Chapter 20 - The School Nurse

1950 - 1957

     There is a strange and amazing photo of our school nurse Mrs. Cook giving “a regular morning inspection” in one of the old Heralds. She is peering into a child's mouth, with a line of children waiting for the same attention. It was taken only two years before I started kindergarten at the village. I remember Mrs. Cook but I sure don’t remember a regular morning inspection. Nonetheless Lucy tells me that we began every day this way and that Mrs. Cook marched us right back to the bus if we were sick.

     I rather doubt that I had the experience of being sent home by the school nurse because I devoted so much energy into staying home in the first place. I feigned illness on a regular, perhaps even on a daily basis. The pleasures involved in being home sick seemed to have outweighed whatever draw there may have been to attend school. There was a goal to my being home – cherry Jello. When my brother and I were home sick, our adoring maiden aunt would bring us red Jello in those small clear glass custard cups that everyone used in those days. Carrying our treats in a hand-basket covered by a dish towel, our great aunt Clara would arrive full of love and cheer. Somewhere along with our various forms of measles, mumps and chicken pox, we developed a Jello ritual. In a contest to see who could eat the most without the Jello “roof” caving in, we carved out the red gelatin tiny spoonful by tiny spoonful with our mother’s special little silver demitasse spoons. This was also a game you could play alone.

     The only time I remember being sent home sick was not by the school nurse. It was the one day I actually felt sick but was forced to go to school anyway. Since I pretended to be sick on a routine basis, my mother’s behavior was understandable. When I threw up at school, she was called to come get me. I still remember my righteous indignation -- "I TOLD you I was sick." I also recall being told the story of “The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf” too many times to count.

     I also recall walking up to the Recreation Building for polio vaccinations, both injection-style (what a fuss I made!) and oral vaccinations (loved them in place of the shots). We had blood drawn one year so that we would know what blood type we had, and we were given a little blue plastic tag with the information. I am now told it was for Civil Defense purposes, but I don’t remember ever knowing that. I do remember my brother’s tag and my tag were kept in a little drawer in my mother’s secretary. And that my brother’s blood type was more unusual than mine and seemed an infinitely more important sort. My blood was the most common kind, putting a dent in my notion that having the name of Elizabeth meant I was related to the Queen of England.

     Others born in the 1940's probably also remember having fluoride treatments. The latter were some sort of cotton balls that were stuffed in our mouths for a period of time (15 minutes?) and removed. I suppose this was before fluoride was added to our water.