Tag Archives: polio

Walking Together

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Timothy Turner’s face was set, all his will concentrated on the new crutches under his arms. The weight of the calipers on his legs both stabilized him and shifted his balance. A few days of physical therapy wearing the metal and leather contraptions, and Tim was ready to take to his feet. Step by step, he paced the length of the polio ward, determined to master this important move toward recovery.

“That’s it, Tim, well done,” his father’s voice cheered him on. “Just wait until Shelagh sees you!”

Timothy grinned widely as he clumsily did an about-face. “Well, I’m certainly not going to win any dance competitions, that’s for certain. I must look an absolute oaf thumping around on these things.” His happy face took the edge from the self-deprecating words, however.

Patrick grinned back and reached around to re-adjust the left crutch. “She’ll think you look like Gene Kelly, more likely. Now, don’t let the crutch slip too far forward. It’ll put too much pressure to the front and could put you off balance. Try again.” He stood back and watched proudly. “That’s it,” he repeated. “Just like that.”

A memory flashed by, his son just past his first birthday, wearing that same look of determination on his face. Margaret’s hands held his chubby little fists as the tot wobbled on his short little legs. Without baby Timothy  knowing it, his mother slowly released her son’s hands and clasped her own together, holding her breath.

The toddler took one slow step, and a second, then found his momentum and charged towards his father. He crossed the six feet separating them, then threw himself at his father’s legs.

“Well done, son!” Patrick cheered and swung his boy up into his arms.

Margaret crossed to join them, reaching one arm around her husband as the other hand squeezed her son’s foot. “We’ve been practicing with me holding on all day, but he wasn’t interested in going on his own at all until he saw you come in!”

Patrick turned his head and kissed her. “He wanted to have us all together, that’s all.” He hugged the boy a bit tighter but was met with resistance.

“Oh, no,” Patrick joked. “Just look at that stubborn face.” Timothy began to push away, eager to try his legs again. “I’m afraid young Master Turner is off to the races!”

The thumping of the crutches on the hospital linoleum floor brought Patrick back to the present. Timothy had already improved in the few passes across the room, and Patrick laughed quietly. “I was just remembering your first steps. We were so proud of you, toddling across the flat. You didn’t walk for long, though. Almost immediately, you were running circles around the flat. Your mother swore you were going to wear a path in the floor, make your own track oval between the kitchen and the sitting room!” His finger traced circles in the air.

Timothy chuckled. “I remember she used to call me “Thumper,” because of the noise my feet made as I ran through the flat.”

“It was Mrs. Wilkins from next door that started that, I’m afraid,” Patrick reminded him with a grimace.

“Right. Mrs. Wilkins didn’t like children, did she?” Already comfortable with the crutches, Timothy rested his weight on them and let his body hang.

“That’ll hurt if you do it much,” his father pointed out. “But no, I think she preferred her neighbors to be a bit quieter than you. I’m sure she was thrilled when her husband moved them nearer his new job out by the rock quarry.”

Timothy shifted his body up again. “You don’t have to keep going, Tim. You don’t want to tire yourself out.”

“I’m not tired, I’ll be fine.”

“You always say that and then you never are…” Patrick teased.

“Just one more time. I want to be able to really surprise Shelagh when she comes this afternoon.”

As he finished the last pass, Timothy collapsed on his bed. “Well, that’s got me knackered. I’d better rest a bit before Shelagh comes or I won’t be able to show off.”

Patrick helped his son lift his legs up on the bed, then sat on his regular chair next to the bed. “She’ll be thrilled, Tim. Really.”

Timothy reached for the model plane on his bedside table, fiddling with the wing. “Dad, how long will I be on the crutches?”

Patrick considered. “Dr. Carson thinks your arms and back are extremely strong, so maybe a month or two, perhaps.”

“But if I work very hard?” Tim still would not meet his father’s eye.

“Tim, what’s wrong? I thought you were happy to be up and about.”

“I am, of course. If I had to sit any longer I think I was going to go mad! I just… Dr. Carson said back after Christmas that I could go home when I was used to the calipers.” His voice grew quiet.

Nodding. Patrick answered. “Soon, Tim. Probably just a few more weeks, then you’ll be home for good. Is that what you want to know?”

Timothy looked up, his face beaming. “A few weeks! That’s brilliant. I can definitely last a few weeks!” He sat up, eager again, and Patrick smiled widely.

“It will be good to have you home again, son.”

“And…” Tim hinted.

Patrick’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “And?”

Timothy rolled his eyes. “Dad, you said after I came home…Ugh. You have no sense of romance, Dad. Do I have to all the work?”

“Oh, Lord, Tim. That’s right. I was so caught up in your recovery I nearly forgot!”  He started to laugh. “Do you reckon she’ll say ‘Yes’ again this time?”

Timothy smiled his wise little smile. “Don’t worry, Dad. I have a plan.”

 

An hour later, Shelagh entered the ward, her arm filled with a stack of new comic books for Timothy and the others. She was quite proud that in addition to Eagle and Valiant, she had unearthed a copy of an old American superhero magazine. That was sure to keep the children happy for a little while, certainly.

Timothy’s bed stood empty, it’s bedding smooth. “Where on earth?” she wondered aloud. Turning to the boy in the next bed, she asked, “Harry, do you know where Timothy’s got to? I was supposed to meet him and Dr. Turner here tonight.”

Harry tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin. “Not sure, Miss Mannion. Try the hallway outside the nurse’s office, maybe?”

Sighing in her confusion, Shelagh shrugged out of her coat and left her new hat neatly on top. Smoothing her skirt, she set off around the corner.

Patrick stood in the middle of the hallway, a serious smile on his face. “Hello, Shelagh,” he said.

Sensing an undercurrent to his greeting, she answered. “Hello, Patrick.” Why was it becoming hard to breath?

“We have something to show you, my love.” Patrick shifted to one side, revealing Timothy, standing proudly, supported by his calipers and crutches.

Slowly, but with confidence, Timothy and Patrick walked the length of the hall towards her.

“Oh,” she whispered. Emotions crossed her face, confusion and surprise melting into delight, then ripening into tearful joy. As they came to stand before her, her two most beloved of all people, she laughed happily and clasped her hands together.

Words would not come, so Patrick helped her. “We said we’d wait until Timothy was better, Shelagh.”

Timothy chimed in. “I’ll be home in just a few weeks. And if I work very hard, I may even be able to leave the crutches here, too. With my calipers on, I’ll be able to walk in the church all by myself.”

Shelagh’s eyes flew from Patrick’s face to Timothy’s and back again. “Marry me, Shelagh.” Patrick proposed. “In one month’s time. Let’s not wait any longer.”

“Please, Shelagh? Please will you marry my Dad?”

 


Building Up Through the Cracks, Part One

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A/N: This is set during Series 3, Episode 5. I always think of the third series as a period of trial and error for Shelagh. She’s not completely certain who she wants to be, or how to become that woman. Her only certainty is the “rightness” of her choice to be a wife and mother to Patrick and Timothy.

Also, I’m definitely in the Timothy-calling-Shelagh-Mum-from-Early-On camp. He calls her “Mum” so naturally in episode 8 and wanted so much for the wedding to go forward, that I think he’s much more likely to admit vulnerability than his father.  Perhaps a trait from his mother?

The flat seemed too quiet without Timothy and Patrick now. Each had somewhere else to be, out in the world, and Shelagh could feel the walls closing in on her. Patrick was right, Timothy needed time to be a boy, to play out, to get into a bit of mischief. Here in the flat, months after his release from the hospital, he must have felt trapped.

Shelagh shook her head to clear the fog of self-doubt. What was done was done. She would have to apologize to the boy, and move on. Yet somehow, knowing the path she must take did not make it easier to follow. Her hands felt so idle, her mind adrift without Timothy’s time to consider.

What now? she wondered. For so much of her life she had followed a plan, had a purpose. Patrick’s solution, that she help at Nonnatus whilst Sister Julienne rested, seemed the best course. The task of keeping the midwifery and nursing practices going would certainly busy her hands and mind. Perhaps that would be enough, for now.

The door of the flat creaked open slowly, and she could hear the halting steps of her stepson as he quietly returned. Shelagh felt her face relax into an amused smile. She knew Timothy well enough to know he was feeling remorseful for abandoning her this afternoon. She sighed and put her unread book down.

“Hello, Timothy,” she called cheerfully. Best to let him know he wasn’t in trouble from the start.

Cautiously, he appeared at the sitting room door. He swallowed tightly.

“Your father told me you were playing cricket this afternoon. I suppose I’ll finally have to learn the rules, then! I hope you had a pleasant time.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded stiff. She smiled brightly to cover her unease.

“Yes,” Timothy replied. He bit his lip, hesitant. “Dad said I could.”

Shelagh nodded. “Of course. Did you get anything else to eat, you must be hungry. I can reheat dinner unless you’d prefer to wait until your father gets home?” She nervously moved into the kitchen, conscious of the strain between them.

“No, thank you. Dad gave me pocket money for an ice cream. I can wait ‘til he gets back. He said it should be a light list tonight.” He glanced quickly at her, then away. “I think I’ll go to my room now if you don’t mind. I’d like to read for a bit.”

It was as if they were strangers, on their best behavior. Memories of her distant father flooded her mind. Stoic as to character, made even more so by the death of his wife, Douglas Mannion had preferred silence. The physical distance of the convent school Shelagh attended soon after her mother’s death was nothing to the emotional estrangement she felt from her father.

This was not why she left the Order, Shelagh thought. The emotional connection she felt with Patrick and Timothy filled in places in her heart she hadn’t known existed. She would not let misunderstandings and doubt take that joy away from her.

Taking a deep breath, Shelagh tapped on Timothy’s door. A muffled, “Just a moment, please,” came through the wooden door, followed by rustling and a thump.

“Alright, you can come in.”

Timothy sat on the edge of his bed, his calipers in a heap on the floor. His face was tense, and Shelagh nearly lost courage. They had grown so close in this past year. Had she undone that in her desire to mother him?

“Timothy, dear, I’m afraid I owe you an apology.” She swallowed heavily. “I’ve been so anxious to keep you safe that I’m afraid I’ve … smothered you a bit. It’s only right that you should want to be outside with your playmates, and I’m certain they would welcome you. I won’t stand in your way any longer.”

Timothy didn’t respond, his eyes to the floor.

“Well, then,” Shelagh forged on, her voice cheerful. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

The hallway seemed dimmer as she made her way back to the kitchen. She had made the effort, but it seemed the damage was already done.

“Mum?” she heard him call through the flat. Worried, Shelagh returned to his doorway.

Timothy hadn’t moved from his place on the bed, his eyes still on the floor. His voice was hushed. “I’ve been a bit of a beast to you lately. I knew you just wanted to protect me, but it made me angry. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings. It wasn’t nice of me to be so rude.”

Shelagh stepped into the room, closer to the bed. “I understand, dearest. You’re not a little boy any longer, nor-” she added certainly, “nor are you an invalid. If we want your legs to get stronger, it’s silly for you to stay inside with me. Sister Evangelina always says “A bored boy is a naughty boy.’”

“Is that why she’s always giving me things to do?” Timothy quipped. “Maybe she should give Gary a list!”

Shelagh chuckled and sat on the bed next to him. “I’m not sure even Sister Evangelina could think of enough things to keep Gary out of trouble!” She reached down, reaching for his calipers. “I suppose these aren’t necessary to wear whilst you’re reading. Call me when you’d like to put them back on, and I can help.”

Tim nodded, but his face clouded over.

“Timothy, is there something the matter? Can I help?”

He fiddled with the leather straps. “I had so much fun today, I really did. The others were brilliant, and no one seemed to mind I was so slow.”

“That’s because you’re smart enough to pick good friends.” She pushed his fringe back from his forehead, waiting for him to say more.

“I know it’s your job to worry about me, but I’m going to be fine. The doctors are all pleased with how well I’m doing, and playing out will only help.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “If I tell you something, you promise not to hold it against me?”

“You sound like a barrister,” she joked.

“Promise?”

Shelagh nodded. They weren’t starting over, but it felt a bit new, somehow.

“I’m glad I went out today. It was great fun, but I’m sorry that I made you feel bad, and I won’t do it again.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I am a bit sore now. That’s why I’ve taken off the calipers. My legs feel rather like when the physical therapy is a bit difficult.”

Of course, Shelagh realized. It would hurt. Pushing out against the old ways always did. But it had to be done.

“Alright, then. Lay back whilst I get the liniment. We’ll get these poor pins rubbed down and ready for tomorrow’s adventures.”

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 3

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Previous Chapter

A/N: I’m going to have to stick by my decision in earlier fics. I simply cannot use the label “Aunty Shelagh.” It’s a deliberate break from canon, I know, and generally I stick pretty close to the dogma.

In this, however, I must rebel.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2

Whistling as he sauntered down the hospital corridor, Patrick felt quite pleased with himself. Since rising, the day had gone precisely according to plan. Mr. Stone, the neighborhood florist and chief died-in-the-wool romantic, had been happy to open his shop to Patrick for his early morning floral surprise. A quick stop at Nonnatus had yielded both the promise of a visit to the hospital by Fred, and also a few pointers regarding the fine art of twirling a lady in just the proper manner to ensure maximum closeness during a foxtrot. Now for a quick visit with Tim, then home to shave, wash and dress before meeting Shelagh with plenty of time.

Timothy sat up in his bed, already well into his copy of Captains Courageous. He smiled smugly at his father. “So, Dad, any special plans tonight?”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tim, full marks to you. Shelagh’s been and told you, I assume?”

“Not that much, really, just that after her morning visit she wouldn’t be back with you in the evening as you were taking her out.” A little embarrassed, eye glanced sideways at his father. “She got all flustered, actually. She must have apologized ten times for not coming tonight.” A sudden cough broke from him, shaking his thin shoulders. Patrick stood, and automatically reached for the missing stethoscope ordinarily draped over his shoulders. When the coughing fit ended, he asked, concerned, “How long have you had that cough, Tim?”

Tim’s color returned. “It’s nothing, Dad.”

“No cough is nothing in a polio patient, son. How long?”

“Just an hour or two,” the boy responded begrudgingly.

Patrick beckoned to the nurse. “Where’s Dr. Carson?” He demanded. The pulmonologist was known to be frequently at hand.

“Likely on the Men’s Ward right now. He’ll be down to look at the children in an hour or so, Dr. Turner.”

Patrick decided now was the time to cash in on some of the good will Shelagh had built up on the ward. “Call him down, please. It’s urgent.”

“Dad-” Timothy began, interrupted by another fit.

As expected, Dr. Carson arrived at Tim’s bedside shortly thereafter, and after a quick listen to the young boy’s lungs, called for an x-ray. “There’s no fever, and the lungs sound clear, but you’re right, Dr. Turner. I don’t like the sound of that cough. Does it hurt, Tim?”

“No, it’s just a little cough.” Timothy refused to look at the two men at his bedside.

Patrick sensed something beyond the cough was troubling his son. “Tim, you have to tell us. You know as well as we do that even a cold could be a setback.”

Tim scowled. “It doesn’t hurt, Dad, honest. It’s just a cough. But now you’re going to stay here all night. You’ll cancel your date with Shelagh and she’ll be so dreadfully disappointed. Again.”

Dr. Carson hid a smile. “Let me see about moving that x-ray along, then. Nobody wants a disappointed Miss Mannion.”

An hour later, the men consulted over the x-ray.

“It all looks clear, Tim. And the cough has settled. We’ll keep an eye on you tonight, though, to be safe,” Dr. Cardon advised.

“You keep an eye on me every night,” Tim answered grumpily. “Privacy is not exactly growing on trees here. Even during my physical therapy this afternoon, after Shelagh left the nurses kept forgetting to close my curtain.”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew into a look of concentration. “Physical therapy? What did you do today?”

“A bunch of really annoying arm exercises. Up and down, stretching wide-I hate those. They make it hard to catch my breath.”

Understanding the problem now, Patrick nodded his head. “That’s it. Your therapy today irritated your lungs a bit. That accounts for the coughing, and it also explains the decrease in the cough’s strength and frequency in the last hour as you’ve recovered.”

Tim dropped his head back on his pillow. “I told you it was nothing, Dad. I’m fine. Now could you please leave? Shelagh’s waiting for you!”

Half an hour later, Patrick was starting to think there was something deliberately trying to ruin the evening. Even with Tim’s coughing scare, there had still been time to make it home, change and meet Shelagh in time to make their reservation. This latest hiccup, however, seemed to make it unlikely.

Standing before the MG with its bonnet up, he shone his torch on the engine. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. The carburetor. Again.

“Evening, Doc,” came a friendly voice.

Patrick turned and met the grinning face of Fred Buckle.

“I was just on me way to visit the young nipper.” The large man clucked his tongue. “The bonnet in such a position does not bode well for the evening’s festivities, if I may say so m’self.”

Patrick exhaled sharply. “No, it does not. It’s the carburetor, I’m afraid. I’ve been meaning to have it replaced, but…”

“Much prettier things to concentrate yer time on, eh?” Fred winked.

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel my date with Shelagh after all. I’ll never get home for my tools, back to repair it and in time to take her out tonight.” He rubbed his hand over his weary face.

“I’ve me tools in the back of me van, just ’round the corner. You wait right here, and we’ll have this beauty up and running in no time, Doc!”

“Fred, you are a life saver! I’ll run in the hospital to call Shelagh and let her know I’ll be a bit late, and meet you right back here.”

As the two men parted ways, Patrick glanced one more time at his watch. Half six. They’d likely have to give up their dinner reservations, but they could find a quiet cafe somewhere still open. This date would still happen. He’d just have to be more creative.

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