Pam Weaver - A Mother’s Gift

There was a whole crowd of them there including Mark and David Weaver. Everyone wanted to hear about his day on the beach.

‘Lucky devil,’ said David as he told them about the Punch and Judy man and his big ice cream. ‘Bags I’m John Wayne.’

‘It’s my turn,’ said Mark.

‘You did it last time,’ Billy protested.

In the end, Billy’s day out was forgotten as they had a scrap about who was going to be John Wayne and David Weaver won. Then they whooped around the bushes shooting Indians until it began to get cold and the light was failing. Paul Dore gave Billy a lift back on his handlebars as far as the road next to his and Billy, knowing that he was bound to be in trouble, walked slowly home.

‘Where the devil have you been?’ his mother demanded as she opened the door. She clipped his ear as he walked past. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Gary’s gone to hospital,’ said Billy quickly. ‘He’s got …’ He froze. He couldn’t remember what it was called. ‘And Aunt Peaches said none of us should come to her house ever again and she was so upset about it, she sent Auntie Dottie off in the ambulance with him.’

His mother put her hand to her throat. ‘Don’t tell me he’s got polio,’ she said quietly.

The isolation hospital was rather grim. It smelled of carbolic soap and disinfectant and it was dimly lit because most of the patients were asleep. Dottie followed the nurse who wheeled Gary onto the ward on an adult-sized stretcher. He looked so small and vulnerable. Wordlessly, they took him to a cot and the nurse drew the curtains around him, leaving Dottie on the outside.

‘Are you the child’s mother?’

Dottie shook her head at the doctor who had walked up behind her. ‘His mother is eight months pregnant,’ she explained. ‘Her doctor was worried about infection so he told her not to come. I’m a close friend.’ The hospital doctor said nothing. ‘Gary’s father is here,’ Dottie went on. ‘He’s parking the lorry.’

The doctor parted the curtain and went inside. Gary was whimpering.

‘If you would like to wait outside,’ said Sister, pulling little white cuffs over the rolled-up sleeves of her dark blue uniform. ‘I’ll come and speak to you later.’

Behind the curtain, Gary, obviously in pain, began to cry.

Dottie hesitated. ‘I promised his mother I’d hold his hand,’ she said anxiously.

‘We have to examine him,’ Sister said, ‘and the doctor will have to give him a lumbar puncture. It’s not very pleasant, I’m afraid, but it has to be done. We need to know what we’re up against. Now if you would like to wait outside …’

It was as much as Dottie could do to fight back the tears as she waited in the corridor for Jack to arrive. She stared hard at the green and cream tiled walls and the brown linoleum floors until she thought she knew every crack. Beyond the peeling brown door Gary’s cries grew more heart-rending. Jack hurried towards her, turning his cap around and around in his hand anxiously.

‘How is he?’

Dottie shook her head. ‘The doctor’s with him now.’

Jack sat beside her and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Oh God, oh God …’

She put her hand on his forearm. ‘Try to keep calm, Jack,’ she said gently. ‘They’re doing their best.’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ he said brokenly. ‘Oh Dottie, that boy is my life. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.’

Mercifully, at that moment they heard Gary stop crying.

‘Don’t go thinking like that, Jack. He’s a tough little lad. He’ll pull through.’

Jack leaned further forward and wept silently. Dottie placed her hand in the centre of his back and did her best to fight her own tears. After having such a lovely day, she couldn’t believe this was happening. If Reg were here, even he would be upset.

They waited for what seemed like a lifetime until the brown door opened and the ward sister came out. ‘Are you the child’s father?’

Jack rose to his feet, and wiped the end of his nose on his jacket sleeve. ‘Yes.’

‘There’s no point in beating around the bush and there’s no easy way to say this but I’m afraid your son definitely has polio.’

Jack flung his arms around himself, squeezed his eyes tightly and turned away.

‘What happens now?’ Dottie asked. It cut her to the quick to see how hurt Jack was, but Peaches would want to know every last detail.

‘It’s best if you leave him now,’ the sister said matter-of-factly. ‘Mum can visit him in a week or so.’

‘A week or so?’ cried Dottie.

‘We keep visits to a minimum,’ the sister continued. ‘Normally we would allow his mother to see him for twenty minutes or thereabouts, but as you say, she’s pregnant.’

‘I could take her place,’ Dottie said, ‘at least until his mum is in no danger.’

‘At this highly infectious stage,’ the sister went on, ‘it’s best for the patients to remain calm. Family visits are very unsettling for young children. They cry for hours afterwards.’

‘Can we at least see him now?’ Dottie asked. ‘I want to put his mother’s mind at rest.’

‘Is he going to die?’ Jack choked.

‘It’s always possible,’ the sister said, ‘but personally I think he’ll be more stable in a day or two.’

‘Please God,’ Jack murmured.

‘I tell you what,’ said the sister, her tone softening, ‘pop in now, just for a minute to see him settled and you,’ indicating Dottie, ‘can visit him on Monday.’

Dottie couldn’t hide her gratitude. ‘Thank you, oh thank you.’

‘But when you do come, it can only be for twenty minutes,’ the nurse cautioned. ‘No more.’

‘I understand,’ said Dottie gratefully.

They followed her back onto the ward and tiptoed to Gary’s cot. His eyes were closed and although his face wore a frown, he certainly looked more peaceful than when they’d brought him in. He was still very flushed and a young nurse was sponging his face with water.

The sister picked up the temperature chart at the foot of the bed. ‘His temperature is one hundred and four degrees fahrenheit,’ she said.

Dottie touched Gary’s fingers. ‘Night, night, darling,’ she whispered. ‘See you in the morning.’

Jack leaned over the cot and kissed his son’s forehead. ‘Night, son,’ he wept.

Gary started to cry again.

‘Come along now,’ said the sister briskly. ‘It’s best not to upset the little lad again.’

It was quarter to ten when Dottie finally got home. As Jack dropped her off at the gate, she saw Ann Pearce’s curtain twitch. Nosy old cow, she thought irritably. She’d probably think she could get even more money out of her now. That last time … it was blackmail, wasn’t it?

As Dottie walked indoors, Reg scowled. For one sickening second, Dottie thought Ann might have been round and told him about Dr Fitzgerald.

‘How long does it bloody take to go to the doctor’s house and ask him for a visit?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours for my tea.’

‘They took little Gary to hospital,’ she said.

Reg’s expression changed. ‘Hospital?’

Dottie slipped off her bolero and reached for her wrap-over apron. ‘I’m afraid Gary has been admitted.’

Reg lowered himself into a chair. ‘Admitted …’

‘It’s a bit late for cooking,’ Dottie said matter-of-factly. She was angry that he’d sat there all that time, helplessly waiting for her to come home. Couldn’t he have got his own tea for once? ‘Shall I do you a couple of fried eggs?’

He nodded and she set about gathering the frying pan, the eggs from the bucket of cold water on the scullery floor and the dripping from the meat safe.