Polio Place

Upon graduating from high school I began to worry about how I’d make a living in the real world as a polio survivor. I was a decent car mechanic but realized it would be a lifelong challenge to work in that physical of a profession. A doctor at Shriners Hospital for Crippled Children had said I was the most ingenious person he’d ever met. I could have created tools that would have helped me do the work, but it still was probably not the ideal career choice.

I looked up into the black, cloud-filled skies and thought to myself; this is it, my last chance to be the athlete, the gold medalist I have always dreamed of being. I got set, placed the shot put under my chin, took a deep breath, and with a grunt, I let the shot put fly. It landed past the international record marker. I had done it. I had won Olympic Gold.

Yosemite National Park in central eastern California has impressive accessibility for those of us needing to use a wheelchair or sit scooter. I love the spectacular granite mountains, the woods and the meadows, but due to polio effects, cannot hike or ride a bike. Renting a scooter at Yosemite Lodge (or bringing a collapsible one) has allowed me to get closer to nature than I could in a car. I’m also now able to join my husband and friends on little jaunts around Yosemite Valley while they walk or ride their bikes.

As you can see from the orangish paper from the hospital, I contracted polio on July 22, 1952. I was 5 years old. I was told that a spinal tap showing milky spinal fluid was the sign. The girl across the street, a year older, was diagnosed the day before I was. Interestingly, we had the same pediatrician and were put in the same room at the hospital. She scared me badly by telling me a tale of a giant ape climbing the outside wall and coming in our window. I remember the therapy of having hot steaming wool Army blankets pressed on us.