25 October 2016
It was over fifty years ago now, but my mother Susan can still recall that dark, concrete hospital ward at what was then known as the Cincinnati General Hospital. At just six years old, she found herself in a white bed partitioned off from her neighbors by glass. On her left, a young man in an iron lung; on her right, a baby who wouldn’t stop screaming. She remembers falling dangerously ill in the summer of 1960 during a road trip to Williamsburg, Virginia with her family, and remembers the ensuing days of indescribable pain.