Within a week, things began to have some semblance of getting back to normal. My husband was back and trying to help when he could, but we had also lost our brand new car, which was found on top of a three story bakery building with a lot of other cars piled on top of it.

Then, a severe headache hit me, like none I had ever known in my life nor have since. As hard as I triedm nothing would cut or help the pain. The last thing I remembered was standing in front of the sink and everything went strange.

My husband said my eyes were spinning around in my head like one of those cartoon characters, and I couldn't straighten up no matter how hard I tried. He immediately went to get help from a neighbor lady who agreed to watch the kids. He half carried me and I half walked to the truck he told me, but I don't remember any of that. He rushed me to Waterbury General hospital where they immediately wrapped me in a sheet from head to toe and rushed me into a special room where they did a spinal tape on me. The procedure felt like they were pulling my head through my backbone, I do remember that. At first they thought I had meningitis but after the spinal taps they discovered I was stricken with Poliomyelitis.

I was finally transferred to a polio hospital where the chest type iron lung respirator became a way of life, as were the hot wax towels called Sister Kenny packs. These towels were place on my legs, and felt like they were burning the flesh of them. I could see them bright red and knew they were trying to burn me alive. But they assured me they would help if I gave them a chance.

I had to learn what my Indian ancestors already knew; that screaming from pain did not help anything but only made the pain worse. It had to be endured. I was told there was a good chance I would never walk again and might even spend the rest of my life in a respirator.

One day a priest came to see me and I struck out at him with viciousness telling him if there were a God he would never have done this to me with two kids at home.

He smiled and said "Well, don't we feel sorry for ourselves?"

I answered, "You damned right! You can't tell me about God because you're not the one that is suffering here."

He answered something that has stayed with me the rest of my life. "Look around you and count your blessings. It could have been so much worse. God never gives anyone more than they can handle, so stop feeling self pity and make up your mind what you want to do with your life, for your children's sake, if not your own."

He said he would pray for me and that God loved me and left. But at the time I found his word so hard to understand and believe.

Gradually, with time I was able to get off of the breathing machine for short periods of time but still could not use my legs. Only my toes would wiggle and I had very little feeling in them at that. I was stubborn and determined I would go home to my children and see raised them.
I began to see how lucky I was compared to the others around me and understood then what the priest had tried to tell me.

Little by little my faith came back to me and I believed that one day I would be a whole person again. I had to be for my two kids.

Gradually the legs began to respond some to therapy. God works in strange ways and after many months I was finally off the respirator. The nurses were encouraging although the Doctors still reserved they opinion on how well I would do. I would work my legs a little each day. One day I managed to get my legs off the side of the bed and tried to stand up. I fell flat on my face and laid there and cried until a nurse found me and with some help got me back in the bed.

They tried to explain that I had something called drop toe, from not using my feet and that would be a problem even if I could stand, I couldn't walk. I kept trying and fell many times, over and over again but refused to give up trying as my mind was made up. I WOULD go home in one piece and that was all there was to that. My feet felt like needles every time I tried to stand. Walking was still out of the question but I felt I was making some progress.

The hospital was not optimistic but eventually they decided to try putting me in a wheel chair and taking me to the swimming pool to see if they could help me exercise those weakened limbs. I had always been a swimmer and my arms were strong, so they helped me to propel myself across the pool without the help of my legs, scaring the therapists half to death. They quickly came after me and threatened they would not bring me back if I didn't behave.

Tiny bits of progress creeped along in the weeks and months ahead, as my strength came back into my stricken legs. By the end of two years I walked out of that hospital and return to my family. But all was not as it had been before.

My husband had found another person to keep him company. We even moved back to my home state of Florida to try and save the marriage. It didn't work. He just found someone new down there quickly. When confronted with the fact he had a lover, he tried to kill me with a shot gun. (I didn't know at the time his girl friend was expecting a child.) That was all she wrote, it was more than I could handle. I sued him for divorce. The strain of the years and illness had been more than my family could overcome. I had to start a new life on my own. One that was totally new as I'd never worked a day in my life as anything but a housewife. But I had already been through so much I knew I'd survive this crisis too.

I moved back in the house with my Mother and brother, started working at anything I could find. I only had a high school education so worked selling things on the telephone, as a waitress and finally landed a job with the phone company.

Things were going well until I found out that all the bill collectors were looking for my husband, he had returned to New England by this time and filed bankruptcy leaving me holding the bag for everything. These bill collectors called the phone company and they fired me.

I had to start all over once again trying to find a job. The struggle was still on for me and the children to just survive. Then I got really lucky, I saw an advertisement for someone who was good with arts and crafts. I had always been good at all these things. The Florida State TB. Hospital was looking for an Occupational Therapist. I had no degree but I knew I could do the job. I applied and the lady in charge of the department had no degree either (it was not a requirement in those days) and she hired me. Life was starting to look up. I could finally smile again.

One day, a week after we were married, a sick stomach brought me home early and unexpectedly from my job. I found my new husband in our bed with another woman.

Needless to say, all my hopes and dreams were smashed into a thousand pieces. My world was coming apart again and I didn't think I could handle any more. So I tried to kill myself by eating a giant bottle of aspirin. I didn't die, but it did make me wish I was dead, as I got so sick.

My new husband assured me he loved me and it wasn't my fault. He said the other woman was just in the right place, at the right time, he was drinking and just to weak to resist her advances. So, after a lot of talking, self recrimination and examination of the situation, my mind was made up. The marriage would continue. I was going to make it work if hell froze over.

I had suspensions that my husband was continuing to play games outside of our marriage but decided to ignore it and not ask any questions. I couldn't face another failed marriage. He was a good provider, a great lover and wonderful father to my children. So I chose to overlook anything that was questionable about his outside activities.

After seven years we were transfer to a new base about 100 miles away, so my job had to go. But in the summertime I'd go home, stay with Mother and go back to work for the TB Hospital as an Occupational Therapist, making a little extra money for my family. The children loved it, as they got to see their old friends and have fun all summer long going places with my family. Life was not so terribly bad after all.

A few years later we were transfer to Texas and just got settled when I became extremely ill. I hurt terribly and could not stay awake. I had Uremia and descended into a week long coma before they subsequently discovered a severe case of kidney stones. The stones were stuck and they had no choice but to operate. Mother was brought up from Florida to take care of my children while my husband was working.

When I came out of surgery I was surprised to find they had cut me from the middle of my stomach to the middle of my back, (half in two). I really didn't care as long as I didn't hurt anymore but it didn't last long. The pain returned just as severely as it had been before the surgery. They discovered there were more stones they had missed and they couldn't operate on me again. It was too soon. So, I walked the halls of the hospital, drinking water and taking pain pills until finally the stones moved and I returned home. The kidney stones still inside me, waiting like a time bomb to hit me again later down the road.

We were in Texas a year when we got orders to move to the Pacific Island of Guam. The children and I were excited at the prospect. My husband went first and we followed six months later, after he had our housing setup.

When we arrived he was NOT there to meet us. An officer we had met on the plane preceded to take over and located him. He was drunk at the club and had forgotten we were coming. We were exhausted from our long flight and waited for his arrival. Eventually, he did come to get us and take us to our home in the jungles which surround everything on the island.

Immediately, I went in and soaked in a hot tub of water, not knowing the dangers. At orientation, a day later, I found out what a bad mistake that was. I had already gotten coral growing inside of me from sitting in the water. So now I had to go through a lot of pain and treatments before getting rid of it.

My son was bitten by a boonie bee (A giant sized bumble bee that was poisonous) and his leg swelled to twice it's size. We were afraid he was going to die, but he managed to survive.

We soon learned about the poisonous toads imported from Africa, that looked like rocks and avoided them. We heard about the 150 different types of spiders that inhibited the island and we'd listen to the wild boar snorting outside our window at night. We learned to stay inside nightly too, for fear of the sharp toothed shrews, that carried rabies and swarmed everywhere after dark would bite one of us. Our idea of a Paradise in the Pacific was fast fading. It was nothing like my childhood had been in Hawaii, those six year I'd spent there with my parents.

But there were good things too, like the little Gecko that crawled on our walls. The children made pets of them. We soon learned to love the people and the Charmorro customs. There were coconut trees everywhere and we quickly learned not to eat too much at one time or stay close to the toilet. We kept our distance from the coconut crabs, which were fascinating creatures. Banana trees abounded, along with Caribou and even giant iguana and our time there passed quickly before we once again were transferred back to Texas.

Once back in the states I began to suffer from severe fatigue. My husband retired from the service and was finding solace elsewhere more frequently. His drinking increased and his temperament became more and more abusive. It got so abusive I finally decided, after 20 years of marriage, to dissolve our relationship and file suit for divorce. There was no sense beating my head against the wall any more. I relinquished all rights to his retirement in exchange for the house, on which we still owed 28 years of payments. I had no desire to keep his money, if I didn't want to be married to him. I've never believed in alimony in any form.

I got another job working for the local newspaper and registered in college. The Occupational Therapist job I loved so much now required a degree, to work in that capacity.  I married once again. I am not one to be easily discouraged by failure as you can tell. Grin! I set out to get my degree.

My fatigue continued to worsen and I tried to ignore it. For several years after that, I went from doctor to doctor, all of whom acted like I was either simple minded, crazy or a hypochondriac. I was beginning to think they were right when I finally went to a doctor who told me what the problem was.

I actually had a problem called post polio syndrome.

I began to regain some of my energy back and as usual I could not just sit at home doing nothing. I quilted, sewed, wrote poetry & fiction, read books and learned to use a computer. Even joined several writing groups.

Finally, I decided to go to the Jr. College and take a few fun classes. I took swimming twice a week and my legs began to strengthen while my spirits soared. 

The college found out found I had a few talents they could use and I began to teach  Genealogy  that semester. The next semester I was teaching a two hour Drawing class. Then one of the fellows ask me if I could help him design a Computer class for  seniors, over 55 years. Soon I was teaching a four hour class on How to use the Internet. Then I was teaching  classes in MIcrosoft Word and gradually, I got over confident again . Before I knew it I was teaching Creative Writing, Drawing, Genealogy and Computers. By the end of that semester I was down in a pile again. I really learn hard, sometimes! LOL

In any case I now have backed off and most of what I do is in small increments.  At the moment I will be only teaching Creative Writing classes in the fall of 2001, With luck though I may go back to teaching other classes, as long as I don't get too carried away.

What lays ahead is anyone’s guess, but I know one thing, I am a survivor and will adapt to whatever it is. Maybe not quickly but I      WILL     survive for a while yet anyway.  I'm just to mean to quit!.