Getting Trained

Sarah, my grandmother, on her wedding day 1905.

Life was just . . . different back then.

1901.

In rural Utah, one made do.

And soldiered through.

Later, perhaps, one learned the whole story . . .

Sixteen-year-old Sarah, fifth of eight children and oldest surviving girl still at home, was put in charge of her younger siblings while their mother went to the big city for several months of formal midwifery training.

It was a time of learning.

Hard work.

And learning.

Did I mention learning?

Things were going surprisingly well.

Then youngest sister, twelve-year-old May, developed a sore throat.

A bad sore throat. That shed white ‘pieces’.

Older sister, Sarah, thought she merely had a bad throat and nursed her as best she could.

Without any outside influences.

Like the local Health Officer.

She had her sister “gargle everything she could think of, but it was still very bad.”

At length, she sought the advice of her grandmother, who lived nearby, and who did what she could to help.

Finally, when May was nearly better, Sarah’s Grandmother called the Health Officer.

Who told Sarah she had just nursed her sister through Diphtheria.

Maybe sometimes we’re better off not knowing . . .