This will be the 11th and final Post-Polio Wellness Retreat at Bay Cliff Health Camp.
Attending this retreat feels like you’re living in a happy postcard!
It’s a wonderful time away.
Lake Superior is calling you…
Hope you will think about signing up for this post-pandemic opportunity to restore and rejuvenate.
Sunny
On a deep-frozen wintry day in Michigan, it’s revitalizing to rekindle warm memories of our Bay Cliff Post-Polio Wellness Retreat last September…
Offered for the past 11 years at the Bay Cliff Health Camp in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, such post-polio wellness retreats have created a wonderful opportunity for polio survivors.
The exceptional feature of these wellness retreats is that they have been designed to zero in on the unique and little-known needs of people who are growing older with polio’s late effects.
Located 28 miles northwest of Marquette, Bay Cliff’s woodland getaway is not
only beautifully situated on the shores of Lake Superior; it is completely wheelchair accessible. This retreat’s venue and program design intentionally foster a safe haven for open exchange among polio survivors. Everyone is encouraged to feel like part of a supportive family of friends.
These adult campers arrive, ready to learn and have fun. This year, over 40 polio survivors, along with friends and spouses participated in the retreat’s full range of daily programs that were designed to address wellness of mind, body and spirit. Everyone received individualized attention from a blend of volunteer retreat facilitators—post-polio physicians, counselors, nurses; physical, occupational, and recreational therapists; members of the clergy, and those from a wide range of other helping vocations.
As my winter reverie brings our Bay Cliff experience into even clearer focus, I realize that we were indeed having smart fun. First, we had intelligently chosen to learn even more about living with a post-polio disability. We were shrewd seekers of good health — reaching out to discover how to incorporate new positive health behaviors into our lives.
Every day we attended educational programs. Topics ranged from up-to-date information about post-polio syndrome, to exercise, to meditation, to tapping into our spiritual strength. People learned all kinds of new information and came to practical, often profound revelations.
Here’s one practical piece of camping information that Mark discovered:
“Powered chairs and crutches are much more effective in the camp environment than manual wheelchairs. There is too much stress put on the shoulders with the manual lightweight chairs, especially when traversing the inclines around the camp.”
Perhaps as powerful, was the support and information that post-polio participants exchanged with each other. We openly shared life experiences that included many of our well-earned secrets for living a successful life with a disability.
Bonnie revealed:
“I find as I am held captive more and more by my advancing disability, more adjustments have to be made and sometimes I am not sure how or what to do. Or sometimes, I am not aware that adjustments even need to be made because I am in denial or just have not come to the conclusion that things have changed. At some points, I find I am owned by regret rather than taking action (or maybe less action in the case of PPS). Being at Bay Cliff is so freeing…no pretenses… and I am informed by my own regret rather than being owned by it. Sometimes it takes being with others who share your issues to realize problems need confronting, and I learn lessons on how to confront them in a safe, healthy way.“
As people shared many of their personal challenges and concerns, deeper friendships were nurtured. And Frederick Maynard, M.D. international expert on the late effects of polio, continued to be one of our best friends. He not only was a primary founder of the program in 2006, he has also attended each year, providing medical direction and generously answering each person’s particular questions. During the course of every day, he could be seen freely helping retreat participants with medical advice and counsel, whether it was during a planned group session or in a spontaneous one-on-one encounter. As one camper disclosed, “Words cannot express the level of devotion and commitment that Dr. Maynard has for the polio population. I have grown to love and respect him for his efforts, knowledge and deep understanding of what we are going through. You can see it in his eyes.”
We were not only ready to learn; we were also ready to have fun. This often meant taking part in experiential learning opportunities, which were set up to be both engaging and enjoyable. For one short week we had become pampered campers and smiling sunrise watchers. Every activity was adapted 
for us so we could participate. We went fishing, swam, danced, sang, walked and rolled on nature hikes. We had lively fun in the balmy warm weather as we learned important tips on how to stay healthy. In our sixties and seventies, many of us had first-ever recreational experiences, like learning how to dye silk scarves or discovering how to use a bow and arrow.
On having fun, Cathleen conveyed:
“I’d never heard of the NuStep and really enjoyed trying and learning it. I thrilled to the recumbent hand-cycling with Don as we flew down a country road incline. He adjusted and fixed a bike so it fit me. Dr. Maynard kindly helped me walk into Lake Superior, however briefly! There were so many fabulous experiences that I can’t list them all. I’d never been fishing before
and thoroughly enjoyed that sunny and relaxing afternoon in the pontoon boat on Lake Independence with Max, the expert fisherman. I loved the warm pool and helpful lifeguard. I remember the wonderful picnic in the sunny orchard and picking plums afterwards…”
Others described their retreat experience as:
“…a homecoming…mellow… warm… grounding… humorous…enlightening… expanding… reflective…challenging…flirty…”
Oh, and before the week was up, we had adopted a crazy, new, original camp song destined to become a Bay Cliff classic. We sang it throughout the week to the chorus of the “Beer Barrel Polka.” For all the brave songsters reading here, you may want to try singing it…
Roll out the scooters
We’ll have a barrel of fun!
Whip on your braces
We’ve got the blues on the run!
Seize both your crutches
Sing out a song of good cheer.
Now’s the time to dance our polka
‘Cuz the gang’s all here!
We’re all at Bay Cliff
Happy to sing you this tune!
We “get” each other
And we’ll be leaving too soon.
Dance how you want to
Now we have nothing to fear!
Polio’s become our polka
‘Cuz the gang’s all here!
Catchy music, fresh air, new information, physical activity, emotional support…the positive impact of Bay Cliff’s post-polio retreat can be long-lasting.
Simply rekindling the warmhearted musical memories of our retreat has revitalized my own feelings of inspired renewal and loving regeneration. That’s a wonderful gift.
It’s a big bear hug on this very cold winter day.
Or, perhaps better said…
it’s a big Bay Cliff hug.
Sunny
P.S. Have you ever thought about starting a post-polio wellness retreat in your area?
beautiful Colorado Rockies. It will be sponsored by Colorado Post-Polio and Easter Seals Colorado and is titled Colorado Post-Polio 2018 Rocky Mountain Getaway. It will take place from Sunday, August 19 thru Thursday, August 23, 2018 at the Rocky Mountain Village Camp in Empire, Colorado. For more information contact Nancy Hanson, Easter Seals Colorado, 393 S. Harlan St., Suite 190, Lakewood, CO 80226. Phone: 303.233.1666 x237 The original version of this article was published in Post-Polio Health: Winter 2018 (Volume 34, Number 1.)
Ahhh, the Great Pumpkin! Remember the famous story by Charles Schultz? Linus sits up wide-eyed agonizing all night under the stars–in the dark chilly pumpkin patch–faithfully waiting, waiting, waiting for the wonderful Great Pumpkin to appear. Sorta like Santa appears on Christmas.
It is a story of great faith on Halloween. Many say that, “Linus’s interpretation of Halloween renders the Great Pumpkin a symbol of hope and expectation.” And I ALWAYS wanted Linus’ Great Pumpkin to appear. I really, really did. I wanted the miracle to happen.
Well, Linus’ envisioned Great Pumpkin never shows up. Heavy sigh! Sad, but true.
So lately, whenever I have seen this Halloween special on T.V., I have pondered, “how could Linus have averted this discouraging tragedy? How could any of us who are living with the late effects of polio (or the late effects of life), turn this story of dashed hopes, and repeatedly unmet expectations around?” Have you been waiting and waiting for something that hasn’t come? Have you sat in your proverbial pumpkin patch too long?
Well, I have! And I decided that maybe I need to quit waiting submissively for that wonder-squash to magically appear and go after what I want. Take action! Maybe I need to slightly alter my vision and create a somewhat different dream in my mind that’s more me. More possible. Maybe even more interesting. Don’t change it completely, just tweak it a little. And then do something. Go after it!
So yesterday, here’s what I did…I took expectations into my own hands and went to my kitchen. There I created a new pumpkin…it’s not The Great Pumpkin, but it’s my pumpkin…do-able…likeable…
_______________________________________-
And so, it is in the spirit of enjoyment,
merry -making and
The Grape Pumpkin
that
I wish you a very
Happy Halloween!
Thanks for Reading,
Sunny
From my friend, Susan.
Regeneration is my goal now that spring has arrived. And especially now that my doctor just ordered
me to lose ten pounds by Halloween or else! The “else” would be unwanted medication with weird unpredictable side effects, and gradual systemic breakdown ultimately leading to disease and death. Not good.
So that’s it! I am sick of being almost 50 pounds too heavy. This situation is embarrassing, serious, disgusting, and super scary. I must lose weight or become morbidly obese. Yuk! Who needs that repugnant label next to your name?
It’s up to me. Yeah sure, obesity’s an American epidemic. Yeah sure, taking off pounds and pounds of fat is hard. Especially for someone who is a sedentary wheelchair user, like me. But there are a lot of American polio survivors that use wheelchairs who are not so overweight. I truly believe that “all things are possible,” in spite of being difficult. All I have to do is look around me to see the success stories.
So, how will I do what my physician firmly advised? It’s gonna take resolve, a new diet, and more exercise. I hope that sharing my story publicly might help others who are struggling with the same issue. Maybe writing this post will keep me accountable to my reading audience of friends as well? I am now cooking up an action plan and will be checking in with a progress note to you once a month on this blog through October. I am hereby altering my personal perspective on getting rid of my extra pounds, choosing to eat fresh foods with smarter carbohydrates and less sugar, and exercising more often–under the prescribed guidelines for polio survivors.
For starters today, here are three more specific wellness ideas–“recipes for regeneration”– that can become part of the action plan…
Step One: I dig deep. Way deep. Back to the unflinching resolve that I learned during my childhood rehab from acute polio. Set a goal and achieve it. Polio survivors know how to do that well. I can feel it. That perspective is coming back to me. I dig deep and take the first steps. My willpower gets stronger as I keep moving.
Step Two: I focus. My eyes are narrowing. My grinding grit and laser drive to succeed take me back to that 
stubborn, dedicated, unrelenting, hard core self. Now I have engaged an unrelenting commitment to eat properly and go to the gym to workout. I connect to WeightWatchers Online and plan my weekly menus. I have engaged a super-friend to help me cook. I plan to workout at my gym three to five times per week. Then I’ll report to my inner circle of close friends at the end of each week on how many times I got there. My daily schedule will revolve around these critical tactics to achieve that new health goal: ten pounds off by late October!
Step Three: I pray. May the Lord give me the daily inspiration to continue this journey back to wellness and regeneration. I wasn’t born overweight. I don’t have to be so heavy now. And may I have the heart and eyes to be open to this spiritual blessing to me and others as I find joy and little miracles of support and encouragement all along the way.
Here is a very tasty, low calorie soup that I discovered last week. (Found it at WeightWatchers Online.) Just thought you might like to try it sometime…
When I go to the gym, one thing I do is workout on the NuStep machine. Ever seen one or used one? 
It’s a great option because one doesn’t need much leg power to use it, but it can provide an aerobic workout. How to effectively pace the workout is a key for burning calories without overdoing the exercise.
Here is a method I just learned from Frederick M. Maynard, M.D., well-known physiatrist and medical expert on the late effects of polio and post-polio disability. He is a man who works out to stay healthy himself, so he also speaks from personal experience.
Dr. Maynard writes:
New Workout Exercise Research finds significant benefits for High Intensity Interval Training (HIIT) compared to Conventional Aerobic Training (CAT). HIIT is ideally performed for only 20 minutes 3 times per week and involves alternating 60 seconds of ‘high intensity exertion,’ defined as 7-8 on a 1-10 perceived intensity of exertion scale and/or 80%-90% of estimated maximum heart rate. CAT is performed for 20-40 minutes at moderate to high intensity exertion continuously 5 times per week.
Researchers found that although CAT burned more calories per session than HIIT, people who did 15 weeks of HIIT burned 900% more fat than those who did 20 weeks of CAT, likely because it resulted in a significant increase in Basal Metabolic rate.
What might this mean to polio survivors? It has long been recommended that polio survivors utilize principles of Interval Training in order to make participation in Aerobic Training possible, given their common limitations of moderate to severe weakness in limb muscles. This research suggests that if a person’s primary goal for doing an exercise program is to achieve weight loss, then doing it with an HIIT approach may help obtain the desired outcome.
Here are the steps to try this out:
1) Pick a feasible activity: stationary bicycle, NuStep, swimming, arm ergometry, treadmill walking, etc. It needs to be an activity that can be performed without struggle, be possible to engage in 3 to 4 times per week and be done briefly without risk of harm at moderate intensity levels.
2) Do the activity at low comfortable levels of exertion for 3 to 5 minutes as a warm up.
3) Then do a speed interval of the activity at as high an intensity as possible (faster and/or harder resistance) for 30 seconds, with a goal of doing it for 60 seconds at gradually higher intensities.
4) Then do a rest break or light interval for 30-60 seconds, the same length of time as the speed interval. Keep doing the activity at a leisurely or comfortable speed during this interval.
5) Repeat the speed interval and rest interval for 2 or 3 times, and build up to a goal of a 20-minute session or bout of exercise.
6) Do a bout of exercise every other day or 3 times per week.
This approach to exercising for weight loss and improved fitness for polio survivors has not been scientifically studied or proven to be effective. However, in my opinion, it makes sense to try to incorporate as many of the principles of HIIT as possible into any polio survivor’s exercise program. Many polio survivors may need the professional advice and coaching of a doctor, therapist or trainer to be able to conduct these programs effectively. The long-established important principles of pacing and avoiding overuse injury or harm must still be honored.
Please share your experiences of trying this approach out with us by way of the comment section below.
Sunny
P.S. If you found this article helpful and enjoyed “the read,” you may want to subscribe–free of charge–to receive an email every 10 days or so, announcing the latest post.
Just go to the right sidebar here to sign up.
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Way back when, Mary Ellen Nyberg Hemby wrote about her experience as a mom with polio. Her words below reflect a tenderhearted relationship with children and their purity of spirit. May we fondly pause a moment to once again be caught up in the “springtime of life”…
There were once two little girls
who loved to play with wheels.
“Playing House” by Jim Daly
They pushed their dolls in strollers
before and after meals.
Roller skates, a bike, and a trike
all painted red and white
Kept them moving all around
from morning until night.
They pulled their new wooden wagon
all over in the sun,
and shopping carts in the stores
made shopping much more fun!
But Mama’s yellow wheelchair
had the best wheels of all,
To push and ride with Mama
all over the mall!
___________________________________
Most people stand up straight and tall,
can walk and run with no help at all.
But some use canes or crutches, too,
to walk around like others do.
Some need braces or special shoes
for walking or running or whatever they choose.
And some people can just sit in a chair
And wheel around from here to there.
But remember that we’re all people, too,
We all like to play and go to the zoo.
We all love to laugh and sing and talk
whether we have to wheel or walk.
“Peckish Penquins” by John Dyer
______________________________________________
Later, when up against the late effects of polio, her positive, youthful spirit emerged as she reflected on what might come next …
Movement, from the day we were born, was an exciting, enjoyable experience. Crawling, running, jumping, and riding bikes made the process of getting there as exciting as being there.
As children, we explored and enjoyed every possibility–even with braces or crutches–we tried it all. We succeeded at things people said we could never do.
When we grew older, the movements became normal, for us, and many steps were made unconsciously–simply as a means to an end. The process wasn’t as important as the result. Unless the brace or crutch was changed or broken, we forgot our handicap.
Now, after so many years of succeeding, we have begun to contemplate every movement again. Each step is being carefully considered due to weakness, pain and exhaustion. We have needed to add more supports, and have compromised our independence with mechanical chairs.
Unknown Artist
We, like children again, will confront the new challenge and learn to savor every movement–to succeed once more!
______________________________________________
About the Author
Mary Ellen Nyberg Hemby lives in Willis, Texas. She contracted polio in 1954 at age two in Nebraska and walked with one long leg brace during her younger years. After college graduation, she moved to Texas to escape winter weather. Mary Ellen worked as a Montessori teacher for five years. Post-Polio Syndrome was diagnosed in 1986 when she was married with two young daughters.
She recalls her past writings above, giving them a life context…“they were my way of adjusting to Social Security Disability Income with two small children. I visited their classrooms and talked about disability. One of my daughters, her husband, and their six-month old daughter now live with me. They help me with shopping and cooking and I help them love Isabel…I stay connected (to others by way of) the internet mostly. I try to find something to be positive about at each stage (of life). …God has a plan for all of us.”
Readers are welcome to contact Mary Ellen at menybergh@aol.com
Thank you, Mary Ellen.
May your abiding love for children continue to be a huge blessing for you. Kids desperately need all the love and attention we adults have ready to give them. And we also know that children are so very good for all of us way-too-sensible adults!
Almost 30 years ago (1987), friends, Barbara Pike, Charlene Bozarth, and I sent out a nationwide request to polio survivors who might want to have their writings published in an anthology. Manuscripts came in, but life took over, and we were never able to create and publish the collection, as we had hoped. When I lost track of Barbara in Ohio, and Charlene, who left Michigan for New Mexico, I protectively stored the writings for resurrection at a later date.
Well, this year is that later date! I recently rediscovered them in my files, dusted them off, and now plan to take the liberty of publishing them by way of this blog. Some are essays. Some are poems. They are heartfelt, intimate and describe living with polio in earlier times. We can still resonate with their feelings and messages.
Here is a list of the missing anthology authors whom I would like to contact for permission to publish their work, now, so many years later. Since the publishing of chapter one, we have found two more authors, but have many yet to find.
If you are one, or know of one, please contact me at sunnyrollerblog@gmail.com.
Thank you!
Sunny
Floy Schoenfelder
Lee Whipple
William Wild
Agnes Fennewald
Charlotte Snitzer
Ann Bradley
Toni Keffeler
Sofia Baltodano
Bruce Berman
Roberta Dillion Williams
Becky Lee Vance
Jean Hamm
Norene Senkbeil
Ann Goodhall
Ginger Sage
Shirley Hile Powell
Elizabeth Reeves
Doris Vanden Boogard
Donna L. Mattinson
Marie Galda
Alan M. Oberdick
Emma Blosser Hartzler
R. N. Hackney
Robert C. Huse
The bus took us up above the tree line to an altitude of 7500 feet. This was the last stop for people who wanted to climb Mount 
Fuji. Looking up at the snowcapped peak almost a mile above my head, I felt a cold chill of fear. “What am I getting into?” I asked myself. It was the last day of July 1957 and I was about to climb Fuji with Akira, a Japanese friend from college.
“I’m worried about my legs,” I said to Akira. “They feel strong but it’s a long way to the top.” I was in Japan on a travel fellowship to participate in a summer work-study program near Tokyo.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll go slow and easy, all the way up.” Akira knew about long climbs. As a child growing up in Tokyo during the war, he survived on a starvation diet and witnessed firebombing that destroyed houses in his neighborhood. At college, many mistook his Japanese reserve for indolence but Akira was probably the smartest student in our class and eventually won the top prizes in history and mathematics senior year. Before starting graduate school, he had returned to Japan to visit his family for the first time in four years.
“I don’t think I slept very well,” I told him. “I guess I’m pretty excited.” I may have been excited, but the truth was I was scared. When I woke up that morning, my legs were aching and my forehead was hot. Was I getting sick again? Three years earlier on August 1, 1954, while hitchhiking in Europe, I contracted polio in Madrid. It took six months before I could walk without braces. Although the doctors said I made a good recovery, how did they know how strong I was? I had never faced a challenge like climbing Fuji.
Akira and I were roommates for two years at Haverford, a small, liberal arts Quaker college outside of Philadelphia. Over the years, we spent a lot of time talking about life in Japan and possibly going there together after graduation.
“I’d like to show you all my favorite places,” he said one day during sophomore year. We were looking at one of his family albums full of grainy black and white photographs. “My parents would love to have you stay with us. You would bring great honor on our house.” It was an invitation that blended traditional Japanese humility and respect in equal measure. I, of course, wanted to take him up on his offer. Traveling to foreign lands seemed to be in my DNA.
“Something I always wanted to do was climb Mount Fuji,” Akira said as he pointed to a picture of the mountain he had taken from the roof of his parents’ home near Tokyo. It was majestic, even serene, and looked impossibly high. “If you think you’re strong enough, we can climb it together.”
At 12,388 feet, Mount Fuji is the tallest mountain and most sacred place in Japan. Many Japanese try to climb it at least once in their lifetime. For those who have never climbed Fuji, it is not as difficult as one might imagine. True, it is over 12,000 feet tall and is snow-capped most of the year, but there are no sheer cliffs or need to rappel. Instead, there is a well-worn, winding footpath that takes you back and forth toward the top. Although experienced climbers easily make it to the top in 6 to 8 hours, novices are told to take frequent breaks and allow at least 12 hours.
So here we were, two novices beginning our slow ascent. By starting at four in the afternoon, our goal was to reach the summit in time for sunrise just after 4:30 a.m.
As we climbed past the 8000 foot marker, I became aware that climbing Mount Fuji was a kind of religious experience. For many Japanese, this was their equivalent of Mecca and at the summit there was a temple to one of the Shinto gods. Looking 
around me, I could see hundreds, maybe thousands, of individuals who formed a flowing column of humanity that moved slowly, implacably upward towards the heavens. The vast majority were elderly Japanese, many bent over with age or some infirmity, who were making the pilgrimage of a lifetime: perhaps for spiritual cleansing, perhaps for physical healing. I tried to feel their energy and let myself be carried along by their strength.
Somewhere near 9000 feet, my breathing became more labored and I realized my body was struggling to get more oxygen. During polio in 1954, my respiratory muscles gave out and an artificial ventilator eventually saved my life.
“What. If. Can’t. Breathe?” I gasped. My head was spinning. “Akira. What. To. Do?” There was no answer. He wasn’t next to me anymore. Then I saw his red plaid shirt up ahead in a small group of people looking at something on the ground. A short time later, two men came hurrying down the narrow mountain path carrying a stretcher. On it was a Japanese man, not much older than I, who was pale and lying very still. Someone standing near me whispered, “Heart attack. Happens all the time.” Was this some kind of omen? I bent over, clutching my own chest, gasping for air. The tips of my fingers were tingling.
An elderly Japanese woman saw my distress and said with a gentle smile across empty gums, “No breathe fast.”
It was a simple gesture but reminded me of my stay as an honored guest in Akira’s home a few weeks earlier. Although his parents had been educated in Europe, they observed time honored cultural roles in their personal lives. His mother cooked while kneeling on the floor of a tiny kitchen and only ate after the men were finished. There was a small wooden tub used for baths which was filled once each night. As the honored guest, I was allowed to use it first when the water was still boiling hot. Then it was Akira’s turn followed by his father, his mother, and finally his elderly grandmother.
At 10,000 feet, the path became suddenly steeper and there was a sharp drop in the temperature. Fuji is an inactive volcano but small chunks of brown volcanic rock were everywhere along the path. There were rumors about people slipping on this rock and disappearing over the edge. Akira and I slowed our pace and took rest breaks every 30 or 40 feet. With every step, my legs felt heavier.
“This is tougher than I thought,” I said to Akira. We were in the middle of a thick band of clouds which blocked our vision and sprayed us with a fine mist. I was getting discouraged and my knees hurt.
“You go ahead and I’ll wait for you here.”
“Not a chance. We’re going to make it together.”
He was showing a resiliency that was usually hidden. Until now I hadn’t thought much about his struggles as a foreigner and his rise to the top of our college class. Meanwhile, none of the elderly Japanese around us seemed to notice the steeper climb. Or the colder temperature and the thinning air. Their perseverance gave both of us the courage to push on.
Earlier in the summer, I had learned a lot about Japanese perseverance. “Where’s all the destruction from the war?” I asked Akira as we rode in a taxi around Tokyo on my first day in Japan. ”It’s completely different than I expected. The streets are crowded with cars, people are well-dressed and there are construction cranes everywhere.”
It was true. The country was in the middle of the Japanese miracle. There were scars from the war, to be sure, but they were not readily visible to an outsider’s eye. Japan was making an extraordinary and largely unexpected recovery from the greatest catastrophe in its thousand year history. “Phoenix rising from the ashes,” was the way one newspaper headline put it.
When we reached 10,500 feet, I began to hear a low pitch sound. Was it the wind? No, it was some kind of music. Humming perhaps.
“Do you hear that?” I asked Akira who was close by. I was panting and wasn’t sure he heard me. As I listened more carefully, it sounded like a religious chant.
“They’re Shintoists,” he said. “They’re trying to communicate with their ancestors. They’re also praying for strength to make it safely to the top.” The chanting and relentless determination of the hundreds of pilgrims around us stirred my soul. Truly, this mountain was inhabited by powerful and ancient gods. I took a deep breath. My legs felt lighter and the cold air refreshed my face.
When we reached 11,000 feet, we had been climbing in the dark for several hours. It was nearly 1 AM and we were finally above the clouds. 1000 feet and three more hours to go if we were to make it to the top by sunrise. In the dark, people were carrying lanterns or flashlights. Looking back down the mountain, I could see this long, winding string of blinking lights, zig zagging back and forth that disappeared into the clouds below. Now we were taking rest breaks every 10 or 15 feet. I looked at Akira who was panting worse than I was.
At 11,500 feet I entered a state of oblivion. Maybe it was the muscle pain or lack of sleep. People told me later I was probably suffering from altitude sickness. All I know is I don’t have any clear memory of what happened. Akira said we just kept at it, one heavy step in front of the other, over and over.
Then, there we were. I was standing on the summit next to the Shinto shrine trying to make a snowball. To the east a faint light was moving up the valley that stretched out far below. Tokyo was at the edge of the horizon. It was hard to believe that this peaceful scene was the site of so much destruction only 12 years before.
“We made it! We made it!” I shouted in a low whisper, exhausted and dazed. “I could never have done it without you.”
We hugged as much for each other’s warmth as for joy.
“What day is it today?” I was having trouble thinking clearly.
“August 1,” he said.
“August 1, 1957,” I said, trying to calculate. Then it hit me. “Today is exactly three years to the day since I got sick with polio.”
Lauro Halstead, MD, MPH is a physician with over 40 years of experience in rehabilitation medicine. He has a background in internal medicine, international medicine, spinal cord injury, sexuality, disability and the late effects of polio. His practice currently focuses on working with older individuals with physical limitations or disabilities.
Dr. Halstead has a medical degree from the University of Rochester, Rochester, New York and a master of public health degree (MPH) from Harvard University. He was on the full time faculties at the University of Rochester School of Medicine and at Baylor College of Medicine, Houston, Texas for 20 years. For the past 26 years, Dr. Halstead practiced at the MedStar National Rehabilitation Hospital in Washington, DC. Currently, he is a Professor in the Department of Rehabilitation Medicine at the MedStar Georgetown University Medical Center.
Dr. Halstead’s research and publications have contributed to a number of areas including the philosophy of medicine, sexuality, medical education, spinal cord injury and for the last three decades, the late effects of polio and living with polio. He is recognized as an international authority about post-polio syndrome.
Dr. Halstead contracted polio at age 18 and currently uses a motorized scooter for long distances. Before medical school he lived in Rome for a year where he studied Italian literature. Since then he has had a life-long passion for Italian art, culture and language.
Click here to Learn more about Dr. Halstead at his website
passionate commitment to the post-polio population.
