The Violated Trust from a 6 Year Old Girl in Indonesie in 1940

VIOLATED TRUST

Slowly the traffic from the city Surabaya dawned on her. There I was, 6 years old, together with my mother in a “dokkar” (horse carriage). I looked at my beautiful dress, which I’was allowed to pick out myself. The horse was galloping gently with bells tinkling, the coachman gave light taps with his whip. My mother looked beautiful. Very happy I looked at the bustle around me, for once just alone with my dear mother without my brother. My mother said:" my darling girl, we are going to visit your uncle, dr. Hammacher in the hospital for a while, before we go together to the city". I nodded. My uncle was familiar to me, he was a cousin of my father. I had even lived with him for 3 months, when I was 2 years old. Vaguely I remembered some things, lots of freedom and attention. Skipping joyously, I walked with my mother into the hospital. A nun greeted my mother and me and said: the doctor is in the operating room, you know the one around the corner, third door. And there he was, sitting on a chair next to the operating table. Quickly I went to him and kissed him on his cheek. Hello, my dear little girl, he said." How are you, have you ever seen an operating room, ". "No" ,I said. "Do you know what this is? It’s an operating table." "Oh", I said, "it is big". Full of confidence I looked from him to the table. "Would you like to sit on it?", I nodded. He lifted me on it. Just lie down, he said. Yes, why not, I thought. “Look, he said this is a cap they use to cover your face” and so he did. Suddenly I got anguished and frightened, I fought and struggled like crazy, what's this", then I fell in the deep darkness and was gone. When I opened my eyes again, I had the feeling that knifes were in my throat and I started to cry. Nuns came and gave me some ice water, which I refused and kept on crying. In this pure white room with windows at both sides were three beds. My bed was on the inside and I looked out on the big wide corridor. On the other side of the room you looked on to the veranda. We were at the end of the corridor and you could see large wide steps going down to a beautiful garden. In this large corridor several people were lying on couches with small tables next to them and there were big plants everywhere. Of the three of us I was the eldest, I was 6 years old. I was furious and very sad, ate and drank nothing, refusing everything. The nuns were desperate. My parents appeared on the veranda, but were not allowed to come in because of the risk of infection, a real threat in the tropics (penicilline was not yet invented). The only thing I showed them was my angry back. My uncle and the nuns were desperate, whatever they tried, I absolutely didn’t want anything and kept this up.
In the corridor there also was a young and very tall priest, who had come very ill out of the bush, he had severe malaria and was recovering now. He smiled and waved at me sometimes. The nuns told him about my behavior. He said: “let me try”. When I woke up in the morning, again feeling terrible, he stood smiling friendly at my bedside and immediately started to tell me an exciting story, while carefully feeding me juice with ice. As of that day he took care of me for the remainder of my stay. He washed, fed, comforted me and told me stories. The nuns were fine by it and so he became my personal nurse. When I was allowed to walk around after four days, I always sat with him in the corridor. I systematically refused to see or greet my parents, I always turned my back to them.
After 7 days I was allowed to go home, I held on to tables, chairs and doorways, I didn’t want to leave him. After talking to me for hours about his work in the bush and all the dangers and sick people there, I understood that I had to say farewell to my great friend. He gave me a lovely snow white ring, wich fitted me very good, I finally, bathing in tears, said goodbye to my dear friend and caregiver. Sadly, I’ve never seen him again, but I’ve never forgotten him either.
When my daughters were to be operated on their tonsils, I played doctor and nurses with them for hours, telling them what would happen, so they knew and when the moment came, they were ready and fully prepaired for it.
Dinkie

Tuesday, May 12, 2009