(SR) The time that I remember most about the winter was one terrible time. He had not charged the park radio in our house that we used to keep in touch and tell them what the weather was like each day. And he’d go once a month to take the payroll in, and I usually went with him. But this time I didn’t go and nobody—there weren’t many people around- but no one knew that I didn’t go this time. So I had this little one, and she wasn’t walking yet. She had this little cart, you know, and wheeled herself around. The house was snowed up completely except on little corner in the bedroom. I think you can see it here, how we were snowed up. So, I went upstairs and lights were out, and the stairwell went right off our bedroom, right straight down. I thought I would put something across there because she’s going around in this cart. I put her in the other end of the room, while I looked in the other room. The next thing I knew, there she was, right down the stairs and hit herself against the wall. She couldn’t breathe, and nobody knew I was in and I didn’t know how to get in touch with anybody. I picked her up, and she was just, lifeless. I didn’t know what to do. I took her in the kitchen and turned on the faucet and got the sink full of cold water and just dumped her. She got her breath back and I patted her on the back and that was it. But she had this, where she had hit the wall, something on her face for a while. The reason I didn’t go to town was I was having an attack of appendicitis.
Oh no.
(SR) And the doctor in Medford had told me sometime before that he would take them out. I went a couple of times to him with this pain and he told me you have a bad appendix. He took a picture and he showed me. “I’ll take them out,” he says, “for nothing because you can’t stay in the park all winter.” I came from a big city and I didn’t believe in these doctors so I said, “You’ll never get a knife in me.” And I came back home. That was terrible.
(DR) Do you have any other questions?
