Things were going well in nineteen seventy six. We were celebrating the nation’s bicentennial along with moving forward with our lives. Somehow in spite of beliefs to the contrary and a devastating civil war our nation had managed to survive for two hundred years. Even the recent Watergate dust up and Nixon’s resignation had not deterred the forward movement of our country. In the election that year Jimmy Carter had carried the day to become President of the United States. Meanwhile our family was happily looking forward to the Christmas holidays and a new year that promised to be wonderful.
Maryellen’s hearing had improved and she was doing well in school. Catherine was adorable and easygoing. Mike was earning respect at the bank while I became a teacher in the CCE program at St. Frances Cabrini Catholic Church. I had earned an invitation to work with youngsters after sending a letter to the pastor complaining about the continually negative homilies from one of the Deacons at the church. When the priest asked to come visit me in our home I was worried that he was angry. As it ended up, he tended to agree with me and enjoyed the fact that I had been courageous enough to speak on behalf of the other parishioners. He urged me to volunteer to teach in the religious education program since he liked my way of thinking.
I was assigned to work with a group of kindergarten aged children which was easy since I had already been working with pre-school children in a little school called “Do and Learn.” It was fun to get out of the house and practice my teaching skills. It also allowed me to begin Maryellen’s religious education as well. Catherine was so traumatized when I left her in the nursery to go teach my class that the two nuns who ran the program had to hold her and play with her the entire time. She took to them right away and after that when she arrived each week they automatically welcomed her to their office .
It was in the church class that I met the woman who would become such a dear friend that she would be like a sister to me. Pat Weimer wanted to assist someone rather than taking on the responsibility of being the sole teacher of a class. We clicked right away as we prepared the lessons each week. Her help proved invaluable on the last class before the Christmas break. I had not felt particularly well but had pushed myself to teach a brief lesson and then party with my students. When I became dizzy Pat sensed my difficulty and took charge.
At a stop on the way home I encountered my next door neighbor, Carol. She took one look at me and asked why I was not in bed. She announced rather forcefully that I looked terrible. Furthermore she insisted that I call my doctor as soon as I got back home. She noticed that the white’s of my eyes were yellow and felt certain that I had hepatitis. I thought that maybe she was overreacting, but I did make a call to my doctor’s office lest she check to see if I had followed her orders. The nurse asked me a couple of key questions that convinced her that I was indeed quite sick and that the culprit was probably hepatitis just as Carol had diagnosed. A visit to the office and a blood test confirmed my illness.
Soon enough I was feeling so horrific that my imagination went wild and I thought that I was actually dying. My skin became a lovely shade of golden yellow. I found the thought of eating anything disgusting. It was all I could do to stay awake to watch Catherine while Mike was at work. I mostly entertained her on the bed hoping that I would not pass out and leave her unattended.
Before long Mike showed signs of the same illness. A quick trip to the doctor confirmed our suspicions but luckily he did not feel as ill as I did nor was his level of bilirubin as high as mine. We took turns resting and watching the girls until his mother also contracted hepatitis and decided to come to our home with my father-in-law so that we might combine our resources. I was so sick that I literally did not care what was happening in my house even though I normally would have been uncomfortable with the situation. In the meantime my mother began to come take the girls to her house so that all of us might get some very needed rest.
Mike’s case was quickly gone after a little more than a week. The same was true of my mother-in-law. I continued to test positive and to develop more and more symptoms. My skin itched so badly that I was clawing at my arms and legs. Christmas came and went and so did the new year and still was ill. I lost weight and felt listless most of the time. I remember one evening when my neighbor, Dave, was playing “The Girl From Ipanema” on his organ and I laughed at the thought that it might be the last sound that I heard before I died.
It would be more than three months before I was finally declared well. In the meantime life went on without me. My brother, Michael, was planning his wedding with Becky. Pat was working and attending college. He did everything from driving a mail truck to delivering furniture for Foley’s, a local department store. My two brothers spent lots of time watching and entertaining Maryellen and Catherine, something that they fondly recall to this day. They build machines out of Tinker Toys and danced with the Mama and the girls like we had done when we were kids. I loved them so for being such good uncles.
By March of nineteen seventy seven I had finally regained my health and my energy. I was once again considering a return to the University of Houston to complete my degree and commence my career as a teacher beyond the level of four and five year olds. Things felt quite settled but just when we think all is well life has a way of delivering surprises and this time what would happen was a real humdinger.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 