Measles

Leta recognized them immediately. She had them, both of her children had them, and now her husband did. Measles. For three days, Bob had been complaining of a fever, and he also exhibited the other signs—cough, runny nose and red eyes. But the two of them figured he was suffering from a slight case of influenza. He had always told her how rarely he was ill, even as a child. But this morning, he felt even worse.

He told her that he had awakened a couple of times in the night with the back of his neck and arms itching. In fact, he woke her with a compulsive sort of scratching that disturbed her sleep. It was early spring, and the light had not yet arrived. She turned on her reading lamp and saw that his cheeks and forehead were covered with tiny red spots, running together.

“Let me see your arms,” she instructed, and he held one out. He was wearing long-sleeved pajamas, so she pulled up the sleeve. The same rash was slowly spreading up from his wrist. “Oh dear,” she said.

“What?” he demanded, choked back a cough and then finished, “What is it?”

“Measles, I think,” she said.

“What? Measles? How?”

“Well, we won’t know until the doctor comes, but you’re not going anywhere. Try not to scratch,” she urged, as she rose from bed.

“I’m hot as hell,” he snarled.

“I know, honey,” she said sympathetically. “But keep yourself wrapped up. I’ll make you some tea.”

Poor Bob, she thought. He had no idea, no experience of such things. Having no children of his own, he never encountered measles, or chicken pox or mumps either, most likely. This was going to be a tough one for him, and this was only the beginning. The illness generally lasted well over a week.

And Leta remembered that only four days earlier her grandson Don had also been complaining of being warm with a runny nose, not that any of the adults in the household had taken much notice. Four-year-olds were always wrestling with some virus or other. But as she waited for the doctor to visit her husband, sipping coffee in the kitchen, as a spring rain slapped against the windows, she felt apprehension for her daughter and grandson.

Two days earlier, they had embarked on an auto trip to visit Vivian’s husband Ed, who was temporarily at an air force base in Maryland. He had been gone for nearly a year, and she missed him terribly. It would already be a challenge to drive so far with a four-year-old in the car, but even more difficult with a whining, sniffling feverish child who only wanted to cuddle. Leta offered to keep Don, but both Vivian and the little boy were insistent that he go. He also missed his father. And what if he got better? Would she want a furious, resentful force of energy in her house for five days?

But he wouldn’t get better. He most likely also had measles, and Leta hated to think about what this meant for the visit.

She did learn, of course, later that afternoon, when Vivian telephoned to check in. Don had the virus and was confined to the hotel. While she gave her mother the news, Vivian’s steady voice cracked a bit. Of course, having already had the illness, she could visit her husband, but not on the base, as they planned. And he, of course, could not visit their son at all. Although Ed also had the measles as a child, he could not endanger the U.S. military during a major war. So all her daughter and son-in-law could do over the several days were having quick lunches or dinners while Don was asleep. And any sort of affection was out of the question.

When they arrived back home, weary and disappointed nearly a week later, Leta provided the sympathy and comfort that only a mother could. And she felt it in her bones. For the first time in her adult life, Vivian simply gave up all control and responsibility to her mother. That night, after child and grandfather were tucked snuggly in bed, mother and daughter sat in the living room. For the first time since before their separation when Vivian was a teenager, Leta sat with her daughter while she cried.

And Leta knew that, at last, she and her daughter were fully reconciled.