A five year old girl , I stood at the foot of the stairs crying. It was 1954, the year before the polio vaccine, and  I was crying because I couldn't lift my left leg to go up the stairs.
Paralysis is a terrifying thing, especially for a child who didn't yet know that word or guess there was even such a thing in the world.

My younger sister knew something was wrong, very wrong. She ran up the stairs to get help. I kept trying, but it was no use, the leg wouldn't move. The tears were really rolling by the time Mom got there. The look on her face showed deep concern.  Mom had heard of polio. Everybody had.  Fear made her silent and focussed.  It terrified me. There was very little talking, at least none that I could hear. The doctor was called and after he examined me, the grownups whispered.  I was wrapped in an army blanket and driven to the hospital. I rode in the back seat alone. It would be nine months before I would go home.

The polio isolation room at King County Hospital had none of the features of a normal hospital room. It was more like an examining room, unfurnished, all chrome and white sheets, bare walls and the nurse would never open the window curtain for me. After the total isolation came the partial isolation, and then finally St. Charles Hospital, where I had been promised I would finally get to see my Mommy. At first, they put me in a regular bed. But then, when I asked for my Mommy and she didn't come, I started crying, and I kept crying until they were so fed up with me they put me in a crib as punishment for acting like a baby. They left me in there, too. I used to get out after dark, when all the nuns were gone and we were all supposed to be asleep. That's when I'd do my rounds, scooting around the ward carrying cups of water to kids who couldn't get out of bed, and even washing one girl's hair. All day, I waited for night, so I could go run free. I remember the therapy pool, and working so hard to walk right on my crutches because they said I could go home when I was good enough at it. One day the doctor called all of us who were in chairs or on crutches to form a big circle in the middle of the ward. Then he said one of us was going home, and had those of us on crutches demonstrate how well we could walk. Then he said I was the one who was going home. I wanted to be happy, but all I felt was ashamed, like I'd stolen something from the others who had to stay behind. In my child's mind, I thought it was my fault.

45 years later, the dragon returns. Polio is back to teach me a new lesson. This time, I must learn not to fight back. This time it's about conservation and acceptance. It sure is hard to teach this old broad new tricks!

THERE IS HELP!!! If you are lucky enough to live in a community large enough to have a rehab center and a local Physiatrist, don't hesitate to ask for help with Post Polio symptoms. I found my doctor through the local PPS support group, which I found on-line. In fact, I have learned more about my condition on-line than any other way! So, I got in to see the Doc, and she without hesitation sent me over to St. Luke's Rehabilitation Institute. I was a little overwhelmed at first. I had five different therapists, including a PT who did WatSu with me in the pool twice a week, a PT and PTA who worked on my sore muscles directly with exercise and massage, an OT who confronted my denial in the kindest way imaginable, and guided me through and over the hurdles of fear and habit that were keeping me in pain far too much of the time. In addition, I had a biofeedback therapist, who helped me raise my awareness of my body's warning signs, the ache before the pain, the muscle tension building. It was an incredible healing experience, and I strongly recommend all post-polios look for and insist upon the best care. If you are in Spokane or the Inland Northwest, I can give you a referral, just email me.