A Polio Memoir

By Agnes V. Axtell

Captain Bob Axtell fought in battles in the Pacific during WWII and survived, he also survived fifteen months in the Korean Conflict, but he didn’t fight his toughest battle until he returned home. In a matter of days, he went from being a healthy man to the isolation ward at William Beaumont Army Hospital — he had become one of the early polio statistics and the only Army officer to be infected in the 1952 Texas polio epidemic. He was confined to an iron lung, and remained there for six months.

This is the story of how he, along with his family, struggled to overcome the many obstacles Polio caused in their lives, and how they made life as normal and as happy as possible. The prevention of Polio is possible now, but Post-Polio Syndrome is still a relentless factor in the lives of its victims.

“... Broken things like hope, love bonds, and dreams can be reshaped into something meaningful. What can't be mended can be changed to new forms. The disintegrated pieces can be reassembled into a different beauty. ... It's all right now. I know what to do with broken things. You build a life out of them. Bob showed me that. — Agnes Axtell

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fideli Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781604143515

Agnes V. Axtell

Agnes V. Axtell has lived in Japan, Iran, and in Spain, but The U.S. is home. She taught college level English while working for the U.S. government's Defense Language Institute to foreign military officers. Retired from both jobs by 1997, she spends her time keeping up with family and friends, and attending church functions. She is an avid reader of widely diverse materials, and educates and annoys her children and close friends with excerpts from books they'd never touch. She is a determined gardener in a struggle with equally reluctant soil and climate.

Book preview

A Polio Memoir

By Agnes Axtell

Smashwords edition ebook published by Fideli Publishing, Inc.

© Copyright 2011, Agnex Axtell

No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Fideli Publishing.

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ISBN: 978-1-60414-351-5

Contents

Chapter 1 — Polio

Chapter 2 — The Journey

Chapter 3 — To Be or Not to Be

Chapter 4 — Summer Storms

Chapter 5 — Capsuled Life

Chapter 6 — The Long Way Home

Chapter 7 — Adjustments

Chapter 8 — The Alamo City Years

Chapter 9 — The Dream

Chapter 1 — Polio

At the foot of the stairs, I stopped and looked back. I was holding Kelly in my arms, and over the top of the baby’s head, I could see Bob struggling to make his way down the steps. His long arms were stretched out to touch the walls on both sides of the stairwell. He touched first one wall and then the other as he swung his legs by the hip joints in slow crab-like movements, one step at a time. When he reached the foyer at the bottom, he staggered and then straightened up. He saw my question and said, My head hurts so bad I can’t even move my body right. Maybe it is the medicine they gave me for my sinus headache. I must be allergic to the medicine. This was the last time he ever walked up or down a flight of stairs.

We had gone swimming the day before which was Saturday, June 20, 1952. Bob was all over the pool, diving, thrashing huge waves, laughing and playing with the children. But he had complained later that he must have got water up his nose, and this triggered a severe sinus headache. He was able to sleep well that night, but in the morning the headache was back again. But, he said he had decided to go to church with us; so he took us to Bible classes, and went back home to dress for church. When he joined us in the sanctuary of the First Baptist Church of El Paso, Texas, I noticed that he hadn’t shaved. He mumbled something about not being able to trust himself with the razor. His face had a strange bluish cast, which I thought were his whiskers showing up. He seemed ill at lunch.

After a nap in the afternoon, he felt better and we went for a long drive around the mountains around El Paso. We stopped at some of the new housing developments and looked at new homes. We came home about five o’clock. His head was still hurting, so he decided to go over to the emergency dispensary on the base and see if they would give him something for his sinus headache. While he was gone, I prepared supper and when he returned he took some of the pills they gave him. He ate a bite or two of supper. In a short while, he began to blow his nose and clear his head.

However, the headache was not alleviated, and he began to feel as if he were having a chill. His nose was blue, and he breathed jerkily. We decided that he must return to the dispensary immediately. I drove while our daughter Jamie held the baby. At the dispensary, the doctor on duty thought it best to check Bob into William Beaumont Army Hospital as he might have some form of pneumonia. He called for a military ambulance, and told me to go home and not to worry. I would be called later that night or next morning.

I drove back to our apartment with our daughter Jamie who was five years old and Kelly, our baby boy who was 18 months old. Our oldest son, Robbie (Clyde Robert Axtell, III), 9 years old, was in the Rio Grande Valley visiting with my family. We had been at Fort Bliss since the middle of December, 1951, after being stationed at Tokorozawa, Japan, for three years.

Bob had gone through WWII in the Pacific theater, and had spent fifteen months in the Korean conflict while we waited for him in Japan. We were looking forward to being together in the USA, and raising our family. I put the children to bed and waited. Bob didn’t call me that night.

The following day, I arranged for a baby sitter and drove to the hospital to take Bob his razor, toothbrush, pajamas and a few other items. He hated Kleenex, so I took him some handkerchiefs. I had found out by phone the ward to which he had been taken. Bob looked absolutely wretched. He said the day had been one constant round of tests and a constant stream of doctors looking at him and asking him questions. He had great difficulty talking. Finally, he said, I don’t know what I’ve got; I’m sure they’ll find out soon. Honey Pot, you always seem to wind up toting the basket … I’m sorry. Try not to worry.

The nurse could not tell me anything except to say they were still making many tests. They planned to do a spinal tap that afternoon. I asked that I be called if they knew anything concerning his condition. The nurse assured me that she would put that on his chart. I tried to think what a spinal tap could mean. The only thing I could remember was that it was used as a diagnosis for meningitis. We had heard of meningitis among servicemen, and it seemed especially dangerous. There were many cases of poliomyelitis that year in Texas, but that disease affected mostly children it seemed. It was not likely that Bob would have polio; it was not even likely that Bob would be very sick; it was impossible that he should die.

Hadn’t he returned safely from World War II and survived fifteen months in Korea? Hadn’t he had an emergency appendectomy in a field hospital in Korea and healed safely? Hadn’t he overcome bouts of malaria after returning from the South Pacific war zone? He had certainly earned the right to live … to enjoy his life!

All last week from our second floor apartment kitchen, I had watched him walk across the sandy lawn as the sun was rising. In my mind, Bob always seemed to be a combination of General McArthur and General Patton ... his two favorite generals. He had that monumental dignity that goes unchallenged but never unnoticed, combined with the habit of doing something unpredictable.

I’d watched Bob as the sun rose and the desert turned bright orange and gold. His khaki uniform seemed to catch fire as he marched across the grassless backyard (yards in El Paso are usually sand piles). His shoulders were flung backward, his long arms swung effortlessly, his powerful legs kept up a happy buoyant rhythm. To anyone else, I’m sure it was just a man walking across a scruffy backyard; to me it was