The other day, I saw these pictures in an old album, and I knew I had to show you. The first is a photo of my brother doctoring my Betsy Wetsy doll as I look on. I was always worried about her. When I lay Betsy Wetsy down in her crib, her eyelids actually closed–one of the selling points. But seeing her eyelids tightly shut, I worried that she was dead. I picked her up and her eyelids opened–there were those bright, blue eyes. Phew! I lay her back down in the crib so I could tuck her in for the night, but again, I picked her up just to see her eyelids open. That poor baby rarely got any rest. I was constantly projecting my early issues onto this little one. Not only had I almost died as a baby, but two of my mother’s babies had actually died prematurely ten years before my brother was born.
I am the patient in the next photo. My brother was nice enough to check on my health periodically, especially my stomach, to make sure everything was working right since the operation. See how the stethoscope, usually for listening to heart and lungs, is placed over my tummy. Would he be able to hear a recurrence of pyloric stenosis? What relief and comfort I felt when he pronounced me well.