Probably thought I was looney!

Saturday 10/14/44

Darling –

Today day has been a long and weary day for me – but I have accomplished two things. One – I’ve made up to Christmas packages for Leon and Eugene. They each got some cheese tidbits and a big box of salted peanuts, some walnuts, a jar of grape jelly, a tin of pickled meat, and a package of clean cards. Two – I walked to the post office and bought stamps. This in itself was quite an accomplishment with Cookie ready to fall asleep any minute in the carriage.

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So if about four or five letters are dated the same, you’ll know why. Dearest, I have lots of news for you – good or bad – I don’t know. It’s for you to say and do. Thursday (10/12 Columbus Day) I head me (?) down to the Naval Hospital after having parked Cookie at Mom’s house the day before. My appointment was made for 1:30, but as I had expected, I didn’t get to see the doctor until about 3:00. This didn’t bother me much

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until the last half hour. Up to then I had a wonderful time discussing husbands and pregnancies with women from nineteen to ninety. Of course I won on all counts – I had the best husband and the best pregnancy. Then they were all called in and I was left by myself for a while which was bd, because being so nervous anyway, I got more so. Then when I was called up, in my mind I had already visualized a tender

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death-bed scene (the dramatist in me) and when the doctor asked me my name, I said “Sylvia Rosner” and burst out crying. Poor guy! He must have been scared stiff! Probably thought I was looney! And the more I tried to stop crying, the louder I howled. It was terribly embarrassing… a nurse ran in and they shut the door. Anyway, through my tears I told him how nervous I am, always crying, and scolding, and spanking

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Adrienne all the time and worrying about you… So he marked some of this down and then examined my blood pressure and heart and gave me a prescription (a red liquid – 4 times a day) and told me to be back in 3 weeks. I then had a sample of my blood taken and an electro-cardiograph taken too. I made an appt for Cookie in 2 weeks and for myself in 3 weeks. Now all I want (and need more than any tonic) is to see you again. I keep thinking that by now you’re on your way home again. And again I’m in that state of listening to every footfall and watching every uniform and hoping and praying that each one is you.

I know you’re just as anxious as I am to be together again. Darling, believe me, you’re the only guy for me – so come home quickly and let me prove it. All my love, darling,

Sylvia

P.S. I wanted to send you the key to our apt but I was afraid it would fall into the wrong hands before you received it. Love, Sylvia

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It happened again. I was actually trying not to select a letter too parallel to my own current life which is consumed with the stresses of moving in New York City (there will be plenty more on that soon). But I ended up selecting an incredibly relatable letter that anyway.

The primary topic of this letter is Sylvia’s health and visit to the Naval Hospital doctor. She does not relate many details, perhaps because she had very few specifics about her own condition. Treatment-wise, all we learn is that she was given a mysterious liquid to take four times a day. She mostly felt embarrassment at her emotional state after one and a half hours of waiting for her appointment. The nurse who runs in at the sound of her crying only does so to close the door. It feels dramatically different from today where you can see your own test results online before even hearing what they mean from a medical professional – which leads to its own drama, anxiety, and misunderstanding.

Just this week, I had my regularly scheduled visit to the cardiologist. Like, Sylvia, I had an echocardiogram and visited with the doctor to discuss how I’m feeling. Unlike Sylvia, I had a doctor who explained and assured me that everything is fine since my surgery, which in October will have happened 9 years ago. These appointments have become pretty routine, I don’t even always remember to mention them to my parents now. The technicians cannot tell you anything about what they see in the echo, so for me it is once I am sitting there, alone at a hospital, waiting for the results, that my imagination begins to go into worst-case scenario mode. What if I’ve become too comfortable with all of this and was tempting fate with a false sense of invincibility? What if *this* visit turns out to be one where there is something unusual in the results? The day I found out that I needed to have open heart surgery, I’d arrived at the appointment unconcerned and having scheduled meetings for immediately after. I held in my tears until I got to the street corner and called my parents to explain what I’d just learned. I think Sylvia is pointing out that there is just something particularly brutal about crying in front of a doctor.

And imagine, this is the imposing Naval Hospital building in the Brooklyn Navy Yard:

Sylvia’s descriptions are mostly of the social and emotional aspects of her visit, not the state of her health. I feel like I gained so much insight into who she is with this letter.

First, I love her description of talking to the other women in the waiting room about husbands and pregnancies. I laughed out loud when she said “I won on all counts – best husband and best pregnancy.” I love that she says this even as she goes to the doctor for a condition that actually made her pregnancy very high-risk. I enjoy how with what I imagine is a wink and a smile she won a competition of her own invention. I also like this because I had a great pregnancy and I like to think that I join a lineage of Rosner women who are meant to be mothers.

Then, the letter takes a turn. Once she is left alone in the waiting room, Sylvia’s imagination begins to run wild and by the time she is called she has envisioned her own death and the tender goodbye she would have with Alex. It’s exactly where my mind goes when faced with uncertainty about health, or even if I don’t hear from my husband when he’s out late at night. It’s hard to read this knowing that she would, in fact, have (what I imagine was) a tender death-bed goodbye with Alex just seven years later.

Despite the openness and vulnerability of the letters we’ve read thus far on the blog, this letter feels particularly honest and wrought. She describes her anxiety, her frequent crying, that she scolds and spanks Adrienne, and that she is constantly worrying about Alex. This is not the view that we usually get. The letters rarely describe tears and punishing the baby. I can’t help but wonder, despite all her protestations to the contrary, if Sylvia was suffering from some postpartum depression on top the daily weight of living through wartime separation as a (for all intents and purposes) single mom. I only recently have realized that I am sometimes reluctant to think back to my son’s infancy because it was harder than I recognized at the time. Sometimes, only once the fog has lifted can you see how hazy things were.

All we hear about the doctor is that he must have been scared of Sylvia’s emotions and that he wrote something down and prescribed her a mysterious red liquid. I wonder if he saw her emotional duress as some kind of dismissible “female hysteria,” or if he worried about its effect on her heart, or if he saw her psychological and physical state as completely separate.

Was the liquid he wanted her to take four times a day for her nerves or her heart? What did the electrocardiogram reveal? I have so many questions, as I’m sure Sylvia and Alex did.

Sylvia alludes to the challenges she faces each day but rarely divulges her own “dramatic” and severe trials. If she was having severe symptoms from her heart, or severe anxiety, each of the daily errands she describes in her letters takes on increasing significance. She went to the post office with the baby, put together two robust care packages for her brother (Leon) and Alex’s brother (Eugene), dropped Adrienne at her mother’s house, and went to an appointment that took hours in this letter. I continue to be in awe of this woman: flaws; tears; and all.