LOCKED ROOMS When I was little, during my 4th to 7th years, I had measles six times.
Ummmmmm.....
And always only in the summer.
Of course, a person only gets measles once, and I am not sure I had them at all. When I was in my 30's I developed a related skin disease called "roseola" which, I understand, you don't get if you've had measles.
During those days, doctors still made house calls and kids with "childhood diseases" were quarantined. A sign was tacked on the front door to announce the disease and how long the quarantine would last. It was common in those days for mothers of young children to visit a child with measles or mumps or chicken-pox to expose their child and "get it over with". There really was a logic to this: the child would undoubtedly get the disease, anyway, and the younger the child the less ill they got. My cousins came once or twice during one of the early episodes, but they were my only visitors, and I suppose it was to expose them to measles.
Measles only happen once, and last about 10 days. Except...
When a child had measles they were confined to bed in a darkened room because light would damage their eyes. Whether or not that is fact, it was the common belief at the time. This was during the early 1940's when it seems as though medicine was still in the dark ages. Penicillin was new; there were no antibiotics, and a person didn't go to the hospital except for a life-threatening illness or an operation. Most routine illnesses were treated at home with or without visits from the doctor.
I was a sweet, obedient child and never questioned the wisdom of adults. It never occurred to me to do otherwise. I don't know if that was my nature or because I had been taught never to "sass" or argue with "my elders". It was probably a combination of both. There was a saying that I remember hearing almost daily: "Children should be seen and not heard". There were exceptions to the rule, of course, but children in those days were very polite and we "knew our place". We addressed all adults who were not immediate family members as Mr. and Mrs., never by their first names. Child abuse was common in those days but kept secret by the children themselves. I was taught never to "carry tales" or to discuss family matters with anybody outside the family. And it was a two-way street: because I never talked, I never heard either.
Where Elaine got the measles quarantine sign, I have no idea. Maybe I did have measles once, or one of my cousins did. No matter. She had the sign.
Most of the "diagnoses" Elaine made are only vague memories, but one is quite clear. I was sitting on the floor in the living room, reading the paper. Elaine and Grandma were in the breakfast nook talking. Elaine sat on a chair in the dining room and called me over. She pulled down the neck of my dress and said, "Just as I thought -- measles again. Look at all those spots!" I remember looking and not seeing any, but if Elaine said they were there, they had to be there and were just someplace I could't see.
She took me upstairs to one of the bedrooms, pulled down the shades, and dressed me for bed, where I was to spend the next 10 days. I was not "neglected" during this time; they brought me my meals and I was allowed to go across the hall to use the bathroom. I didn't feel sick, you understand, but if Elaine said I was, then I was.
For the duration, I wasn't allowed visitors because I was "contagious", couldn't read (my life's joy) because the room was too dark, and had only a radio for company. The first few days I had to stay in bed, but even I eventually pleaded to be let up to sit on the floor. Or I would sneak out of bed and tip-toe around it out of sheer boredom. I never looked out the window because I believed that strong light would make me blind. Elaine brought me paper dolls but I wasn't permitted to read because it "would be too hard on my eyes". It didn't occur to me then, why was it okay to cut out paper dolls, which uses your eyes more intently (especially in a darkened room) than reading? I really didn't like paper dolls, but if that was all I got to play with, then that's what I played with.
Can you imagine being a 4 to 7 year-old, confined once or twice during the summer to a 6 by 10 foot room for ten days at a time? I think even jail cells are bigger. There was just room enough for a twin bed and chest of drawers.
I didn't know these measles episodes were abuse until just recently. That sounds odd, I know, but even after I learned it was highly unlikely that I had measles six times, I didn't think of it as being locked in a room. The door, although closed, was never locked, and I had contributed to my own confinement by not questioning it. So, to my way of thinking, it wasn't abuse. However, I just mentioned in passing during a depression group about all the times I'd been told I had measles and what happened then, and one of the women shuddered slightly, just a little body motion, but the blinds snapped up and I realized that these incidents were highly, extremely, grossly abusive.
The subject came up because I had (still have, but to a much lesser extent) a terrible fear of being bored. When I would go on a weekend camping trip, for instance, I always took two or three books, a battery radio, a tape player, some needlework, some crocheting, as many electronic toys and games as I owned, a deck of cards, crossword puzzle books, pens, pencils and paper to write (even a typewriter a couple of times) -- you name it, I took it. My "toys" often took up at least as much space as my camping gear. Most of the stuff never got used on the camping trip, of course -- I was too busy fishing or hiking or whatever, but before I left I always had a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I hadn't packed enough.
Up until the revelation in the depression group, I had to have sound in the background -- the radio, tapes, or the TV even if I wasn't watching it. Even if I had unread books, when I went to the store I'd buy more; I bought every crossword puzzle book available. I always had one or two current "projects" going, like cross-stitch or crocheting, and never really sat still. It was impossible for me to meditate, my hands and my mind both always had to be busy. As I write this, there is no sound in the background; I have just finished a book but don't have half a dozen unread ones laying around. I still can't stand it when the Internet is slow, and I have a little electronic solitaire game I play while waiting, but I CAN just sit, now.
Just before discovering how abusive this was, there was a news story about a little girl who had been kidnapped by a neighbor and locked in his basement. It was an absolute horror story to me; I couldn't get it out of my mind. That poor little girl! And a thought would sneak in "well, that happened to you, and more than once" but I would shove it aside. The realization was almost ready to happen, but it was too soon.
This is the last of the abuse episodes that I've realized, and is one of the worst of all. Knowing that it WAS abuse and that the door was locked as surely as if someone had turned a key has opened my life tremendously. I feel so much freedom now. I'd always felt somewhat confined by my living arrangements, life style, other people's expectations, etc. but the fact was, I was still in that little bedroom, bored to tears.
Why did they do it? I have no idea. One thing I know is that paper dolls was an acceptable pastime for little girls, whereas reading wasn't. Maybe Elaine just wanted me to be "more like a little girl" or something. As I was writing this last, it occurs to me that at the time of the diagnosis above, I was 7 years old and sitting on the floor reading the newspaper, and maybe Elaine and Grandma couldn't stand it. Girls and women didn't read the newspaper -- only the men did in the family that raised me.
I guess something happened that "measles" didn't work anymore. Maybe a neighbor noticed I seemed to have measles a lot. At any rate, Elaine called a doctor once and tried to convince him I had whooping cough (another quarantine disease), but the doctor examined me and didn't buy it. If he had, I probably would have had a couple more confined summers, but with whooping cough.
The year before she died, I jokingly said something to Elaine about how I must be the only person in history who had measles six times. She got one of her funny "looks" and said she didn't think I would remember that. She knew what she was doing at the time she did it. She just didn't figure I'd remember.
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