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A Polio Survivor's Story
On October 13,1961, my daddy, Curtis Vizier, known as
Be'Be', had been working on an oyster boat near the mouth
of the Mississippi River for 13 days. He awoke that morning
with diarrhea, nausea, and a severe headache. He said he
had a trembling sensation around his waist and his back was
in pain. By October 15, still on the boat, these symptoms
would not go away, so his boss, Mr. Nelson Duet, called a
taxi all the way from Galliano to come get him in Venice
because the waters were too rough to bring him home by
boat. On the way back home to Grand Isle in the taxi, the
driver tried to talk him into going to the hospital , but Daddy
refused.
When he arrived at home he was sick and shivering.
Mom took him to the doctor 30 miles away and was given
medicine for intestinal flu. But his condition steadily worsened.
Two days later, I was walking out the front door to go
to school, I turned around to look at Daddy. He was sitting on
a chair with a blanket around him in front of the oven, which
Mom had turned on to warm him up. I don't know why I
remember that scene, but it was the last time I would see him
for 5 months. While I was at school, he lost almost complete
use of his left arm and leg. My Mom knew this was no"flu".
My uncle came to help carry him to the car. She sent my
younger sister to my great -aunt . They were preparing to
leave just as I was returning from school. My mom told me to
go with my great -aunt. I didn't get to see Dad. I didn't know
what was going on . Later that night I was walking
through the streets, crying and confused, with my aunt, which
I called Nis. We were trying to find out if anyone had
received any news.
We received news later on that night or
next morning. He had been sent to the Polio ward at Charity
Hospital in New Orleans. Days later tests proved that he had
polio. Daddy was 29 years old.
Co-workers and others he had
come into contact with were told to get a polio shot. No one
was allowed to visit him until the fever had passed, and then
after that only once a day for 1 hour. This was 2 hours away
from our home. My sister and I remained with my great aunt
and uncle. My Mom moved in with my dad's brother, his
wife, and girls. I got to see Mom on weekends. I know it was
hard on the both of them to leave us behind.
His stay in the hospital was a lonely and painful experience.
He made friends with a little boy in an iron lung, Duncan
Deshotel.(Duncan died in the 1970's). No medicine was given
to alleviate Daddy's pain. He had to sleep on a hard mattress
with no springs. He was not allowed to use a pillow, so he
used his shaving kit instead and now has a small lump in the
back or his neck because of it. A wooden board was placed at
the foot of his bed to keep his feet pressed against. He was
afraid that his feet would not stay pressed against it as he
slept, so he crossed one foot over the other to hold them in
place. Because of this he has one leg shorter than the other,
and still walks with a limp. He was put into a whirlpool bath
everyday, but was terrified that he would drown-it covered all
but his head. Then there was the therapy--his screams could
be heard all over the ward. He did get some comfort- to help
the pain they would wrap him in hot blanket strips. The pain
would completely disappear until the blankets would lose
their warmth.
Daddy had to learn all over again how to sit up, get up, and
walk. Many times he would fall in his attempts. He would
limp so badly that his head would hit the side of the doorway
as he went through. For a long time he wore a brace and a
corset. Having polio was not only a physical burden, but a
mental and emotional one ,as well. But he was determined to
get back home and back to normal as soon as possible.
For many years he was unable to work. English was a second
language , so he wasn't very comfortable with it, and that
limited the job opportunities. Besides , when his body said he
had had enough, he would have to rest. He was a shrimper
and oysterman--very hard work--and he knew no one could
afford to hire someone who had to stop and rest so often, so
several years later, after he had built up his strength, Daddy
started shrimping and oystering again on his own small boat.
He knew we couldn't survive on Mom's small paycheck and
an even smaller disability check.
Today at the age of 72, Dad still goes out into the cold waters of
Caminada Bay, bends down, picks up oysters by hand, puts
them in a can, and hauls them to the boat. He then brings
them home and he and Mom shucks them. This is the type of
work that would tire any man. For the past ten years, he has
had leg cramps every day and his back always hurts. He
never has a day without pain. Polio has taken a lot from him.
It was hard on him not to be able to provide for us as we were
growing up. By continuing to work to this day, (he now only oysters for the family;he doesn't sell anymore)I believe he is
trying to make up for all those years he lost. I admire him for
his determination and his strength; there should be more men
like him.
Dad's polio ward pal, Duncan, in an iron lung. Duncan lived like this for many years. He died in the early 1970's. Here he is in his home, where Dad visited him years later.
One of Daddy's hobbies(now that he no longer and finally has retired)is building things. He has built lighthouses, windmills, and old planes. He does beautiful work. Here are some of his planes. Pictures of his lighthouses are on the page"Digging up the Past"
