mildred Chamberlin (seated at right)

I think Needly and I got chicken pox in Pound Ridge, as one of us had a birthday cake with red-hots (cinnamon candies) on it because the honoree had chicken pox. I probably brought the infection home from kindergarten or first grade to share with my lucky brother. Younger brother Pooh was less than a year old, or even unborn, when this happened, and I have no memory of his having had chicken pox. The vaccine for that disease is a relatively recent development. I remember above all the urgency surrounding the “childhood diseases” that we get them very young. It was known that almost all of them would be much more serious if infection occurred after puberty.

Measles was a serious business. There were “red measles,” short-lasting German measles (rubella). I don’t know if either of the boys got them, but even when I was in grade school in Hillsboro, it was known that I needed to get them when I was very young, because they were a threat to an unborn child. They were otherwise quite mild, but itched like fury and only a shower of cold water or a soaked towel on my back mitigated the itching. I think, but am not sure, that I was in fourth grade and was teased by teacher Georgianna about my spots.

“Black measles,” also called 10-day measles (rubeola), were a different matter. Mine started with a temperature, red spots in the throat, and meant I  stayed in bed for everything but the bathroom, with shades pulled down, lights dimmed, and—agony to me—no reading. Eyes were vulnerable, and meningitis was a possibility. Needly came down with them two days after I did, and the two of us were enthroned in the back bedroom with meals on trays, radios on, and frequent temperature checks. I don’t know how Ma did it.

Mumps, as I remember, were the only “childhood disease” which didn’t seem to involve bedrest. I know Ma was more concerned that the boys get it early, as mumps was reputed to cause infertility in men who developed the virus later in life. Mostly we just went around with swollen glands for a while. The boys may remember those better. 

Both Rheumatic and Scarlet Fever were caused by streptococcus, so penicillin was available to my generation to stop those diseases in their tracks if they were recognized. I was prone to throat infections, and with one of them I got quite ill with a high fever; later, Ma said I’d had scarlet fever but hadn’t developed the characteristic rash, probably because Dr. Gene started me on antibiotics. I remember a terrible earache, and Ma saying that she stopped taking my temp when it hit 104! Not sure when I had it, but must have been approaching adolescence, as it is the last time I remember being bedridden.

Visiting cousins make and eat pie during the summer of 1958 (author is pictured top right, observing the action)

The threat of a polio epidemic was always a feature of summer life. The cousins stayed with us to be protected from city life; we could have no movies or fairs or cattle shows, which are a highlight of farm life. We avoided crowds, and Ma was rigorous about the handwashing exactly as we have been in the current pandemic, although fresh air was a given in our country surroundings. I can’t imagine Ma’s anxiety when our next door neighbor, home for the summer from St. Paul’s, developed bulbar polio—the worst form. He survived handily, but it showed that no location guaranteed safety.

The most onerous regulation for me during polio summers was Ma’s insistence on early bedtime. In bed before dark, while the world was still going on busily without us? Ma knew that overtiredness was a path to susceptibility too, so no books were allowed. I’ve never been a good sleeper, and I’d lie resentfully awake for hours. I have said often that the Salk vaccine was the very first shot that I received without protest. It meant a return to some form of liberty.