Page 84 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text
P. 84

Idling in Pelcovizna
        doctors are scarce, was to put a wet rag over the wound, and keep on
        working. Within a few days the arm began to swell and show reddish
        streaks.
           The  country  people  suggested  poultices,  but  after  a  couple  of
        more  days  we  had  to  rush  her  to  a  hospital  on  the  Sabbath.  An
        operation had to be performed without anesthetic, because she was
        in a weakened state. My father, my sisters, and I were outside on the
        lawn of the hospital. The operation was on the upper story, but the
        cries of my mother could be heard a block away. They held her down
        and the doctor made five  incisions along the length of her arm to
        drain  the  poison,  and  then  bandaged  the  arm.  We  did  not  have
        enough money to pay for hospitalization, so we carried her under her
        arms and drove her home two hours after the operation.
           As I write this now I feel the agony that I felt then, sitting next to
        her on the wagon: every time it shook, she bit her lip and squeezed
        my arm. For six months the wounds had to be dressed every second
        day,  draining  the  pus.  Since  we  were  poor,  the  doctor  showed  me
        how to do that dressing at home. It was torture for her—and for me,
        also,  as  the  gauze  had  to  be  pushed  into  the  incisions,  all  five  of
        them. Mother would put her head on my shoulder or on my left arm,
        and when that gauze went in she dug into my flesh with the few teeth
        she had left, tears and sweat running down her face. When the thing
        healed, her fingers remained bent for a long time.
           I  was  about  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old  when  that  happened.
        When anyone in the family had physical trouble I had to be the home
        doctor or go with them to the clinic. When my sister Hannah had to
        have  her  tonsils  cut  out,  I  went  with  her  to  the  sort  of  nurse  or
        doctor who did it. When I was about twelve years old in cheder, they
        ran  up  calling  me  home:  Hannah  was  eating  fish  and  a  bone  had
        stuck. I ran home like a horse over the ditches and highway. I sat her
        up in a chair, opened her mouth, located the bone, then put my two
        fingers down her throat while she was choking and pulled the bone
        out. It is too bad that I never had a fundamental education. I would
        have studied medicine, as I always respected doctors and like to read
        medical books.
           Winter nights in the north are very long, and darkness falls early.
        When six boys and girls sit at home, crowded around a table because

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