As a child, I knew I wasn’t so easily fixed.
My mother had told me that I had internal bleeding. It was a concept that terrified me; I imagined the blood escaping my veins and seeping throughout my entire body. Once I had blood in my stool, and this was enough to convince her that something was seriously wrong with me. She also explained to me I was anemic. It was true that I was pale and easily became out of breath.
* * *
MY FATHER HAD another daughter, Patricia, from his first marriage. Patricia was my blond, glamorous, and grown-up half sister, twenty years older than I. She worked for my father’s friend Sherman as his executive secretary, and she lived in an apartment in Manhattan. Patricia would come to visit us on the weekends or holidays, bringing her city friends with her. Once she brought along Dori, who had been her roommate for a while. Dori was a model, and this got my attention because I knew my mother had been a model before I was born. Dori wore a pink scarf in her soft dark brown hair that fell in strands around her face like a halo; I thought she was so beautiful. I wanted to spend time with her. She and I sat together in the mustard-colored wide-wale corduroy chair in our den and had our picture taken. I had recently gotten a short pixie haircut, and I wore a pale-pink-and-navy-striped short-sleeved turtleneck and navy pants. Dori said that our outfits matched.
I learned that Dori was married and her husband was a very successful ear, nose, and throat doctor practicing in New York City. My mother seized on the opportunity to tell Dori all about my sore throats. Dori agreed to help us. Soon after, my mother took me into the city to see Dori’s husband, Dr. Schneider, at his offices. He told us I had two areas of staph infection on my adenoids left over from when I had my tonsils removed. I was going to have to have surgery. We began planning for the hospital stay immediately. The surgery was scheduled at Lenox Hill Hospital on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. My mother seemed relieved. Finally, we had a diagnosis and something to do.
After I came home from the surgery, my sore throats got better, but other problems replaced them.
* * *
MY SCHOOL RECORDS tell the story of my mother’s ongoing concern for my health. The first one I have is from kindergarten, November 1964, when I was about to turn five.
“Mrs. Reybold quite concerned with child’s progress in school,” my teacher wrote. “Nina had to have a hernia operation early in the year. Nina is a lovely, sensitive little girl. Enjoys playing with dolls from home a great deal. Tires easily and often cannot complete a project. Tends to play alone or perhaps with one other child. Nina has missed quite a bit of school due to numerous strep infections. Her attendance is not consistent, making it difficult especially in the readiness program. She seems to be a capable little girl if she had the proper background in the readiness program.”
By April of the following year, my report states that my teachers were considering holding me back, as my lack of attendance meant I was struggling to keep up.
Halfway through first grade, the school reports make clear that my progress was being severely limited by my prolonged absences. By February of 1966, I had been absent for about half the school days in the report period. The school requested that my primary physician fill out a physical examination form confirming my ongoing health problems. Then, in June of 1966, my mother failed to appear at my parent-teacher conference. “There have been numerous attempts made to have a conference with Mrs. Reybold,” my teacher wrote, “and all attempts have failed. Nina’s attendance has been very poor. As a result, she has learned very little this year. Better luck next year!”
According to the school reports, I’d had a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy in first grade, which would have explained why I needed to take at least a few days away from my classes. But why so many other days missed?
The following year, the reports show that I had a “gastrointestinal series,” and this I remember well. It led to yet another test: this time a barium enema, so the doctors would be able to take an X-ray and see if there was anything wrong with my colon. The pain of the barium injection in my rectum was so excruciating I was given codeine after the procedure, which only made me throw up. Afterward, the X-ray showed no abnormalities.
My mother told the school I needed further tests and X-rays and that a note would be forthcoming from our doctor advising the school of my condition.
When I was almost seven, a doctor from Suffolk County School District No. 2 examined me.
“Nina Reybold was examined on 10.10.66,” the doctor wrote. “She was found in good general health and able to participate in all athletic programs, required and intra-mural curricular. No recommendations or exceptions.”
At this point, my mother must have felt encouraged to send me back to school, because at my parent-teacher conference in November, my teacher reported that “Mrs. Reybold is very pleased with Nina’s progress this year. She says Nina is very interested in books at home—often reading. I am very pleased with Nina’s progress in all areas. She
