Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Testimony from the 1918 influenza pandemic




A suspenseful historical romance: LOVE'S DELICATE BLOSSOM





EXCERPT FROM LOVE'S DELICATE BLOSSOM
By Ada Brownell
Author's note: This book is from the era of the 1918 flu pandemic. The author's mother, Rita Shepherd, nearly died from the sickness, and her brother did die. The book relates some of the details Ada's mother related about her experience, including a glimpse of heaven. Although the book has a lot of truth in it, and some of the scenes happened, the novel is fiction.
CHAPTER 14
The professor had an earnestness about him that clung to his shiny black suit, stiffly starched white shirt, and the black and white spotted tie he wore. He put his hand to his tie, stretched his neck, apparently trying to make it more comfortable.

“More of our soldiers are returning home from the battlefields with disease than are being wounded” he said. “That might sound better than having your head blown off by a bomb, but communicable diseases like mumps, flu, typhus and cholera can be just as deadly as a bullet or a bomb.”

A chill wiggled up Ritah’s spine.

“Pneumonia, influenza, tuberculosis, body lice which causes trench fever, and other parasites are causing our soldiers great grief. When they come home they need someone to take care of them. That might be you.”

Another chill made Ritah shudder.

She feared for Stuart and hoped Bud wouldn’t be drafted when he got old enough. She’d already seen one hospital tent where soldiers were being treated for sickness and injuries and she kept her distance.

“Sanitation is utmost where there is communicable disease,” Smith continued. “What do your parents do to sanitize your home when someone is sick?”

Rita stuck up her hand. “We wash everything with lye soap, and sometimes boil the clothing. We don’t have any other kind of soap, and it’s great at cleaning. I heard it even prevents head lice.”

Smith nodded his head and the white hair he’d combed over his bald spot lifted, then settled again. "Lye soap is a great disinfectant, especially if you have some tea tree root in it. Some hospitals and other places use hydrogen peroxide to disinfect sick rooms. In 1913 five businessmen invested one hundred dollars each to found a commercial liquid bleach factory. They called it the Electro-Alkaline Company. A year later they began production of a concentrated industrial-strength bleach with 21 percent sodium hypochlorite. It will make white fabric really white, and it’s also a disinfectant. You’ve probably heard of it. The brand name is-Clorox.”

“Can just anybody buy it?” one male student asked.

Smith smoothed his hair, turned his head to the side and said, “I think so. It might be the greatest thing we’ve found yet to clean sick rooms and infectious clothing.”

One of the male students with a deep voice coughed and it sounded as if he was tearing his lungs up. Ritah stuck up her hand. “What is the best treatment we have for pneumonia?”

The doctor glared at the student who had coughed. “Cover your mouth, young man, when you cough. If you have a doctor, you’d better go see him.”

A rumble of low voices went through the crowded classroom.

“Mustard packs sometimes can help a great deal with pneumonia,” Smith continued. “But pneumonia still is a deadly disease. Too many people of all ages die from it.”

When class was over, Ritah almost wished she hadn’t taken the class. Too many people she loved were at risk.
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ADVANCE TO PAGE 209




Ritah woke up in bed, aching all over, burning up and struggling to breathe.

The heels on Mama’s shoes kept stomping about the house, and the noise seemed like a sledge hammer to Ritah’s head.

Then she remembered. Bud was sick. She had to get up and help Mama take care of him. He probably needed water right now. That was one thing the health professor said. “Get clear liquids down the flu patient. Bud hadn’t been drinking much.

She struggled and sat up. Everything went dark. When she stirred again, she hung partly off the bed and she knew she’d almost fallen in the floor. But she had to get up and help Bud. Keep him breathing. Keep him brea--.

Deep sleep keep pulling her down, but finally she woke enough to cry, “Mama.”

Yet Mama didn’t come. Perhaps Mama hadn’t heard her call because her voice was so raspy. “Mom.”

Someone talked softly in Bud’s room. Perhaps he was better now.

She threw the blankets aside and tried to sit up again. She barely lifted herself from the bed before she fell back again. The fever dropped Ritah back into darkness.

The sun slipped beneath the trees outside Ritah’s window, and her eyes popped open. “I have to get up.  I have to get up and help. I have to--.

She heard Daddy’s voice in Bud’s room. “Is Bud better now? Oh, Lord, help Bud to be better.”

Dizziness consumed her again, but she needed to talk to somebody. Wanting to shout, she lifted her shoulders and looked toward the door. “Is anybody out there?”

She faintly remembered Doc checking on her, Mama putting cool cloths to her head, but then Daddy was there—when he shouldn’t have been. No. Daddy will get the flu.

Then deep sleep turned the lights out.

She aroused to voices in the next room and then Mama finally came into her side. “You’re awake, Ritah. That’s good. I have another mustard poultice for you.”

Her mother seemed to be a long distance away, but yet Ritah was so happy to see her. “How’s Bud? I wanted to get up and help, but I couldn’t make it.”

“Speak up, Ritah. I can’t hear you.”

“I said…”  Deep sleep drew her back.

The mustard plaster was hot. So hot. It hurt.”

Mama pulled down the window shade. “Everybody’s praying for you,” Mama said.

Ritah struggled to get her eyes open. Mama looked tired. Mama needed help. I need to get up.

Yet her body didn’t move, but she opened her eyes enough to see her wonderful mother in the dim light, and tears ran down Mama’s cheeks.

“Don’t cry for me, Mama. I’m going to be all right.” But Ritah realized no sound came from her mouth.

The next morning the house was silent. No one walked around, and if anyone talked they spoke in whispers. Daddy apparently didn’t fear catching the flu anymore, because he’d been inside for hours.

“Mama. Daddy. What’s going on?”

Then deep man-size groaning and weeping filled the house, and the screen door loudly clapped shut, and she couldn’t hear the crying anymore. At first she thought it was Bud in terrible pain or something, but he wouldn’t be going outside.

That afternoon she heard the parson talking in low tones and she couldn’t understand what he said. Then he came into her room laid hands on her and prayed.

“God we know you hold the power of life and death, but you demonstrated when you were on earth that you could heal sick bodies, and we’re asking you now to touch Ritah.”

Mama was crying again in the background. Ritah tried so hard to tell her not to weep, but her voice box simply wouldn’t work.

They disappeared and before long the most beautiful place Ritah had ever entered opened before her. Flowers lined the shiny path under her feet. The whole landscape was filled with flowers. Red roses. Yellow daffodils, Blue bells. Orange Tulips. White magnolias. Lavender lilacs. Lilies of many different colors.

She reached out and touched a white lily, and rubbed the silky petals between her fingers.

Then it seemed Ritah looked down and could see herself lying in the bed. She also could see into Bud’s bedroom.

She awakened rubbing the sheet between her fingers. Her head no longer hurt. No dizziness seized her. Even though she still had some congestion, she could breathe easier.

“Mama?” she called.

Her mother quickly came to her side. Ritah reached for her hand.

“Mama, I had the most amazing dream. It looked like heaven and when I came back I could see me in the bed and Bud in the next room.

A deep sob tore from her lungs, clawing at her insides as the cry came out. “Mama, Bud is dead, isn’t he?”

FIND OUT THE REST OF THE STORY.



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