A Grandmother's Recollections

by Ella Rodman Church

My aversion probably arose from the circumstance of once having had a loose front tooth pulled out—one that was just ready to jump out itself; which operation, I felt convinced, had left my system in a very shattered state. Often since did I torture myself for hours by mounting up on a table before the glass, and with a string tied around a loosened tooth, give it a little cowardly pull at intervals—lacking sufficient courage to rid myself of my trouble at once. I have sometimes sat in this interesting position for a whole morning; and should probably have continued it through the afternoon had not Fred, or Henry, perceiving my employment, come slyly behind me and caused me to start suddenly, which always dislodged the troublesome tooth.

My eyes rested a moment on the doctor, and then glanced off to seek some more agreeable object, and having found mamma, she seemed like a lovely angel in comparison with the ogre who, I felt convinced, only waited his opportunity to put an end to my life. Mamma came close to me, and observing my gaze still bent upon the basin, she whispered softly: "Do not look so frightened, Amy, you have only been bled—that is all, believe me."

All! After this announcement I wondered that I breathed at all; and had I not been too weak should certainly have cried over the thoughts of the pain I must have suffered in my insensibility. I made no reply, but leaned my head droopingly upon the pillow; and Dr. Irwin, taking my hand, observed: "She is very weak, and we may expect delirium before morning."

His first assertion received the lie direct in the strength with which I pushed him off, as I would the touch of a viper; and clinging to mamma, I cried: "Take him away, dear mother! Take him away!--Do not let him come near us!"

"What?" exclaimed the doctor good-humoredly, "are you afraid of me, my little lady? Do I look so very frightful?"

I was quite surprised at his pleasant tone, and on a nearer survey of his features, felt my passion considerably cooled; but those odious spectacles spoiled all. I remember soon after being raised up, while some one held a cup to my lips, but whether the draught were good or bad I was unable to determine. Dr. Irwin now took my mother aside, and whispered something in a low tone, as he placed a small packet in her hands. I heard my mother say: "I am afraid she will never take it, doctor," to which he replied: "But she must take it, madam—we cannot consider a child's humors in the scale with her life." I now felt assured that some nauseous compound was being prepared for me; which I firmly resolved to fling in the doctor's face, should he dare to approach me with it. I was a perfect fury when roused; and this fancied cruelty excited my strongest passions.

But Dr. Irwin wisely took himself off; and the next morning poor mamma received half the mixture on her dress, while the other half found a resting place on the floor—a few drops only having slipped down my throat; while one of the servants heard my screams at the end of the village, and the next door neighbor, prompted by humanity, sent to inquire the name of the murdered party. The next dose was more successful; mamma having spread out before my eyes all her possessions which she thought likely to tempt me, I received permission to make a choice, on condition of swallowing a spoonful of calomel jalap. I further displayed my gentleness by biting Dr. Irwin's fingers when he attempted to look at my throat, and the good man evidently regarded me as a pretty refractory patient.

I always had a great horror of being sick—that is, a real, regular fit of sickness, where you are perched up in bed, and have to do as other people please, and have only just what covering they please—when you are not suffered to put an arm out, or toss off a quilt that almost smothers you, or drink a drop of cold water. Once in a while, I thought, to be just sufficiently sick to sit in the easy chair and look over mother's pretty things, or daub with her color-box, while people brought me oranges and waited upon me, did very well. I was not a gentle, timid, feminine sort of a child, as I have said before—one who would faint at the prick of a pin, or weep showers of tears for a slight headache; I was a complete little hoyden, full of life and spirits, to whom the idea of being in bed in the day-time was extremely disagreeable—and when I had been "awful," according to the nursery phraseology, the greatest punishment that could be inflicted upon me was to send me thither to enjoy the charms of solitude. I was a female edition of my brother Fred; not quite so prone to tricks and mischief, perhaps—but almost as wild and unmanageable.

Now and then Fred would come down in the morning pale, sick, and subdued-looking; his head tightly bound with a handkerchief, and his whole countenance expressive of suffering. A sick headache was the only thing that could tame him; and a smile of ineffable relief sat on the faces of the others as they glanced at his woe-begone visage. He was as secure for that day as though chained hand and foot. My quiet hours were when some fascinating book engrossed my whole attention; I drank in each word, and could neither see nor hear anything around.

But here I was, really sick and quiet, ill in bed for a whole month—day-time and all; and oh! the nauseous doses that somehow slipped down my unwilling throat! Sometimes I would lie and watch the others moving around and doing as they chose, and then, feeling galled by my own sense of dependence and inefficiency, the warm blood would glow quickly as before, and springing hastily up, I determined to throw off this weary feeling of lassitude. But it was of no use; all I could do was to sink back exhausted, and "bide my time."