READ ABOUT A CASUALTY OF THE DREADED VIRUS KNOWN AS POLIO. I GREW UP DURING THE POLIO EPIDEMICS OF THE FORTIES AND FIFTIES....WHICH I REMEMBER ALL-TOO-WELL. I GREATLY-ADMIRE
THE MANY REAL HEROES WHO SURVIVED FOR YEARS--LOCKED INSIDE IRON LUNGS.
Growing up, I considered the word POLIO as scary as the Boogey Man. At the age of seven, my mother
forced me to walk into a huge truck parked on Pine Bluff's Main Street; to join a slow-moving line of people gawking at a young polio victim in an iron lung.I remember being afraid, the same scared feeling when I saw a fully-dressed body in a casket for the
first time, and learned the person was dead. I watched that body, fearing that at any minute it would sit up and start talking to me.
Before exiting the truck, we passed
a table containing a large bowl filled with money, mostly change. The sign beside it said: POLIO IS A CRIPPLER OF CHILDREN--A KILLER OF THE INNOCENT. GIVE ALL YOU HAVE TO DESTROY POLIO. To me, polio was alive and evil...like a monster. I spent many, many nights
sleeping with the light on--deathly-afraid I would be polio's next victim and spend my life trapped in an iron lung.
Not long ago, while doing some online research, I found
this obituary. It brought back my childhood fear. This woman from North Carolina is a Survivor; a Hero. Imagine, sixty-one years in an iron lung. My life story fades in comparison to Martha's story. The obituary/article is a little long but---your life will
feel better after reading about Martha's life.
MARTHA MASON, 61 years in an iron lung, dead at 71 years.
Ever since the 1940s, when she was a girl in a small Southern town, Martha Mason dreamed of being a writer. But it was not till nearly half a century later, with the aid of a voice-activated computer, that she
could begin setting a memoir down on paper. Published in 2003, Ms. Mason’s memoir, “Breath,” is not well known outside the Southeast, or perhaps even outside North Carolina, where she was born, grew up and died. It was published by a small
regional house, Down Home Press, and was not widely reviewed. But the truly significant thing is that the book was written at all.
Ms. Mason died on Monday at her home in Lattimore,
N.C. She was 71 and had lived for more than 60 years in an iron lung. Her death was confirmed by a friend, Mary Dalton, who said Ms. Mason had died in her sleep.
Paralyzed from the
neck down as a result of childhood polio, Ms. Mason was one of the last few Americans, perhaps 30 people, who still live full-time in iron lungs. “There is no documented case of any American having done-so for as long as Martha,” said David W.
Rose, the archivist of the March of Dimes Foundation.
Ms. Mason is the subject of a documentary film, “Martha in Lattimore,” released in 2005 and directed by Ms. Dalton.
She also appeared in “The Final Inch,” a documentary about polio that was nominated for an Academy Award this year. From her horizontal world --a 7-foot-long, 800-pound iron cylinder that encased all but her head ---Ms. Mason lived a life that
was by her own account fine and full, reading voraciously, graduating with highest honors from high school and college, entertaining and eventually writing. She chose to remain in an iron lung, she often said, for the freedom it gave her. It let her breathe
without tubes in her throat, incisions or hospital stays, as newer, smaller ventilators might require. It took no professional training to operate, letting her remain mistress of her own house, with just two aides assisting her.
“I’m happy with who I am, where I am,” Ms. Mason told The Charlotte Observer in 2003. “I wouldn’t have chosen this life, certainly. But given this life, I’ve probably had the
best situation anyone could ask for.”
Ms. Mason’s only immediate survivors are her aides, Ginger Justice and Melissa Boheler, whom she considered family.
Martha Ann Mason was born on May 31, 1937, and reared in Lattimore, a small town about 50 miles west of Charlotte. In September 1948, when she was 11, Martha went to bed one night feeling achy. She
did not tell her parents because she did not want to compound their sorrow: that day, they had buried her 13-year-old brother, Gaston, who had died of polio a few days before. Martha spent the next year in hospitals before being sent home in an iron
lung. Doctors told her parents she would live another year at most. She survived, she later said, because she was endlessly curious and there was so much to learn.
visits from her teachers, Martha resumed her studies, graduating first in her high school class. She entered Gardner-Webb College in Boiling Springs, N.C., receiving an associate’s degree in 1958. Afterward, Ms. Mason and her iron lung were transported
by bakery truck to Winston-Salem, where she enrolled in Wake Forest College. There, she joined a student group seeking to integrate the campus. She earned a bachelor’s degree in English from Wake Forest in 1960. At both colleges — they are now
universities — Ms. Mason lived with her parents in a campus apartment and attended lectures by intercom. At both colleges, she graduated first in her class.
Returning to Lattimore,
Ms. Mason began writing for the local newspaper, dictating her articles to her mother, Euphra. Not long afterward, Ms. Mason’s father, Willard, suffered a major heart attack and became an invalid, requiring Euphra to care for him, too. There was no more
time for taking dictation. For decades afterward, Ms. Mason wrote only in her head, publishing nothing. Her father died in 1977.
Perhaps only in a place like Lattimore, whose current
population is not much more than 400, could Ms. Mason have thrived as well as she did. For if Ms. Mason could not go to the town, then the town was quite prepared to come to her. The doctor visited regularly, of course, but so did all the neighbors and the
neighbors’ neighbors. So did members of the local fire department, who came by during power failures to make sure her backup generator was working.
Ms. Mason often gave dinner
parties — she ate lying down, with her guests around the table and the iron lung pushed up beside it — and savored lively conversation, good gossip and the occasional bawdy story. Amid the rhythmic whoosh ... whoosh of the iron lung, the local
book club met in her home. High school graduates stopped by so she could admire them in their caps and gowns, as did just-married couples in their wedding finery. Souvenir magnets from faraway places, gifts from traveling friends, adorned the yellow exterior
of Ms. Mason’s iron lung like labels on a steamer trunk.
But small-town life could have its drawbacks. “She’s an intellectual, yet the local video store was not
going to have ‘Wild Strawberries’ for her to rent,” Ms. Dalton, an associate professor of communication at Wake Forest, said in a telephone interview on Wednesday. “She could talk to anybody, but she needed that kind of intellectual
stimulation, too. And there were years when I imagine that was a little hard to come by.”
That changed in the mid-1990s, when Ms. Mason acquired a voice-activated computer with
e-mail capability and Internet access. The computer brought her the world. It also let her contemplate writing her memoir, which is subtitled “Life in the Rhythm of an Iron Lung.” She began the book in tribute to her mother. In the late 1980s,
after a series of strokes, Euphra Mason descended into dementia and abusiveness, occasionally slapping and cursing her daughter. Ms. Mason insisted that her mother remain at home. From her iron lung, she took over the running of the household, planning meals,
paying bills and arranging for her mother’s care.
After her mother’s death in 1998, Ms. Mason began work on her book in earnest. There, in her childhood home, with a microphone
at her mouth and the music of the iron lung for company, she wrote her life story sentence by sentence in her soft Southern voice, with her own breath.