The current health crisis has brought great uncertainty to the world. People want guidance, answers, deadlines, and most of all, they want to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The problem is compounded by the fact that no one knows how long the tunnel is. We’re not used to the inconvenience that the virus has cast upon us. We don’t like it. We are most comfortable doing what we want, where we want, when we want. And now we can’t.
Ruth and I are kind of lucky. We started our own stay at home regiment following my knee surgery. I wasn’t very mobile, so we stayed home most of the time. About the time I was ready to get up and out, the rest of the world turned off.
I started this blog as a personal history. I hoped that my grandchildren would learn things about me, and my experience, that they could share with their children and grandchildren. I never imagined they would be living pandemic stories of their own that they’ll share with their offspring.
Back in the twenties, scarlet fever hit my mom’s home. My grandmother and her two children, Kate and Ruth, were quarantined in their house. Grandpa Barner was forbidden to enter. He remained outside so that he could continue to work. Back then all jobs were deemed essential. He delivered food to the house through a window because the front door had a large “quarantine” sign. No one could go in or out until the sign was removed. The food was prepared by a disease free neighbor.
There were no antiseptic wipes, no drugs or magic treatments, and face masks were fashioned from red bandanas tied around your nose and mouth. You survived or you didn’t. Cold, harsh, but true. Luckily, my family did.
When I was six I came down with the chicken pox. Bill lived across the street, and he had the measles. Both were highly contagious, especially among children. My mom and his mom, Polly, decided that it would be best if we got the two diseases so we could “get it over at one time”. He came over to my house for a couple of afternoons to play in my room. We played with my army men and frontier fort on my bedroom floor. After a couple of days they accomplished their mission. I transitioned from chicken pox to measles, and Bill did the opposite. My sister, Sharron, suffered the same fate.
Chicken pox caused blisters that itched. Once they scabbed over you were on your way to better health. Scratching the scabs led to some scarring. I had a scar on the side of my nose well into my twenties. Mom wanted the room dark while we had the measles. She closed all the windows and curtains to curtail the sunlight from invading the house. Sunlight was purported to be potentially hazardous to your vision.
I was nine or ten when I visited my Aunt Bern’s house in Mt. Clemens. My dad and I made the trip by ourselves. My Aunt Dutch showed up too. My dad, Aunt Dutch and I were talking when out of the blue she asked, “Why do you bite your fingernails?”
“I don’t.”
She took my hand, placed it in her palm, and said, “Yes, you do and you shouldn’t.”
I looked down, saw the rough edges of my nails, and knew she was right. I just didn’t know why. My parents never mentioned it. They didn’t encourage me to stop, or if they did, I don’t remember those conversations.
Over the years I recall reading a study that determined that people who bit their nails were less susceptible to some infections. It seems that biting your nails, laced with all sorts of germs, helped to build some immune systems. If that is indeed true, I’ve been building my immune system for over sixty years. Perhaps that explains my relatively healthy status.
About a week ago, I noticed my fingernails were getting longer. The nails on my left hand are a bit longer than those on my right, but both sets will need to be trimmed within a day or two.
I’ve had friends, both male and female, that bit their fingernails well into adulthood. At least one of each conquered that bad habit. We never talked about it, but it occurred just the same.
Why share this shortcoming with others, you might ask. The thing is, we all have something in our lives that needs to be addressed. Having issues is not a sin, but failing to address them may be. We’re better when we feel good about ourselves and loved ones. Looking out for each other is the right thing to do even if it’s inconvenient.
It’s obvious that my Aunt Dutch’s observation over sixty years ago is still with me. Maybe it took a world wide pandemic for me to heed her words.