BABY JEANNE THROWS UP

Jeanne was an amazingly healthy baby for which we thanked God every day.  Because of her good health, her tendency to be a Night Person like her parents and because we were besotted with her, Jeanne went out to dinner with us frequently.  She was a popular guest anywhere we went and she was always dressed in darling dresses.  This was because I had been given a baby shower at The Players and I received 24 baby dresses.  What if we had a boy?  Paul really wanted a baby girl and had put his order in as soon as he knew I was pregnant and his wish was granted.

One night we decided to dine at Morrison's Cafeteria downtown.  Jeanne was always fascinated by the long line of various dishes set out under glass for us to choose from.  But on this particular evening she was quiet and didn't seem very interested in picking out little goodies to eat.  We thought she was probably tired so we picked out some things we knew she liked.  The waiter brought over a high chair for Princess Jeanne to sit in and she was looking especially adorable in a dress she had never worn before.  We fixed her a little plate and she ate but not with her usual enthusiasm.  Paul had ordered a chocolate dessert (SURPRISE!) and Jeanne's spirits perked up when she saw that.  Paul started spooning some of his dessert onto her plate and I said, "Now don't give her too much.  She doesn't seem to be feeling all that well and it looks very rich."

But Baby Jeanne gobbled it up and wanted more.  Paul started to dish out more, but I gave him Such a Look that he stopped.  As we finished our desserts, Jeanne nodded off and she stayed asleep all the way home.  As the car stopped in our driveway, Jeanne woke up, looking confused.  She stared at Paul and stared at me and then threw up all over her beautiful dress, the car and her stunned parents.  A lot of what came up looked suspiciously like chocolate.

I looked at Paul and said, "Do you want to clean up Jeanne or the car?"

Horrified, he said, "Neither!  It will make me throw up!"

"Paul, you're a father now.  This is part of it."

I looked at his face and realized that he had some sort of fantasy going on his head about babies and his idealized role as the jolly dad.  I sighed inwardly and lifted  Jeanne out of her car seat and walked to the front door.

"I can't do it!  I'll vomit; I know I will!"

"I probably will too, Paul; I'm as squeamish as you are.  But then we'll have to clean up after ourselves too.  So try not to."

I went inside and put Jeanne down on the changing table

and looked down at her miserable little face.

"It's okay my little sweetheart, I'll get something to make you feel better in just a minute and I'll get you all cleaned up and put on your little nightgown and sing you to sleep even though I can't really sing and I'll be here with you all night long and you'll be better in the morning."

And thank God she was.  But there had been a subtle shift.

BABY JEANNE FINDS HER BLISS!

I was much better, Paul was very relieved and with two happy parents, Baby Jeanne flourished.  She was bright and beautiful and learned very quickly.  We knew she would be walking and talking in no time (and she did.)    We took her everywhere and she never became cranky unless it was naptime.

One day we took her to Southgate shopping center and Paul and I both felt a sudden longing for a chocolate milk shake.  Woolworth still existed and had a soda fountain!  Exciting stuff.  Drugstores and Five and Tens always had soda fountains in the Olden Days.  (It was at a soda fountain in Badger's downtown that a young, lean Elvis Presley kissed my pretty friend, Rosie, after his 1956 concert at the Florida Theatre.  I did not go and have regretted it for over 60 years.)  As Paul and I were slurping our milk shakes, Jeanne became very curious and was touching the icy glasses.

Paul took his spoon, filled it with a taste of chocolate shake and offered it to Jeanne.  She tasted this ambrosia; her eyes lighted up and her smile was rapturous.  What was this wonderful drink--she wanted more!  Paul gave her a few more spoonfuls of this miracle shake and at about nine months old, our baby became a chocolate addict.  Unfortunately, the rich shake immediately gave the poor baby diarrhea, but Jeanne didn't care.  No flavor since has produced the bliss that chocolate gave her that long ago day in Woolworth's.

We have offered her vanilla, mocha, strawberry, butter pecan and a multitude of other flavors, but Jeanne has spurned them all and has remained ever faithful to her first love--

CHOCOLATE!

THE DARK TIME ENDS AT LAST

As suddenly and inexplicably as it had descended, my depression began to lift.  I was weaned off the anti-psychotic (I had never been psychotic) and told I could go home Monday with a prescription for an antidepressant.  Paul was overjoyed as being both Mommy and Daddy had been very difficult.  Jeanne had not been allowed to come and visit me.

On Saturday night the patients and staff had an unexpected treat.  Two singers came with their own pianist and we all gathered in the big room where we had our snacks.  The singers were from Melba's church and were fantastic.  They sang selections from the musical Show Boat and I was enchanted.  I was thrilled that I could actually feel enchanted--any feeling but despair and acute anxiety.  The gentleman possessed a deep, resonant voice and ended the performance with a stirring rendition of Old Man River.  There was enthusiastic applause and calls for encores (from me) and they were more than happy to oblige.  Even the shut down patients were clapping.  The couple asked Melba to sing with them and to no one's surprise Melba was fantastic as the trio sang a medley from Show Boat.

The kitchen had outdone themselves with snacks and gorgeous cupcakes were the crowning glory.

The ice had surely been broken and I had a wonderful time and I'm pretty sure everyone else did too.  Melba made sure no one felt left out.

On Monday I packed my little suitcase, hugged Melba and told her she should be on Broadway.  Paul and Jeanne were waiting for me downstairs and I went home at last.  Although I have experienced brief periods of depression and anxiety since then, I never again felt the crushing despair and persistent pessimism of those dark days.

There were consequences, however.  For two years after I left the hospital I brought singers from the Players where Paul was director who gladly sang for this special audience.

And years later I went back to school, finished my BA and earned an MA in Counseling and worked as a psychotherapist for 36 frustrating and fulfilling years.  At some point I ran into my former psychiatrist and I told him of my new profession.

He smiled and murmured, "It's about time."

A VERY DARK TIME - Part 2

I don't know how long I was in the hospital.  At first, I slept all the time, but then they began decreasing my dosage a bit and I went to Arts and Crafts.  I tried to make things but it felt like my  fingers were sausages and I kept dropping my little piece of leather on the floor.  I was hopeless.  Of course, now I love arts and crafts.  The psychiatrist seemed to recognize talents in me I didn't know I had.  I was asked to take an elderly widower for a walk and it went very well.  Every day after that he and I walked together.  Then I was asked to play shuffleboard with a suicidal teenaged boy which I was happy to do as I really liked shuffleboard and was a pretty good player.  But my severely depressed young man was a shark and soundly beat me every single time.  He would hit the disk so hard that I thought he would split it.  We played in a long hallway with the court painted on the floor.  Our violent play stopped traffic and the drugged patients just stood by, watching, until the game was over and then they scurried down the hall, probably on their way to making small leather pouches.  

There was never conversation of any kind during our intense play, but one day he said, "I'm going home tomorrow."

I just stood there, but I realized I would miss him.  "Oh," I said.  My slowed down brain could think of nothing to say.

Then, "You're a really good player."

His expression didn't change, but he said, "Yes.  I know."

Every evening we all met in the common room for snacks.  Our gathering was presided over by a big, smiling, good-natured Black nurse whose ready laugh warmed the room.  Her name was Melba and I wanted her to be my grandmother; everyone did I think.  That night I noticed a very old lady spreading peanut butter on a napkin and I was afraid she would eat it.  She did eat it.  I jumped up, ran to Nurse Melba and whispered, "She's eating a napkin with peanut butter on it."

She gave me her big, generous smile and said, "Help me up, Baby; I got a bad knee."  So, together, we walked over to the lady who was ripping up her napkin sandwich into small pieces.

"Now, Honey, let's get you some bread that's easy to eat.  Here, this bread is real soft; I'll put some peanut butter on it.  This kind don't have any nuts in it.  Should be easy to eat."

The elderly lady took a bite and smiled.  "It's real good."

Thank the Lord for Nurse Melba.  I went back to my seat and bit into a chocolate chip cookie.  When I looked around the room, I saw the Wonder Boy of Shuffleboard looking at me.

He smiled.  HE SMILED.

TO BE CONCLUDED

A VERY DARK TIME

The day we took our baby home was bitterly cold for Florida.  We bundled Jeanne in tiny sweaters, booties, a hat and many receiving blankets to shield her from the icy wind.  In her short life Jeanne had only experienced warmth.  When the cold hit her little face, her eyes widened and she looked at me very intently in disbelief.  What in the world was this?  I held her close to me to protect her not only from the freezing cold but from everything else in the world that could possibly hurt her.

The euphoria I felt in the hospital was gone.  I felt anxious and inadequate.  How could I possibly care for this helpless infant?  I was frightened and tearful.  I experienced a feeling I had never felt before--despair.  But I said nothing to Paul.  I fed my baby; I changed her; I sang little songs to her; I washed her tiny clothes.  I held her in my arms, but inside I felt nothing but panic and despair.  What was wrong with me?  I couldn't sleep at night so I got up for all Jeanne's feedings.  We sat on the couch as she drank from her bottle and I cried silently.

The days dragged by and I was no better.  I asked Paul to call the doctor as something was very wrong.  I heard him talking to Dr. Scott in a low voice and I tried not to scream.

"The doctor thinks you have  post-partum depression.  He wants me to take you to the hospital right away."  How could I go to the hospital and leave my baby?  Paul's mother came over looking terrified and took Jeanne from my arms as I cried.

Dr. Scott met us at the hospital and conferred briefly with Paul and a psychiatrist.  I had shut down completely and just stood there like a sleepwalker.  This was fifty years ago and there were very few antidepressants available, so I was given a anti-
psychotic and slept thirteen hours.  Even now, so many years later, I can still recall the unrelenting terror of that time.

                                     TO BE CONTINUED

WE SEE OUR BABY AT LAST!

Jeanne was brought to us (finally) bathed and dressed and hungry.  Paul and I were ecstatic as I fed her the tiny bottle of formula and looked into her huge aquamarine eyes.  I had never seen eyes that startling color before and I prayed they would stay that intense blue-green, but they did not.  Within a few weeks Jeanne had brown eyes like me, but she was a gorgeous baby girl with perfect skin, dimpled hands, downy brown hair and a lovely smile.  Naturally, none of the three other babies in the room could compare to our baby who we knew was extraordinary.

Grandparents arrived who were as smitten as we were and pronounced Jeanne perfect.  Many, many flowers were delivered from our relatives and friends until I felt I lived in a fragrant garden.  I missed my baby when she was taken back to the nursery and eagerly waited until the next feeding.

Only one thing marred the perfection of these few days.  It was a cold, cold February and late at night the temperature in the room dropped.  We new mothers were told that each and every time we used the bathroom, we had to take the pitcher of  icy green liquid antibiotic and hurl it onto our most private parts.  Each time I would delay as long as possible before dousing myself with the near freezing liquid.  What fresh hell was this?  Who had devised this fiendish plan?  If I didn't do it, would they KNOW?  There were probably hidden cameras!  So I would hold my breath and pour it on with my right hand, try to muffle my screams with my left hand and then hobble back to bed, my thin ugly hospital gown offering no protection from the icy cold whatsoever.  Once back under the covers, I thanked God for creating warmth, surely his most wondrous invention, except for babies of course.

To be concluded

A NEW BEGINNING - Part 2

The next half hour went by very fast.  I was rushed to the delivery room and given something to wear on my wrist.  If the pain got bad, I was to breathe in some gas. Unfortunately, as soon as I went out my arm would drop and the pain was still there!  Dr. Scott came rushing in still wearing his golf clothes beneath his gown and got to work.  I was asked if I wanted a mirror placed in front of the birth canal.  Being squeamish I really didn't want to know just what was happening, so I declined while screaming.  A few minutes passed during which I was not brave.....and then Jeanne Kathryn Bressoud arrived.  I was overjoyed.  I was allowed to see her for about a nanosecond before she was whisked away (things were very different then). At some point I was given something to stop my milk from coming in and I don't recall giving my permission.  It was just assumed new mothers would NOT nurse and we were given lots of formula upon leaving the hospital.  Mother/baby bonding apparently had no importance in those days as I did not see Jeanne for hours.  I was whisked out of the delivery room and left in the hall as it had all happened so fast there was no room ready.

I saw Paul coming down the hall looking cheerful.  He began telling me a funny story about something that happened at dinner. Finally, I interrupted with "Are you excited?"  He looked confused.  "About the baby being a girl?" "What?" I began to wonder about his mental health and then I realized that he didn't know.

"Jeanne has been born, Paul, while you were gone!  Didn't anyone call you?"

A huge grin lit up his face.  "The baby is a girl?  She's here?"

"Yes, she's here.  It happened very fast. They don't even have a room ready for me. I'm so happy! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes!!"  Paul actually jumped into the air.  I could not believe my eyes.  We both started laughing and acting like fools.

              TO BE CONTINUED

FEBRUARY 22, 1967--A NEW BEGINNING

On the morning of February 22, 1967, I was awakened by a slight, but significant pain.  I woke my husband, Paul, immediately.

"I have a pain!" I cried.  He looked bewildered and his blue eyes slowly closed.  "Wake up," I cried.  "Today is the day and I have a pain."  His blue eyes slowly opened.

"Have you taken some aspirin?" he said reasonably.  Was the man simple?

"Today is the 22nd and I have a pain.  It may be labor!"  He immediately snapped to attention and started running around the room, looking for God-knows-what.  Probably his clothes.  "Should I call Dr. Scott?"

"Yes, call Dr. Scott!" he said and lit a cigarette.  "I'll make coffee and you call Dr. Scott and ask him what to do."

"Do we have time for coffee?" I said. "What if the baby is coming now?"

Paul inhaled deeply and thought about this.  "I don't think it happens that fast."

"No, surely not," I said.  All I could think of was Prissy in Gone With The Wind screaming, "I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' babies!" (It was 1967.  We didn't know this was racist.)

Dr. Scott was quite calm and said we could meander down to the hospital any time now.  It would be a while before the baby came.

Seven or eight hours later I had still not had a serious pain and was laughing and joking with the Candystripers.  Paul had hoped for a little action by now and he was becoming increasingly anxious.

"Paul, go on over to your parents' house and have some dinner.  I think it's going to be a while yet."  Gratefully, Paul sped away to the safety of his mother's dinner table.  Since there was absolutely no drama, the pretty little Candystripers lost interest and wandered away.  I was quite cheerful.  What was all the fuss about childbirth for heaven's sakes?  I burrowed under the covers with Cosmopolitan and Helen Gurley Brown, hoping to find an article about sex.  I soon found one entitled 27 Positions for Blissful Sex and I settled down for a good read when....

            Oh, my God! I yelped.

Was this was they were talking about?  Suddenly, I wanted to put a knife under the bed to cut the pain in two.  Good Grief!!  This was terrible!  After two more earth-shattering pains I called the nurse.

"And how are we doing, Miss Linda?  Coming along are we?" she said, smiling broadly.  How dare she smile?  Suddenly, I disliked her intensely.  I was suffering and she was all sweetness and light.

"I think my baby is coming!" I loudly announced.  "In fact, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, let's not jump the gun, Sweetheart. This is your first and I don't think--"

"Would you check," I said through gritted teeth.  "I can feel it coming."

Nurse Ratched laughed merrily as she pulled aside the covers.  "We'll just take a little looksee and you can calm down oh my God it IS coming and Dr. Scott is at the golf course it's Wednesday."  Nurse looked stricken.  "I'll just go and call him," she said and departed with all possible speed.

I was alone with my baby ready to pop out into the world at any moment.  I crossed my legs and prayed. Out loud.  

              TO BE CONTINUED
                  



"

GOING HOME

 Paul and I were driving down the highway in Ohio after a wonderful visit with his brother, George, his sister-in-law, Leigh, and their beautiful children.  Leigh was pregnant again.  We had a fine time and hated to leave except that we were going home at last to start our new life together. Chatting and laughing, we sped down the highway toward Florida when suddenly everything changed. We heard a terrifying noise as another car crashed into ours and we turned over and over and over until at last we came to a stop in a ditch with the roof of our car on the ground and broken glass everywhere.  I was in shock and could not understand what had happened.*

                                           

     Paul was unhurt and climbed out the window.  I could hear Paul talking to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying.  I heard sirens approaching. Someone was lifting me very gently and placing me on a stretcher. I was dimly aware that I was in pain and covered with broken glass. Blood was everywhere.  Paul was talking to me, telling     me not to worry; I would be all right.  

                                 

I remember nothing of the ambulance ride to the hospital; I barely recall the hospital. There was pain and blood and X rays. I kept saying my neck hurt. And my back.  I was given a pain shot followed by euphoria.  I smiled at Paul who looked stricken. I saw that he was talking to a doctor but I drifted off.

            

We went back to George and Leigh who graciously took us in.  Paul bought a new car and we drove to Sarasota.  My neck still hurt.  A couple of weeks later we received pictures taken by the ambulance people of the wrecked car, me being lifted out of it; Paul standing by looking anxious and a man in a suit who looked.....guilty.  Later we learned that it was he who crashed his brand new car into ours.  He wanted to see how fast it would go.  Apparently, pretty fast.

*These are not the real pictures of our crash.  Ours were much more frightening, but they have disappeared in the mists of time.  And my neck still hurts.             

LEAVING LOUISIANA

Paul's sparkling production of The King and I was coming to a close.  He had little to do now except give notes every night to the cast.  So we enjoyed ourselves and relaxed.  After the curtain had fallen for the last time the entire cast and crew were invited aboard a lovely houseboat and we cruised slowly down the river.  Lavish food and drinks were offered and the summer night was perfect.

Although that lovely night was over fifty years ago, it remains with me still in all its grace and beauty.  It was as if we were separated from the world; noise and clamor could not touch us here.  I wanted to float down that peaceful river forever, breathing in the sweet night air.  I smiled at Paul.

We left Monroe the next day and most of my memories of that time have faded.  But the romance of drifting slowly through the water under the stars is still fresh.

WHAT IS THAT AWFUL SMELL?

Good grief!  What is that rotten smell?  I stepped from the third plane of my trip from Gainesville into Monroe, Louisiana, home of many paper mills.  Many, many paper mills, all of which smelled revolting.  I was tired, hungry, dirty and my incision was leaking badly.  None of the ordered wheelchairs had been there and I hobbled from one concourse to another, leaking copious amounts of .....yucky stuff.

Monroe, Louisiana

At last I glimpsed Paul who seemed glad to see me in spite of my ghastly appearance.

"Don't hug me; I really need to change my bandage and I haven't been able to and it's ... leaking."

Paul blanched at this news in spite of having been a medic in the Navy.  We drove to the hotel as I regaled Paul with tales of my lengthy hospital stay.  My father had visited me right after my first surgery and thought I had been decapitated.  (I have the scar to this day.)  Paul told me about the youngest kids playing the King of Siam's many children.  One was three and one was four and they had been cast because they were adorable.  But when they got bored, the little girl did somersaults and the small boy picked his nose.  The resounding laughter these behaviors received from the cast and crew did nothing to discourage our young Thespians.  And yes, the dancer playing Eliza did have huge breasts which did as they pleased.  Paul did not seem unduly concerned by this fascinating display.

Anna and the King

What did concern him was that the custom in Monroe was apparently to hire a professional director with a great deal of experience and then allow anyone in the theatre to give amateur notes to the professional.  Board members, prop people, the costume lady, parents of cast members, the janitor--all were encouraged to give Paul nightly notes based on their complete lack of theatrical knowledge.  Paul was dumbfounded by this custom.

"Why did they hire me if the prop manager knows more than I do?  What about the big-breasted dancer?  Maybe she has some line readings she'd like to suggest.  The actors playing Anna and the King actually have a great deal of experience.  They know what they're doing.  But you don't see them giving me notes every night."

I had grown up in community theatre; I knew that Ego reigned supreme.  The less a person knew about acting and production, the more they felt qualified to give advice.  Mostly dumb advice.  Paul was having a hard time, but I was enjoying myself.  I slept late; I didn't have to work and every night I went to rehearsals and socialized with everyone.  It was exactly what I needed after My Kidney Stone Honeymoon.  And eventually Opening Night came as it always does.  The King and I was a huge success and everyone who had ever given Paul notes took sole credit for its shining glory.

                                                               To Be Continued

LEAVING SHANDS

The kidney stone surgery was over; I was out of Recovery and back in my room.  I was in pain.  A lot of pain.  I felt dreadful.  The phone rang.  I knew it had to be Paul.  As soon as I heard his voice, I burst into tears.

"I feel so terrible and it's an hour until my pain shot and I can't stand it.  I don't want to be brave and cheerful anymore.  I'm NOT brave or cheerful.  I want to go home!"  I went on and on and couldn't stop.  Paul murmured comforting words and I couldn't stop sobbing and sniveling.  We talked for a long time and at last the sweet nurse came in and gave me a pain shot.  Paul kept talking softly until I fell asleep.  The next day I felt no better.  Meals consisted of watery brown soup and Jello.  I hate Jello even now.  I was poking at the green Jello with my spoon in spiteful jabs when someone came in.  I looked up and saw my husband who had taken three different planes to get from Monroe to Gainesville.  My husband who hated to fly and said the Rosary many times when in the air.

"You must really like me," I said.  He smiled.

We spent the day together.  Paul regaled me with stories of rehearsals and Paul could always tell a good story and make me laugh.  The show had already been cast before he got there and not always wisely.  The beautiful Tuptim who sang the show's loveliest songs with her forbidden lover was being played by a very plain girl in glasses who couldn't sing very well.  Several blond teenagers had been cast as the brunette wives of the King of Siam and would all have to dye their hair.  The dancer playing Eliza was so buxom that when she leaped from one ice floe to another, her gigantic breasts bobbed up and down in a most distracting fashion. By this time I was laughing so hard I thought I would burst my stitches

"But most dancers are rather flat chested," I said.

"Not this one," said Paul.  "Not this one."

Late that night after Paul had left to begin his long, long return trip to Monroe, I lay awake thinking that soon I would leave this place, cured, and I would never have another kidney stone in my life.

And that is exactly what happened.

KIDNEY STONES AND TUMORS, OH, MY! Part Two

"Why aren't you wearing glasses?" the doctor asked mildly.  "When was your last eye exam?"

"This is my first," I said reluctantly.  The doctor looked at me as if I had said I had just arrived from Pluto.

"You should have begun wearing glasses years ago.  Get some as soon as you go home.  And you have calcium crystals in your eyes."

Calcium crystals?  I had heard a lot about calcium in the past few days.  Apparently, it was all over where it shouldn't be.  I wasn't allowed to drink milk.

  

The surgeon was smiling at me so how bad could it be?

"We've discovered what the problem is.  You have a tumor on the parathyroid gland which is causing your body to make massive amounts of calcium and that's what is causing you to rapidly manufacture kidney stones.  We're removing it tomorrow."

"And the kidney stones too?

"No, that's a whole separate operation.  The parathyroid gland and the kidneys are not even close.  We'd have to make a very large incision."  The doctor laughed merrily.

All rightie then.  By the next afternoon the offending tumor was gone and I was out of recovery and back in my room.  I staggered to the sink to brush my teeth.  When I looked in the mirror, I screamed.  Apparently, I had been decapitated during the surgery and my head had been sewn back on with big black stitches.  I was pale as a ghost.  Perhaps my future included starring in horror films; I wouldn't even need makeup.  I had never looked more dreadful in my life.

At that moment an extremely handsome young man in a white coat entered the room.  He looked at me, then immediately averted his eyes.  I didn't blame him.  As he helped me back to  my bed, this blue-eyed vision told me he was Doctor Larkin and he had come to take my medical history and was I amenable to that.  Oh, I was amenable all right.  He didn't want to take blood; he didn't want to take X-rays; he didn't even want me to pee in a cup.  He just wanted to talk.

Dr. Larkin gave me a dazzling smile and said, "Well, how are you, Miss Linda?"

"I think I'm the bride of Frankenstein's monster."

We both laughed.

To Be Continued

                          

                                

KIDNEY STONES AND TUMORS, OH, MY!

I came out of the urologist's examining room wondering when I'd have to go to Shands in Gainesville, where they were doing research on recurring kidney stones.  Paul and my father were sitting in Dr. Giordano's office looking profoundly serious.

"I've already made arrangements for you to be admitted to Shands tomorrow for various tests and of course more surgery.  There's no escaping that.  Hopefully, they will find what's causing you to rapidly produce kidney stones, fix it, and you'll be fine!"  Dr. G smiled reassuringly.  Dad and Paul attempted to smile.

I felt scared.

By the next afternoon I was sitting on my hospital bed at Shands, dressed in a huge hospital gown, saying Goodbye to Paul.  He was to direct The King and I in Monroe, Louisiana.

He looked very sad.  Jumping into my usual role of Court Jester, I said, "I'll be there in about two weeks at the most.  The King and I is a wonderful musical.  You'll have so much fun and so will I when I get there!"

"All those little kids and hoop skirts.  The King of Siam!"

"Topsy and Little Eva and the Small House of Uncle Thomas," I cried.

We hugged and Paul was gone.  I knew he would light a cigarette as soon as he was outside.  I sat on the bed and wondered what to do with myself.

Many years later I learned that Dr. Giordano had told Paul and Dad that it was imperative that the doctors at Shands discover  what was causing me to rapidly produce so many kidney stones.  If they did not,

I would not live very long.  Blithely unaware of this prediction, I looked ahead to the future.

To Be Continued

STREETS OF CARACAS

I stared at my cup of mud wondering what it could possibly be.  Paul had a strange look on his face and he didn't pick up his cup.

"Ah, Leenda, you do not like expresso?"

So that's what it was! "Ah, no, sir.  I find it to be a bit too strong for me.  I guess it's a man's drink!" 

 Paul gave me a thunderous look.  Now his very manhood was at stake!  Why did I always say things without thinking?  He didn't want to drink black mud either!

But he did.  And he studiously avoided looking at his wife who had betrayed him. I prayed he would not throw up.  At last our luncheon was over and Paul was glad.  Back down the mountain we went at death defying speeds.  Our generous hosts wanted us to see the city.  They drove us through the very wealthy part of Caracas first and all the         homes were large and very beautiful. I       asked why all the windows were barred.

"There are very poor people in Caracas, so poor that they will reach into an open window and steal things off the dresser.  Naturally,    the wealthy must protect themselves."

As we entered the city streets, Caracas became a different world.  Groups of people surrounded the car, speaking rapid Spanish and handing flyers and pamphlets through the open car windows.  The car slowed as we made our way through the city.  Our hosts seemed unconcerned about the intensity of the crowd, but I was upset.  I looked at Paul.

  "They want change," he said in a low voice.       "They are desperate."

I couldn't take my eyes off their faces. I    can still see them, sweating in the intense     heat, begging us to notice. 

       Suddenly, I wanted to go home.                       

AN INTERESTING LUNCH IN CARACAS

At last we arrived at the glamorous hotel and very high up it was.  I was pale and Paul was green.  We both thanked God for our deliverance and tottered inside.  Our gracious hosts were solicitous.

"We drive a little too fast for you, Leenda?"  Leenda was weak in the knees and clutched her husband.  "Oh, no, not too fast," I lied.

"I'm just not used to mountains.  I live in Florida, you know."

"Not too many mountains in Florida," said Paul in a vain attempt to be lighthearted.

Suddenly, both men looked very serious as we studied the menus which, of course, were in Spanish.  I realized my three years of Spanish in high school were totally worthless.

"Now, Leenda, a few precautions.  Don't drink the water.  And no lettuce or raw vegetables, very unsafe.  We don't want you to be sick."

I nodded as the list of forbidden foods went on.  What could we eat that would not make us violently ill?  Paul and the two gentlemen had a lively conversation in Espanol and the three of them came up with a menu.  Plates and dishes and bowls and platters of unidentifiable foods were brought.  I was at first tentative, but everything was delicious.  Juan,the young, handsome waiter eyed me every time he came to the table and smiled most provocatively.  Finally, he said something to the men, but looked at me.

"What was that all about?" I said to Paul.

"He thinks you are very pretty, but too skinny. He is bringing you a very rich dessert with his compliments. And he asked if you were married to any of us."

I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had I not been married?  I pictured Juan emerging from the shadows and pulling me into his arms.  In this little fantasy Juan looked like George Chakiris in West Side Story.  Ah, here was Juan coming toward us in the flesh carrying some unbelievably scrumptious masterpiece. He placed it before me with a shy smile.  Did this type of thing happen often in Caracas?  Who knew?

"Muchas gracias....Juan."

Then each of us was given a small cup of what appeared to be .... black mud.

                                                                 TO BE CONTINUED

CARACAS, VENEZUELA 1965 -- The Very Rich and the Very Poor

 Caracas, Venezuela

After taking lots of painkillers, I felt I could accompany Paul into the city.  He had lived in South America for four years when he was a boy when his father worked in Buenos Aires.

Representatives from that company in Caracas were to meet us and show us the sights.  Notice the mountains.  I was a Florida girl.  Little did I know what lay ahead.  We rose early to watch the ship dock.  The impressive mountains seemed to have brown rectangles everywhere.

"What is that all over the mountain?" I asked Paul.  "It looks like a bunch of boxes."

A long pause.

"It IS a bunch of boxes.  Packing boxes for refrigerators, stoves, things like that.  The poor take them out of the garbage of the rich and live in them.  They have nothing." *

"I don't understand.  How can you live in a box?Where do you go to the bathroom and bathe?"

"Here there are only the very wealthy and those who live in poverty.  There is no middle class."

Up until now I had thought that I was poor.  Now I realized I was not.  Remember, I felt too ill to leave the ship in Haiti where naked children begged so I was unprepared.

Two charming gentlemen met us as we left the ship.  They immediately presented me with a huge orchid corsage.  I was overwhelmed.  In the States those orchids would have cost a fortune. I said Muchas Gracias about a hundred times. Although their English was quite good, Paul's Spanish was excellent.  The three men chattered away in Spanish as I tried to adjust my world view.  And I was about to be shocked yet again.  Our gracious hosts were beautifully dressed and had important jobs, but their car was very old and banged up.  Paul and I sat in the back and the gentlemen sat up front and explained that there were no automobile manufacturers in Venezuela at that time so old cars no one in America wanted were shipped to Caracas at great expense and then sold to men like them for a great deal of money.  Then the ancient auto took off at great speed on the narrow mountain roads--guard rails were non-existent--and we climbed higher and higher and I knew I would soon be in Heaven one way of another.  I saw that Paul was silently saying the    Rosary as I gripped his hand in mine.  I prayed we would be at the hotel before I experienced heart failure.  We flew into clouds.                             

                                                       TO BE CONTINUED                                                            

 *I could not find a photo of what was on the mountain in 1965.  The above pictures must reflect more modern times.