Cresson TB Sanatorium Remembered
Chuck 7
Family Visits
The highlight of the week was a visit on Sunday afternoon with my dad and mom.  They would start driving at 7 am from Towanda, have breakfast on the way and arrive at the san by noon.  We would visit for about three hours so that they could leave at 3 pm and arrive home by 7 pm.   It was a 12 hour day for them just to spend three hours with me. 
 
I don' think they missed a Sunday visit during the twelve months I was in the ward.  In the beginning, I think they were afraid that each visit might be our last.  My hometown doctor had painted a pretty bleak picture about my prognosis based solely on my initial x-ray.  Also, my folks had already lived through the first half on the 20th century when TB was thought of as a death sentence and cures were the exception.  So my folks and I really looked forward to those Sunday visits, especially in the beginning when my condition and progress was still uncertain.  But after about six months of weekly visits, when I was feeling much improved  and it became obvious that my recovery was just a matter of time, I actually started to feel guilty concerning the toll it was taking on them.  Here I was lounging in bed practically 24 hours a day while my dad at age 55 was working fifty hours a week at the Towanda Daily Review newspaper plus a 12 hour day on Sunday to see me.  I was glad to see them, but in reality nothing much changed in the san or at home in just a week's time, so there really wasn't that much to catch up on.
 
I practically begged them to cut back their visits to every other week so they could have a weekend in between visits to rest.  They said they would think about it, but still drove down every Sunday.  My sister Barb was at Penn State at this time and would sometimes go home for the weekend.  She would later tell me that she listened to mom and dad talking it over and deciding on Saturday night to skip the next day's trip and sleep in the following Sunday morning.  But, Barb says, on Sunday morning they both awoke early, took one look at each other, got dressed and hit the road for Cresson. 
 
After about eight months in the ward, I had my first sputum culture which tested negative for the presence of the TB bacillus.  I thought this would surely convince my folks that I was recovering and allow themselves to take a break.  But even this didn't do it.  It was only when I made meals and left the ward that they finally cut back on visits. 
 
My sister Barb would occasionally take a bus from State College, which was only about 60 miles up the road from the san, and see me on the weekend.  A visit from her was special as we had always been very close.  Also, she was working at Penn State and always had interesting stories about work and her social life.  She was actually living the life that I had hoped to be enjoying in that Fall of 1955 instead of being in the san.  So I lived vicariously through her exploits.  As you can imagine, it was much more exciting than listening to my folks talk about the next door neighbor's goiter operation.
 
It also helped that we had the same goofy sense of humor and always saw the funny side of life.  They say laughter is the best medicine and with my sister it was just that, medicine for the soul.  We talked and joked and laughed like idiots during her visits.  Sometimes we even acted like idiots.  You see, being with her gave us both the feeling of being home instead of in a hospital. 
 
In fact, we sometimes got so relaxed that we forgot where we were.   During one visit, I was sitting on my bed and my sister was sitting on the chair by my bed.  I had just finished lunch and still had a half unfinished glass of milk on my tray.  During one of our joke sessions, my sister unthinkingly picked up the glass of milk and drank it, just as she might have done at home.  The floor nurse happened to see her and ran over to us screaming, "My God!  What are you doing?  Don't you know you can catch TB?"  My sister looked at her as if surprised at her anger and said innocently, "But he didn't finish it", as if that was all the explanation needed.   The nurse snatched up the tray, presumably so Barb wouldn't help herself to any more of the leftovers, and left, shaking her head.  In our defense, neither Barb nor I could ever imagine me infecting her with TB.  After all, I was her brother! 
 
My brother Tom, being only 12 years old at this time, was not allowed to visit me in the ward.  Even so, he made the trip with mom and dad each week because my folks thought he was too young to leave at home alone.  I'm sure the drive must have bored him silly.  I asked him recently how he passed the time while the folks were visiting with me.  He said he would bring some of toy soldiers with him and play war on the san grounds.  The folks also gave him money so he could buy soda and snack food at the canteen. 
 
But after about six months in the ward without seeing Tom, my folks and I decided a short visit would be appropriate.  Tom made the trip as usual with my folks the next weekend and passed the two hours with his toy soldiers while my folks visited with me.  Then they all got in their car, with Tom crouched down in the back seat, and drove around to the side entrance of the Men's West Wing.  Tom got out of the car, scooted up the steps and into the side entrance which put him in the stairwell between the first and second floors.  I was already sitting on the steps waiting for him when he entered.  I wanted to give him a hug, but I don't dare even touch him, because I didn't want to take any chances.  It was  a short visit, lasting about ten minutes and was intended to show him that I was alive and doing well.  I told him about life at the san and assured him that I would be coming home in the near future and he told me about school and his friends.  I kept the conversation all light and upbeat.   We said our good-byes and he slipped out the door and into the car.  I sat on the steps of the stairwell with a lump in my throat that wouldn't go away.  Those ten minutes with Tom were the most emotional time of all the sixteen months I spent at the san.  I sat there for a longer time than our meeting had taken and cried like a baby.