A Memory

by Carol Tarlow

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. . . Of a defiant kid running away from the doctor’s office as fast as her little feet would carry her, a bigger kid, but not much bigger, trying to catch her to bring her back for her doctor’s appointment.

This is an easy memory for me to recapture for it happened more than once. The little kid is my sister Nancy, two years younger than I, and apparently born with a phobia of doctors and hospitals. As the eldest sibling, mother would often leave me in charge of Nancy and our youngest sister, Janet, in the waiting room of Dr. Leighton, our family’s long-time doctor. He was not at all frightening. In fact, the opposite, with twinkling eyes and a large belly that matched his rather Santa Claus demeanor. But that did not fool Nance. She would plan her getaway the moment she learned it was time for our annual check-up. As soon as mum got our baby brother, Larry, into the car and started off down the road, Nancy was out the door, with me close on her heels.

We’d run down the sidewalk toward O’Farrell’s Drug Store on the corner and when she made the turn, I’d grab her and haul her back just as Dr. Leighton was about to beckon us in: “The Webster girls, how are you today?” And into his office we’d march, all of us as good as gold, hoping this wasn’t the time for the “shot” visit. I don’t think Nancy ever let on to the doctor how scared she was. It was a family secret.

This memory came to have great significance when long years later our mother, after several years in a nursing home, got pneumonia and was taken to a hospital in Santa Rosa, California. I lived in Santa Rosa and Nancy lived in San Francisco. Janet and Larry were on the other side of the country in Florida, so it was up to Nance and me to be with mum at the end. When I called Nancy to tell her about mother, I didn’t ask for her help. I didn’t have to. She was in her car and by my side in about an hour. And she never left.

For almost five days we sat at mother’s bedside, one day and night Nance was there, one day and night I was. I knew that every day in that hospital was torture for my sister, but she never complained and she never showed her fear. We have always been close sisters, but never more so than in those days together watching our mother die.