( I have been so busy with my Christmas surprise for my family that I have been neglecting my other family.I promise I will read every single poem you have posted, within the next few days.Meanwhile this is one of the family history poems, I have been assembling in book form for my family. )

My Mother the Nurse

When I was a small child I caught
each germ that came my way.
It's because of Mama's nursing
I am alive today.
Measles, mumps and whooping cough,
the chicken pox and all,
I succumbed to every illness
that ever came to call.
The dreaded scarlet fever,
one after one we caught it.
If there had been a vaccination
Mama would have bought it.
We were quaranteed for seven week;
one better, the next one sick.
How did our mama manage so well?
She had a special mother's trick.

Mama learned how to be a nurse,
just like she learned to cook.
She did it all with mother's love
And her home nursing book.
In those days before magic drugs,
my mama used to go
into the home of neighbors when
the mother was laid low.
Two neighbor women sickened when
the flu was running wild.
My mama went to nurse them
even though she was with child.
She was so devastated when
she couldn't save their lives.
Leaving orphans was the sad fate
of many country wives.
Of course she wasn't paid a cent;
it was just a friendly deed.
She thought it was her duty to
help neighbors in their need.

Mama was always happy when
she had a child to nurse.
Being sick without our mama
would have been a whole lot worse.
We had a bell beside our bed
to call her when we hurt.
Sometimes it was just wanting to
be folded in her skirt.
Mama insisted that we stay
right down in our sick bed.
If we had the slightest fever
it was one more day abed.
She always said, those women died
from arising much too soon
to tend to others who were sick.
A relapse was their ruin.

I had pneumonia at six month
and again when I was nine.
The doctor had no medicine,
it was that mom of mine
who used her nursing skills and
labored night and day
to get me feeling better,
until the fever went away.
I remember mustard plasters.
She put them on quite hot
to pull the fluid from the lungs
of her poor ailing tot.
It was a pleasure to be sick
with Mom at beck and call.
When we were ill it seemed our mom
loved us the most of all.

By: Joyce 12:06:02