Chapter 16: Sickness and Health

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— Full chapters will appear in the printed published book. —

Near the end of October in 1962, Mr. Errington made an announcement at school about the Cuban Missile Crisis. I paid little attention to what news was happening in Dryden, never mind the world, so I was not sure why he was telling us about this. Later I was able to put it all together. American President John F. Kennedy had given Russia an ultimatum to remove missiles from Cuba. For 13 days, a potential nuclear catastrophe was only minutes away. American warships and Russian submarines with nuclear-tipped torpedoes were facing off in the high seas. This situation was so far away from us, that I didn’t see the significance, until Mr. Errington added a warning for us.

Mr. Errington was just doing his job. All school children in Canada were to be warned and to be made aware of what was transpiring. Even us Canadians way up north could be hit by nuclear missiles. Missiles could be fired directly from Russia and reach Canada. But we lived in isolated northwestern Ontario, in the remote bush, so I still didn’t understand why I would need to be worried about this. But I knew Mr. Errington wouldn’t tell us to be afraid of something unless there was a good reason for it.

Russia could decide to target some big cities in the United States as a threat or as retaliation. One city could be Chicago, which was south of us. If a missile was coming over us to hit Chicago, it could be intercepted and shot down in remote, less densely populated areas where fewer people could be killed and fewer buildings could be damaged. So it made sense that our area was perfect for shooting down missiles. We lived in the middle of nowhere.

Mr. Errington’s advice was to go home, take shelter in the basement, and listen to the radio for any news. I didn’t want to hide in my basement. I tried to avoid it. I only went down there when I had to put some wood in the furnace, and I did that very quickly, came upstairs, and shut the door. Spooky things could lurk in a basement, including spiders.

I was now spending more and more of my time alone at home. Raymond came home less and less, only when he had nowhere else to go. Bruce was living in Dryden. Doug was in Toronto. Mom and Cliff were drinking at the beer parlour.

The next morning at breakfast, I asked my mom about Mr. Errington’s message. This was the only time I saw my mom most days. She was oblivious to this news and had no comment. Obviously, she was not concerned about what I might do by myself every evening alone. She had no answers or suggestions. I wondered if she even knew what was happening. Her whole world was wrapped around Cliff and contained within the beer parlour walls. That was probably all that mattered to her.

Every afternoon for a week or so, I walked the lonely road home to my empty farmhouse and turned on the radio. I heard a news item once in a while, but nothing about Dryden or Ontario, or even Toronto. We could get only a few channels. I could pick up CKY in Winnipeg, a station in Dryden, and sometimes a Chicago station. Much of the time it was difficult to hear because of the static. The reception was almost nil in the basement, so I left the radio upstairs.

After doing my chores, I heeded Mr. Errington’s advice like a good little girl. I went down to the basement and sat in a cold, darkened room with the potatoes. How long should I sit here, I wondered. What was I supposed to do all night in the basement? It would have been helpful to have an adult around to consult with or even to hold my hand. But I shrugged off that idea. The adults who occupied my house would not be of any help, even if they were home, except that I would not have been alone and that would have gave me some comfort.

I was hoping a missile would hit the Cascade Hotel and not our Minnitaki farmhouse.

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I got the nicest surprise for Christmas that year. Mr. Errington bought presents for every one of his students. The day before the Christmas holidays, we came into the classroom and every desk had a gift on it. I got a gold letter M brooch and I still have it. I could not believe how thoughtful he was. Not one other teacher in my lifetime ever gave me a present. He really was a very special and remarkable teacher. And we were such poor kids, so these gifts meant so much more to us than they probably would have to most other kids. I still think of how kind Mr. Errington was, and how joyful that small thoughtful gesture made me feel.

I now dreaded the Christmas holidays. It was hard enough to spend evenings and Saturdays all alone, but to spend several full days in a row alone, especially in the cold winter, was almost too much for me to bear. Raymond was home some of the time. The beer parlour closed at 6 p.m. on Christmas eve so I knew Cliff and mom would be home early that night, and they’d be home for all of Christmas day. I looked forward to being surrounded by family that one time of the year. So far, Cliff and mom always tried their best to be cheerful on Christmas eve and Christmas day.

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One January morning on the farm, I got out of bed, went to the barn, did my usual chores, got ready for school and, then, very quickly, my hands, lips, nose and eyelids swelled up. My fingers were so puffy I could not bend the joints. My eyelids were so puffed up that I could barely see anything through small slits. I looked in the mirror and saw this grotesque creature staring back at me. I couldn’t recognize myself. I ran to show my mom. She shrugged and said she didn’t know what it was. I told her that I didn’t want to go to school that day.

“Why not?” she asked.

I looked at her in disbelief. “Look at me. I look horrible. I can’t go to school looking like this!”

“Okay,” she said. “Suit yourself.”

I sat in the living room waiting to see if the swelling would go down. I was very anxious, upset and afraid about this situation. My mom didn’t seem even a little bit concerned. She didn’t offer any medication or give me any suggestions about what I could do to bring down the swelling, but she said I could stay home if I wanted to.

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I realized that this lady from the health unit would not be able to understand my world, and how I tried to cope every day with my loneliness, never mind what I ate. I wondered if I should tell her about the frozen bananas, but decided against it. She wouldn’t understand that absurd act of selfishness. I doubted she would even believe it happened. She might even blame me somehow. I didn’t trust her. She wasn’t very friendly.

So, now it became my responsibility to provide a proper meal for myself, and it was my fault because I didn’t. This woman wielded her authority but showed no compassion or understanding. She didn’t help to make my day any better, and she did nothing to make me any healthier. She only highlighted another thing that was wrong in my life, something I had no control over.

I went back to my desk and thought about how much more of a failure I was.