But That Can't Be

Well I guess I just can't take it.  Tonite after supper I started to hemmorrage and really have a time of it.  We called the Doctor over about 10 o'clock and he gave me 2 shots of urgut then it stopped.  Dr. said it was a bleeding uterous + that I aborded - but that can't be.  We made ice cream tonite - tasted swell.  - Annette, January 1943

Annette was exhausted and struggling to keep up.  All the while, she was pregnant and didn't know it.  In the days after this post, she stayed in bed as she suffered through intense abdominal pains and a fever of over 104 degrees.  She thought she had malaria, but the Doctor confirmed that she was suffering from metritus - an infection of the uterus.  The shots of 'urgut' must have been ergot, a natural remedy used to treat excessive menstrual bleeding, and before or after a miscarriage.

Annette doesn't acknowledge the miscarriage in her diary until a week later.  She couldn't believe that she was pregnant again.  Her body was in survival mode, so maybe she couldn't process it until then.  She was working so hard to take care of everyone that maybe she couldn't take care of herself.  In a later post, she wrote "I sure have one dopey system."

I can't imagine the difficulty of that loss.  Or the difficulty of enduring such a complication with limited access to medical treatment.  And what did she include in that post?  Ice cream.  When our worlds get turned upside down, we turn to what we know.  Food is comfort.  Annette needed healing and reassurance and love during this time - which sometimes appears in the form of ice cream.

Not A Single Minute To Spare

I had an awful time today.  Not a single minute to spare.  Tried to iron but didn't get very far.  Tried to wash too today and only got the diapers finished.  Goodness but cooking + cleaning + minding the kids is some job.  I wouldn't like to do it all the time.  - Annette, January 1943

Sometimes, the daily chores of life just pile up.  We feel like we can't get ahead.  Annette had several entries like this during the first week of January.  She was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed - and she was nursing a sore thumb and twisted ankle.  Normally, she had a servant helping with the cooking and cleaning, but when the servants didn't show up, she was left on her own, having to wash and iron every day, plus cook all the meals and take care of 2 babies.

Sometimes, when we are stressed, our bodies struggle to keep up.  It can be hard to stay on top of things when we are fighting an illness or trying to heal.  In Annette's case, she had more going on than just a bum foot.  More to come in the next post... 

Time To Let Go Of Old Things

It's a new year.  New possibilities.   Time to let go of old things.  Old thoughts.  Old habits.  Sad to see so many things end this year.  But think how different things were last year.  I was about to start school.  Dad was still sick in the assisted living place.  Those are my measuring sticks for the last 2 years.  How sick was Daddy.  Where was he.  What hospital were we dealing with.  He's not struggling anymore.  He's not in pain.  I don't want to struggle anymore.  Goodbye 2008.  -  Miranda, January 2009 

I've always had a hard time with New Years Eve.  There's this pressure to dress up, wear silly hats, use paper noisemakers, and drink/eat a lot - all to celebrate the passing of a year.  I've always preferred spending New Years Eve alone.  At the stroke of midnight, I like to be at home, writing in my journal, making a list of resolutions and remembering the year.  Definitely an introvert, right? 

Some years we don't want to remember.  2008 was one of those for me.  It's strange, because so much of that year was a blur - what gigs I played, who I spent time with, what I wrote for my Comprehensive Exams.  Then again, there are moments that I remember so very clearly, like going to the grocery store right after Daddy died because there was no food in the house and we would need to make quesadillas.  And this entry.

Reading back, the end of this entry sounds a little harsh, if not outright depressing.  But that's not how I felt.  I felt free.  After a year (plus) of fighting to help Daddy, fighting to finish school, fighting to keep my gigs so I could pay my bills, I felt like I could let go a little.  I could give myself permission to walk away from the pain and the hurt and the anger and the tears from 2008.  Of course, it's not like I was 'cured' of my grief - those feelings would certainly return now and then - but on that New Years Eve, I was able to step back from my grief and say out loud - I don't want to struggle anymore.  Whatever this new year brings, I don't need to fight anymore.  Clean slate.  One day at a time, and that's enough.  

After the ups and downs of 2017, maybe we can all start fresh and take things one day at a time.  Cheers to 2018.  May it be filled with joy, compassion, and love.

Losing My Grip On My Wits

I think I'm losing my grip on my wits.  This morning I broke another thermometer.  Disgusted with myself - 2 in 2 days.  This is wearing us out.  Mustard packs, temps, fixing food and etc is sure getting me down.  - Annette, December 1943

Annette spent most of December 1943 worrying about her second-born son, Deedee (real name Tom - my dad).  Deedee was just over 1 year old and had just been diagnosed with malignant malaria.  He was on a complicated treatment plan, including "acetalarsyn" (probably for malnutrition/anemia), atebrine and quinine (anti-malarial drugs), and "mustard packs" (mustard powder spread under bandages to stimulate healing). 

(Spoiler alert - my dad survived.  Since malaria stays in your body forever, he would continue to have flare-ups throughout his life.  He was also known to enjoy gin and tonics, always using tonic water with quinine, which he probably considered preventative treatment for those malarial episodes.  Totally my dad's sense of humor.)

Annette was worried sick.  Breaking one thermometer would be upsetting enough, but when she broke the second one, she was 'disgusted' with herself and felt like she was losing her mind.  A simple, easily forgivable accident triggered such strong words! 

Just a few hours ago, while decorating my tiny Christmas tree, I broke one of my favorite childhood ornaments.  My internal dialogue kicked in - "Oh come on!  You can't even decorate a tree properly!  How pathetic!"  Why are we so hard on ourselves?  We are all doing the best we can in this world - navigating obligations, expectations, and sometimes, malaria - and yet we still speak to ourselves more harshly than we would ever speak to others.  How do we break the cycle?   

Just for fun, here is a picture of Annette and my dad, Tom.  He was a bit younger here, but it's still sweet.  

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Wonder What I Did

The guys all had a meeting this afternoon so I fixed supper.  Made a tamale pie + I liked it fine, but of course I didn't make enough for them.  Made ice cream too + then discovered we had no more snow to freeze it with.  Clary + Paul both felt bad tonight - they said from my cooking.  Gosh, wonder what I did.  Doc was in bed today with malaria.  - Annette, January 1942

In 1942, Annie was living in Enshih, China.  Clary, my grandfather, managed the business of running the church, while Annie and the other missionary wives tended to the orphanage (mostly girls), taught English, played music for church services, and whatever else needed doing.  Not only is she in completely foreign territory, but she is also a relatively new wife.  She wants to please her husband by making meals he likes, but she also has limited ingredients and minimal equipment.  Whether 'the guys' were teasing her or not, she still took the criticism seriously.  Ice cream was always a real treat for them.  Then, a casual reference to their friend with malaria.  Most everyone they knew suffered from the disease at some point.  

With war all around her, sometimes the entries were simple.  Desire for good food, a little treat, wishes for good health.  All things we think about daily.