POLIO—IN THE NEWS, BUT NOT NEW

________________________________________

Polio is in the news again, but for some, it never went away. This new outbreak recently reared its ugly head on another continent, far from our own doorsteps, but not so long ago we lived the terror here too. In the decades of the thirties, and especially the forties and fifties, public swimming pools, playgrounds and sidewalks—anywhere children normally played—were mostly deserted. Parents lived in fear, cloistering their children indoors, when the spectre of polio stalked their communities.

But the mass epidemics of the Twentieth Century seemed a mystery to scientists, who conjectured that perhaps the discovery of bacteria as causing illness led to more hygienic habits. This was a good thing, of course—but which left children with less immunity against the contagious virus

My own grandfather contracted polio circa 1882, though the rural doctor was not able to diagnose the illness, except that the young boy suffered a high fever and lingering paralysis, which left him with a limp the remainder of his life.

In 1947, I myself, came down with polio at the age of 18 months becoming paralyzed from the waist down. The life-long residual effects were evident as soon as the paralysis passed: a withered left leg and spinal deformity. After several orthopedic surgeries, and with a full-length leg brace, I achieved the ability to walk reasonably well.

Many well-known people from every profession are included in the hall-of-fame list of polio survivors. Some familiar names: Actors, Alan Alda and Donald Sutherland (who both played Hawkeye on M*A*S*H), Mia Farrow; movie director, Francis Ford Coppola; Judy Collins, singer and song-writer; Itzhak Perlman, famed violinist; Robert McNamara, former U.S. Secretary of Defense; Jack Nicklaus, pro-golfer. Sir Walter Scott (an ancestor of mine, incidentally), historical novelist and poet, was left lame after developing what we now know as polio, though it was undiagnosed at the time.
.
A retired schoolteacher, Eleanor Abbott, contracted polio in 1948. While confined in hospital she invented and designed a game—Candy Land—for the children recuperating there.

The most well-known polio survivor, of course, was our 32nd president, Franklin D. Roosevelt. The March of Dimes—an organization that helped hundreds of thousands of polio survivors, including me—began through his efforts and influence. My hospital care, surgeries and prosthetic devices were covered in their entirety by the generous, warm-hearted giving of millions of school children, who carefully inserted their dimes on the donation cards, then turned them in at school for the March of Dimes.

Thankfully, other than these heart-breaking incidences in under-developed countries, polio is no longer a threat. In 1955 the announcement of Jonas Salk’s successful vaccine resulted in hundreds of thousands of children lining up to be inoculated. Modern science declared a major victory in the fight against disease by vanquishing the deadly, menacing wraith of poliomyletis.

But, thousands of us still face its consequences as a daily fact of life. Of course, like World War II vets, there aren’t many of us left, and when we’re gone, barring—God forbid—another massive outbreak, polio will have passed into history.

Possibly the most intriguing aspect of polio survivors is exactly what that word signifies: We view ourselves not as victims, but fighters, warriors battling for our very existence. Every movement must be re-learned, thought out, planned ahead. What amounts to a small hill for others is cliff-climbing for us. A staircase becomes Mt. Everest; spring-loaded doors a steel trap. Challenges face us at every turn, but something within us rises to meet it. We do not give up. We improvise, innovate, sometimes fall (literally) but get up again and keep going. And we survive. Stronger, more resilient, perhaps, than others for whom movement is easy, unencumbered—thoughtless, even. The majority of survivors exhibit Type A characteristics. Thus polio has made us.

I can say, without a doubt, that my handicap has been a blessing, shaping me beyond the mere hereditary qualities of parents and ancestors into who I am today. I quote notable photojournalist, Dorothea Lange, whose polio left her with a withered leg and limp. She commented, “It was perhaps the most important thing that happened to me. It formed me, guided, instructed me, helped me, and humiliated me. All those things at once. I've never gotten over it and am aware of the force and power of it.”

Life throws some unforeseen, course-changing events at us, but by God’s grace, it is what you make of it. As of a few years, I have experienced a gradual but noticeable diminution of physical strength, resulting in the need to use a wheelchair. For short distances, I am able to walk with a cane. Over-used joints, fulfilling unintended functions for more than 60 years, are wearing out. I remain grateful for the parts that work reasonably well and for good health, all things considered.

I have accomplished many things my doctors predicted as impossible, or at best, difficult: in my childhood, learning to ride a two-wheel bike; carrying two healthy pregnancies and rearing two rambunctious children; as well as serving in ministerial roles with my husband in third-world countries.

Though doggedly independent and self-reliant to a fault, my increasing needs have required me over the years to ask for assistance, even from strangers, and I derive pleasure in their across-the-board, wholehearted willingness. People like to be needed. Even the most unlikely—at least to my age-linked viewpoint, such as the heavy-metal rockers with purple mohawks and innumerable piercings who hurried to open a door for me—have been more than eager to assist.

I am grateful for those who offer to help, who do so not knowing if they’ll be rejected, brushed off, or even resented. Thank you for caring.

Perhaps it is this cheerful giving and receiving of compassion that weaves us together in the intricate fabric of God’s creation. Something such as polio, intertwining dark, somber fibers into the embroidery of life, can reveal the brightness of that better side of humanity. Thus humankind’s best potential is highlighted in colorful threads of mercy and humility.


Connie Schisler Vellekoop
November 13, 2010