Doctors Make House Calls

Or, at least they did in the 1950s.

I woke up one morning with a fever. Mom made me stay in bed and said I couldn’t go to school. She brought me some of my Little Golden Books and my favorite doll to entertain me. She called the doctor and made arrangements for him to make a house call later that afternoon.

I was fine with the books and my doll for a while, but I got bored. I had seen the books so many times. I don’t remember if I could read the words yet or just look at the pictures.

Before long, though, Mom brought me a new stack of books. Pearl Mohnen, the mother of the twin boys I played with across the street, had sent over some of theirs. I hadn’t seen them before, and I enjoyed them—but I noticed some had gum stuck to the covers. Boys! None of my books looked like that.

My bedroom was a stair-landing room. There was only enough space for my bed, with room to walk around it on one side. The other side was against the north outside wall. Around the staircase was a railing so no one could accidentally step off the ledge into the open stairway.

That afternoon, the doctor came. He stood on the right side of my bed, and Mom stood at the foot. He took his stethoscope out of his black doctor’s bag and placed it on my chest. I jumped—it was cold! I remember the quiet and the soft daylight in the room.

After talking with Mom, he pulled a pad of paper from his bag and wrote a prescription. Soon, he was gone again.

Mom knew she had to get to the drugstore before it closed, but we were home alone. It was cold and rainy outside, so she didn’t want to take me out—but there was no one to leave me with.

So she wrapped me in a blanket and sat me on a kitchen chair with my Little Golden Books and something with bright colored pieces—maybe her plastic clothespins, though after all these years I can’t quite be sure.

She told me she had to go get my medicine and that she would be right back. I knew where the drugstore was—it was only a couple of blocks away.

She told me not to get off the chair while she was gone.

I didn’t.

Mom knew she could trust me to do what she said—and I knew I could trust her when she said she would be right back. I wasn’t scared, but it did feel a little odd to be in the house alone.

She came right back, just as she said she would.