Looking Back at Life’s Miracles

In the latter part of the 1940’s, the polio virus struck the United States in epidemic numbers, crippling and sometimes killing, many children and some adults. Unlike the Corona Virus/Covid-19 today, the U.S. did not shut down, wear masks, or hoard supplies. Scientists and doctors did, however, work feverishly to invent a vaccine, which finally occurred in 1954. This is my story of survival and triumph during my journey with that horrible virus.

Carol Potts Clewley Todd

We lived on a farm outside of Chandler, AZ, having moved there from Colorado Springs in 1945. It was a very hot July in Arizona in 1948. I was eight. My mother took me and my five brothers and sisters swimming. I was always the last one out of the pool. I loved the water and was very stubborn. A few days later, I was eating a piece of bread and jelly but could not swallow it. Then I could not hold my head up. By the time I got to the doctor’s office, I couldn’t move.

A spinal tap revealed I had polio. None of my brothers or sisters caught it, thank God. The virus spiked tremendously in the summer, especially where public swimming pools were located. Shortly thereafter, it was confirmed that the poliovirus was rampant in these pools and many were closed throughout the United States.

The type I had was called “Bulbar” polio, which is a more severe, often deadly form of Paralytic Poliomyelitis. The brainstem gets attacked by the polio virus, resulting in extensive damage to the motor neurons of the brainstem which control the respiratory system of the body. As a result, victims of Bulbar Polio often experience severe breathing difficulties, along with the inability to speak or swallow.

I could not move anything except one eyelid; even the muscles controlling my eyeballs went limp and my eyes just rolled around aimlessly. I could not breathe, swallow, talk, or move. At the Crippled Children’s Hospital in Phoenix, I was put into a large iron lung that was lined up next to dozens of others in the Polio ward. However, the strong suction of the machine pulled me up to its ceiling as I only weighed about 60 pounds. So the hospital sent for a Navy respirator, which was outfitted with rubber rings around the neck, arms, and waist to fit me better. I was alternated between the two machines. (Ventilators today are the technological improvement of iron lungs.) For nourishment, a tube was run down my throat and eggnog (“Ensure” had not been invented) was poured into it three times a day. Later, when I could burp, it tasted SO GOOD! I still love eggnog today.

My mother said my life hung by a thread for several weeks. She stayed with me and prayed continually, mostly “The Lord’s Prayer.”

Years later in church, I wondered how I knew the entire prayer without ever having read it. I can still remember it was my mother’s voice saying it I had heard over and over while I laid there paralyzed. At one point when there was no hope of improvement, the hospital priest came and gave me last rites. As he finished praying, a few raindrops fell outside the window on a cloudless day. Mama knew God heard him. The next day, my eyes focused and I moved my arm! From then on, I began to get better. It really was a miracle.

Eventually, I was moved into a large open ward, filled with crying children in beds, lined up and down the walls as far as you could see. Three or four times a day, a big tub on a cart would come to each bed. I could smell it coming. (As I write this, 76 years later, I can still remember that smell.) It was full of hot, wet, steaming, stinking, wool blanket squares (Army type) that the nurse would wrap around my entire body and then cover with canvas strips held tightly with big safety pins. This was called the “Sister Kenny” method for keeping muscles limber. I’d lay there like a mummy for hours, listening to all the kids cry. I wasn’t able to cry yet, but I was inside. When the hot packs cooled off, the nurse would bring in the next batch of hot stinking wool. This went on day after day. Finally, one day, I was so mad that I kicked my leg . . and it moved ! After many months, I finally recovered, and was well enough to go home. The March of Dimes paid the hospital bill, and we were forever grateful to them. With polio eliminated in the U.S., the March of Dimes now helps with birth defects.

Having missed all of third grade, my school passed me from second to fourth, which made some subjects, like math, difficult for me. What children learn today in those grades is astronomical compared to then - I’d never make it now!

To fully recover, my dedicated, loving mother gave me physical therapy at home on the farm for the next several years. She improvised, using canned vegetables for the exercise weights we could not afford. Because my brothers and sisters were busy being “normal”, I was often alone. Our collie-mix dog, Bobo, became my best buddy. Bobo sensed my helplessness and was constantly by my side, giving me an unforgettable bond with animals, a gift that I possess to this day. One day, two ladies came from town with donations for our family. They brought a whole load of donated food, toys, clothes, and even 2 pet rabbits! It was like Christmas. I will never forget the goodness of strangers.

We moved back to Colorado Springs in 1950. Polio survivors are not immune to the disease, so when Jonas Salk invented the vaccine in 1955, I lined up with millions of others to take it.

Post-Polio Syndrome came to haunt me in the fall of 2006. My respiratory system became weaker, requiring a BIPAP machine at night. I’m now on oxygen 24/7. My spine is curved in two places and some of my ribs are deformed. I have limited breathing capacity and a few missing muscles in my neck, but I have not missed much in life. I was never able to give birth because medically, it was not possible for me. I have considered this tragedy to actually be a blessing to me. I know that I am a very fortunate person because very few victims of Bulbar polio who experienced it as severely as I did, survived. If only I was able to get well, I became determined to never miss out on anything ever again.

Go for the gusto! I’ve belly danced, hiked, streaked, skated, skied, partied, raced jeeps on ice, camped all over the Rocky Mountains, gone swimming (I’m still the last one out of the water), hammered, traveled, kissed Elvis, made cement, and served 36 years at HQ NORAD. After I retired, I volunteered with children at church, spent nine years helping the animals at the Teller County Shelter/TCRAS in Divide, CO, and worked on maintenance jobs to restore the Pikes Peak YMCA Camp Shady Brook for children.

At age 63, I became my own contractor to build my dream house in the mountains, doing some of the work myself. While living here, I’ve written two books and traced my family roots from strong Colorado pioneers who came to Denver by covered wagon in 1871.

I know that life is a very precious gift, and that it should be enjoyed every day. Don’t wait for “someday” which might not come. I’ve laughed, cried, and loved way beyond a normal person’s limits. I’ve been told I’m just “too much” by some people. But that is because they didn’t come from where I did, nor were they made of anything close to what I am. If I die tomorrow - hopefully not from just going swimming - I know that I have lived life to the fullest extent possible.

All photos courtesy of Carol Potts Clewley Todd