As the dour Scotswoman had gone back to Bedrest, Kimi, Pixie and I unanimously agreed to ask Delores to make a fourth at our table and I stopped on my way out of the dining room to welcome her to the Ambulant Hospital and to extend our invitation. She gave me a nice firm handshake and said through her beautiful teeth, “Jesus, honey, I’m glad to know you. I’ve heard about you since the day I came heah.” I said, “Jesus, honey, I’m glad to know you and you’ll never know how pleasant you are going to make life for me from now on.”
When I had achieved my eight hours up, I was moved upstairs next door to Kimi and Sheila, who were roommates. My new roommate was twenty-one years old, read the funny papers aloud, called me Kid and talked about nothing but “IT” (sexual intercourse). She was very large, had reddish hair and should have been married.
Because the dining room was crowded Delores was moved at once to our table, which was at the end. of the dining room farthest from the Charge Nurse and in the row of tables next to no man’s land and the men’s section. She sat with her back to the men or rather she was supposed to. Actually she sat slightly sideways in her chair, her legs crossed like one of those confidential singers who start out, “Listen folks, and I’ll tell you ’bout that man of mine.” There were four nice-looking young men at the table just back of Delores and they took to being the first in the dining room and the last to leave. The Charge Nurse looking completely addled began slapping up and down the promenades day and night peering into the rooms.
XVI
A Toecover and How It Breeds
TOECOVER IS A family name for a useless gift. A crocheted napkin ring is a toecover. So are embroidered book marks, large figurines of a near-together-eyed shepherdess, pincushion covers done in French knots, a satin case for snapfasteners (with a card of snapfasteners tactfully enclosed so you won’t make a mistake and think it a satin case for hooks- and -eyes or old pieces of embroidery thread), embroidered coat hangers, hand-painted shoe trees (always painted with a special paint that never dries), home-made three-legged footstools with the legs spaced unevenly so the footstool always lies on one side, cross-stitched pictures of lumpy brown houses with “The houfe by the fide of the road” worked in Olde Englishe underneath, hand-decorated celluloid soap cases for traveling with tops that once off will never fit back on the bottom, crocheted paper knife handle covers complete with tassel, bud vases made out of catsup bottles, taffeta bed pillows heavily shirred and apparently stuffed with iron filings, poorly executed dolls whose voluminous skirts are supposed to cover telephones.
A toecover is not a thing that follows economic cycles. During the depression when everyone was making her own Christmas presents, toecovers abounded. In good times toecovers are not made at home but are bought in the back of Gifte Shoppes whose main income is from the lending library in the front.
On May third, I made my first trip to the women’s occupational therapy shop and discovered it to be a bubbling source of toecovers presided over by the most enthusiastic advocate for and producer of the toecover in this era, Miss Gillespie.
Miss Gillespie was physically and mentally exactly what you’d expect the producer of hand-painted paper plates to be. She had a mouth so crowded with false teeth it looked as if she had put in two sets, firm, obviously dyed black hair, spectacles, wide hips and her own set of rules. One of these rules was that women patients could not use the basement lavatory because “the men will see you go in there and know what you go in there for.” Another forbade the pressing of men’s trousers by women, on the grounds that such intimate contact with male garments was unseemly.
On my first morning, I was directed by Miss Gillespie to sit at a table and roll bandages. She said, “Go over there! No, there! No, THERE! No talking. Quiet, must have quiet. Work, work, no need to talk! Talking is bad for the lungs. Quiet, must have quiet!” I sat down next to Kimi who said, “Pay no attention to her, Betty.” As Miss Gillespie was standing directly behind Kimi I hissed, “Be quiet, she’ll hear you.” Kimi said, much louder, “Oh, no she won’t, for she is deaf as a stone.”
For three days I rolled bandages under the hysterical supervision of Miss Gillespie and found it not unpleasant for it was useful work and the occupational therapy shop was large and light with green walls and furniture and a nice view of the cherry orchard from its south windows.
On the fourth morning when Sheila, Kimi and I reported for work at eight-thirty, Miss Gillespie screamed, “Typing! Typing. Must have typists! Magazine to get out! Quiet, must have typists, must have quiet!” Kimi, Sheila and I could all type, so we were made associate editors of the sanatorium magazine which meant merely that we typed from eight-thirty to ten-thirty anything that Miss Gillespie handed us.
As the ward news often contained “I seens,” “he don’ts” and “we done its,” we at first attempted to make a few editorial changes. Miss Gillespie compared the copies with the original and went wild. “Right from the heart,” she yelled pounding on the original manuscript with her ruler. “Right from the heart, don’t change a word. Type. Type. After all everyone don’t talk like you.” “No, he don’t,” Kimi said gently, smiling at Miss Gillespie who couldn’t hear a word she was saying, “but I only done the best I could. I seen the mistakes and I fixed them.” Miss Gillespie said to Sheila and me, “Why don’t you try to act like Miss Sanbo. She is quiet. She don’t argue. Now everybody to work, quiet! Quiet!”
While we typed, the rest of the women made bandages, hooked rugs, sterilized and powdered rubber gloves, made hospital gowns, clothes for the children in the Children’s Hospital and gave shampoos.
From ten-thirty to eleven-thirty was our own time but we were supposed to learn useful occupations so that there would be a place for us in the great industrial world into which we were soon to be dumped. A few of the trades offered by Miss Gillespie were the manufacture of little crocheted baskets to hang by the sink to hold wedding and engagement rings while the owner washed the dishes, clothes-pin curtain retainers, rooster pot holders, hand-painted paper plates, embroidered combing jackets, kewpie doorstops, crocheted needle books, crepe-paper lampshades, crocheted book marks, imitation crepe-paper sweet peas, holders for paper towels made out of old candy boxes decorated with forget-me-nots and marked “This looks like a towel, This feels like a towel, This is a towel, Use it,” (unfortunately Miss Gillespie always made the hole in the boxes through which the towel was to be pulled too small so that “This looks like a crumpled piece of paper” would have been a more accurate way to mark her dispensers), the spleen vases, crocheted hot-water bottle covers, and decorated pillows of every type.
I asked Miss Gillespie if I could use my time to brush up on my shorthand, but she, evidently having never heard of shorthand and supposing it to be some sort of game like volley ball, yelled, “No! NO! Too noisy!” so I went on with the tatted collar. Sheila, much against Miss G.’s will, made a coat, Kimi and her mother made many lovely things, a blouse, two new skirts, a large embroidered tablecloth, even angora anklets. The rest of the women made toecovers.
On May tenth I was sent to the Bedrest Hospital on flower duty. My flower partner, a tiny little woman who wore old corsages and referred to her husband as “Big Daddy,” and I walked to Bedrest at nine o’clock and reported to the Charge Nurse who was very cordial, complimented us on our time up but couldn’t resist the old impulse to warn us not to talk as we took our empty carts and started up and down the wards gathering up all the vases of flowers.
I was shocked to find Eileen very thin and white and listless. She had had another hemorrhage, she told me, and was running a temperature all the time. I told her about Delores and Kimi but she wasn’t very interested. I asked about Minna and she was apathetic even about her. The only time she showed even the faintest glimmer of her old fire was when she told me about the crush she had on the new store boy.
Minna was in one of the private rooms, tickled to death because one of her kidneys had become infected and the doctors were contemplating removi
ng it. “It’s an awful serious operation,” she told me blinking her pale eyes, “and the doctah said he didn’t see how a little old thing like me could pull through it, but Ah just told him that sometimes us little fellers ah strongah than you great big people.” I found that being ambulant made Minna and her constant reference to her tininess and my gigantic size no longer irritating. I asked about Sweetie-Pie. She said, “Oh, that pooah thing is so worried about me. He cried when I told him about my kidney.”
There were so many new and strange faces in the Bedrest Hospital that I thought there must be a regular epidemic of tuberculosis in the city. Marie astounded me by having time up and being very cheerful; Eleanor was on the porch being inspirational and knitting; Evalee had three hours and was to come to the Ambulant Hospital the next day; Margaretta, the beautiful Negro girl, was dying.
She was in the light room and the Charge Nurse surprised me by asking if I would go in and see her. She tried to prepare me a little by telling me that Margaretta was very ill, but nothing she could have said would have lessened the shock of what I saw. Margaretta’s head seemed to have shrunk and become wizened like the dried heads of Indian mummies, her hands lay listlessly on the bedcovers like terrible little brown claws. Her voice was completely gone. Only by her large beautiful brown eyes was she recognizable as the girl who used to smile and wave at Kimi and me.
I told her that she should hurry and get time up so she could go on flower duty; I told her a little of Miss Toecover and her idea of useful occupation; I told her about Kimi and the Charge Nurse but my voice was too loud and my gaiety sounded hollow and forced. Margaretta waved one of the little brown claws when I left and I went into the utility room and wilted the flowers with scalding tears.
My first try at washwater duty was five days later and began rather unfortunately. Harassed by Miss Gillespie’s screamed warnings that I was to be in the dining room at five-thirty and not a second later, I hurled myself across the lawns in the cool gray of the dawn and arrived at the dining room breathless and ready for work at four-twenty. The night nurse, glad of company at that dreary hour, fixed coffee and fruit juice and we talked until we were joined at five-thirty by my washwater partner, a small pleasant Eskimo girl named Esther.
As my first morning at The Pines was still clear in my memory, I tried to wake the patients gently and Esther and I made many trips and gave everyone a full basin of hot water. Eileen seemed better and more cheerful as she told me that she and the store boy were engaged and would be married as soon as they were well.
Minna rubbed her thick white eyelids, blinked and said, “Ah’m soooooo sleeeeeeeepy,” and for a minute I was back in the four-bed ward and wanted to pound her on the head with the water pitcher. Marie was cranky and said that she didn’t like so much or such hot water; Eleanor said that she had heard that Margaretta was in emergency in a coma and wouldn’t last through the day, that the little thirteen-year-old girl, Evangeline Constable, had had a spontaneous collapse and was not expected to live, and had I heard about Eileen’s hemorrhage; old Gazz-on-Her-Stummick asked me if I wouldn’t please fill her hot-water bottle as she had so much gazz on her stummick she hadn’t closed her eyes all night, so I did and she said that the hot-water bottle was too hot and wouldn’t I please put a little cold in it and while I was there would I hand her her sweater and if I saw the nurse would I send her in and would I bring her a glass of fresh water as she didn’t like the taste of water after it had stood and could I pour just a little water on her flowers as they seemed to be drooping and . . . I grabbed her basin and fled.
Our kind-hearted ministerings to the sick glazed Esther and me with noble feelings but made us very late to breakfast, which elicited some acid comments from the Charge Nurse as she tossed us hard-boiled eggs and cold toast.
On Saturday mornings we reported to the occupational therapy shop but were allowed to use the three hours for a shampoo, to press clothes, to manicure our nails or to work on our toecovers. I used my Saturday mornings to write letters on the typewriter and was usually very much hampered by Miss Gillespie, who chose that time to weave.
The loom was in one corner of the small typing room and each time Miss Gillespie pushed the treadles or whatever the things were that changed the warp, they stuck for a time then gave in with a terrific crash which brought forth a scream, then a wild laugh from Miss G. It was not conducive to concentration, but I enjoyed sitting behind her and writing down accurate descriptions of her rules and habits.
On the morning of my first trip to washwater she brought out a new rule. After I had been in the shop for about an hour I started to leave to go upstairs to the bathroom. Miss Gillespie came panting after me. “Where are you going?” she demanded. “To the bathroom,” I said. She said, “Now, Mrs. Bard, going to the toilet is merely a habit. Habits can be broken. Not necessary. Break it. Bad habit. Control the functions of the body. Everything can be controlled. Why there are days and days when I don’t go to the toilet from dawn till dark.” I continued up the ramp with Miss Gillespie clutching my arm and trying to dissuade me. She never forgave me.
When I finally finished my tatted collar and washed it and brought it down to the O.T. shop on Saturday morning to press, Miss Gillespie said, “Tatting, humph! Never cared for it much myself.” Sheila and Kimi, just to be irritating, for we none of us liked the great big collar, said loudly so Miss Gillespie could hear, “It’s beautiful! Gorgeous! Exquisite!”
Miss Gillespie sniffed and said, “I think that too much praise is very bad for people. I am willing to get along with nothing but a little criticism, but some people have to have flattery, flattery, flattery!” “And toilets,” Kimi said softly, smiling and looking directly at Miss Gillespie, who beamed back at her.
XVII
Privileges
THURSDAY NIGHT WAS library night and after supper, pulse and temperatures, we eight-hour females put on our robes and repaired to the library to choose books, silently and under the watchful eye of the Charge Nurse. The library, on the first floor, was lined with book cases, had a fireplace and leather furniture and could have been a very pleasant reading room. It wasn’t. It was dark and cheerless and cold and the inside of the fireplace, like the inside of every fireplace at The Pines, had been scrubbed and waxed and never tainted by fire.
The books had been donated and Meet Yourself as You Really Are, My Hand Is In the Hand of Jesus, Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates, Daddy Long Legs, Psychology and Industrial Efficiency, Black Beauty, Office Wife, Elizabeth and Her German Garden, The Magic Mountain, Away from It All, Let the People Know, Jottings from a Cruise, Fear, The Conquest of Bread, Pollyanna and Over the Top by Guy Empey, were side by side and at our disposal.
Every day, no matter what the weather, eight-hour patients took a walk. At three o’clock we dressed, including hats or head scarves, gathered in the library for roll call, then were herded to the store and back. The store, about a half a block from the Ambulant Hospital and nicely situated in a little grove of trees, carried in addition to pop, cookies, candy, gum and ink, lined tablets and pencils, all the necessary implements and materials for the manufacture of toecovers.
Twice while I was at the Ambulant Hospital, our walks were supervised by one of the sweet young nurses, who took us by the farms, down a winding path through a wooded grove bordered with iris and carpeted with pink star flowers, and to a large log cabin. The warm pine needles crunched underfoot, bringing back memories of camping trips and house parties, the empty log cabin smelled deliciously like an empty log cabin and the Charge Nurse and Miss Toecover seemed very far away.
Motion pictures were shown once a month but as Miss Gillespie was the judge of who among the ambulant patients was fit to go, Sheila and I were invited to only one movie while at the Ambulant Hospital. Kimi was asked to them all but out of loyalty stayed home with us.
I sat in back of Delores at my one movie, Victoria, the Queen, and when Victoria was shown sipping her before-dinner sherry, Delores gave me a poke an
d said in a very hoarse, audible whisper, “Jesus, Betty, how would it seem to be hoisting a few again?”
After the movie the male patients arose as one man and tried to walk in front or in back of Pixie and Delores, who were roommates and rivals to the death. Pixie, small and beautifully formed, wore pastel colors and her hair on top of her head and was exquisite. Delores wore her hair hanging almost to her waist, tight bright red dresses, bright red lipstick, bright red shoes and was devastating. They drove the Charge Nurse frantic but Miss Gillespie loved them. They thought all of her toecovers were “cute” and under her supervision Delores made ten of the cement-hard shirred boudoir pillows and Pixie made one of the “This is a Towel” boxes, two ring baskets, a knitted shopping bag and hundreds of the crepe-paper sweetpeas.
On Hospital Day, May twelfth, we could have as many visitors as we liked from nine to twelve-thirty and from two to four in the afternoon. Even former patients, not usually allowed on the grounds of the hospital within a year of their discharge, could come in and visit.
The day was warm and clear, the poplars along the drive sparkled and swayed in the breeze and by eight-thirty the whole hospital was filled with expectation and the smell of new-mown grass. Anne, Joan, Mother, Alison, Mary, Madge, Cleve, Margaret, friends from out of town, everyone came.