I had been a sickly baby and child. My mom said I had nearly died six times by age six. We were extremely poor. Twice she had taken me into a doctor's offices unannounced so they would see how sick I was and save my life. Once they said I would not live if taken to the hospital because I needed closer care then the staff could give me. The doctor gave her detailed instructions with in and out of a steam tent every twenty minutes through out the night and next day. She was diligent and I lived. She did this many times through the next five years and I made it to six. Like a lot of six year olds I got the measles from the neighbor kids. They were not a bad case, the fever just would not go away. My parents were still very poor and in those days a lot of people did not believe much in doctors but felt in time people heal and after all I could still talk and move around some. Time went by, a lot of time, probably a couple of months. I remember laying in bed drained of energy. The highlights of my day were when my mother would come in to check one me. She gave me a penny and when I lost it and fussed she pretended to find it so I would calm down. That penny was my hope of one day getting up and spending it. My window was my other great babysitter. I would pretend I was going out of it and finding adventure.
Over that two months I grew weaker and weaker. When I had not moved much or talked in a week my grandfather had came to visit mom but he did not come into see me. When he left and I yelled, 'what did he want?' she was renewed in her hope that I would get better. But I didn't. My fever was very high the last month. The neighbor lady seen I was dying and since I had gotten the measles from her child she called her doctor to make a house visit. He called my mother first and told her how to bring my fever down with cool towels. When he got there I was cooler, he took my temperature and it read 105. He told her he did not think I would live but if she hydrated me with liquids from both ends and if I was still alive in the morning that I would live. It was a struggle with my mischievous seven year old brother who was sneaky and wanting to watch the whole ordeal while a half dead child protested his antics. My mother must have been beside herself. Needless to say I got better and all seemed normal in a relatively short period of time. Then it was time to go back to school. The shock would be devastating.
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