Dead Flies, Polio & Me

Before Jonas Salk's successful vaccine for Poliomyelitis became available in 1955, thousands of children & adults were struck down with the dreaded disease. I was one of those children. In this blog, I'm sharing with you a few excerpts from one of my short stories.

"DEAD FLIES"

© by J. N. Sander
Two more minutes have passed since I pushed the black call button on my bed. I watch the big hand on the clock above the doorway to the hall, move from one little mark to the next little mark. It snaps each time like someone flicking dead flies off a table. It's not the first time I've thought of dead flies today.

There are fourteen patients in our room with white folding screens between us. On the oatmeal-colored wall above me are two pictures. One's a naked baby crying. The other is a smiling little girl about my age, in a pale-yellow dress dragging a brown teddy bear. She's opening a tall blue door. I think she's happy because she can leave.

This morning when they pulled a gurney past my bed with two-year-old Suzy under a thin white sheet, I didn't react. I didn't cry. I just stared at the gurney and listened to the squeaky wheels as it passed through the hall door. I thought of dead flies.

It's getting dark outside. Earlier, large snowflakes fluttered past the window across from me. Now the wind's blowing grey-white swirls against the glass. It makes me shiver and I pull my blanket tight around my neck.
(Skipping lots here.)

Every time they push my wheelchair down the hall, I gaze into the box room. It looks the same as ours except there are no windows or pictures. Long metal boxes sit off the floor about as tall as I am. They make loud sucking sounds. Children lay on their backs inside with only their heads sticking out. One girl has been in a box for a long time. Her dark-brown hair has grown so long it falls to the floor.
(Skipping.)

Crying is not allowed on the sixth floor. If we complain, cry, or wet our beds we go into the closet. Or into a box next door.
(Skipping again.)

The closet door is open. I see cleaning supplies, wheelchairs, crutches, trash and a bag full of dirty linens. I've stayed in there three nights in the last few months, with the door shut and lights turned off. Two times because I cried and I don't know why the other time. It smells terrible.
(Skipping lots.)

I'm hoping to publish this story, so can't share the whole
enchilada. Having Polio was a terrible experience, but at the same time, I know it helped me to develop into who I am today. Good or bad!

That's it for today.

Happy fall and have a scary Halloween.