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Fallout From Long Ago Is Haunting the Present
By Hilda Mitchell
We welcome
spring, when the air smells fresh and clean. That is the way it was in
Berlin, Germany, when I visited my daughter and Army son-in-law 27 years
ago. Everything was clean, orderly and fresh.
I went there for the birth of my first grandchild. She was born in an Army hospital on April 26, 1986. That date is remembered across the world for another reason: the nuclear disaster in Chernobyl.
The Russians didn't warn the world for several days. The wind was taking fallout in Berlin's direction. Sweden detected it several hours after the explosions. They checked all their nuclear plants. Realizing it was coming from Russia, Sweden forced the truth from Russia.
During those first days, my daughter and newborn Mercy were safely inside the hospital walls, but my son-in-law, Marshall, and I were outside a lot - sucking up the radiation. He had outside Army duties, and I, with nothing to do in the small apartment, walked each morning.
One morning, I watched the American children catching the school bus. I cringed when I saw an armored vehicle with guns pointed in every direction following the school bus. The Army was on high alert because of a recent explosion that killed two soldiers in a local pub. Since we were so near the Berlin wall, tensions were high.
Years later, I saw the irony in that scene. There was no danger from a Communist plot. The danger was in the air we breathed. We didn't know.
Three days later, when Russia admitted the disaster, Army officials gave warnings. They said they would check all food at the commissary. They warned us to keep children inside, to not sleep near open windows, and things like that. That was too late for many of us. The levels were highest in those first few days. The damage had been done. We didn't know.
There were many things I didn't know then. I didn't know that this form of radiation goes straight to the thyroid. After I returned to the States, my eyes were swollen and I became extremely nervous. Walter Reed Hospital doctors were puzzled. I didn't think to tell them about the fallout.
They saw the high level of iodine in my thyroid scan and asked me if I ate shellfish three times a day. They scheduled a conference with me on the stage, allowing 30 doctors to examine my thyroid. A doctor from the Mayo Clinic was to see me, but a snowstorm prevented his coming.
Months later, with no answers, I went to an endocrinologist near my work in Washington, D.C. He called me his patient-of-the-year. He said I was difficult to diagnose and used my case to teach his George Washington University students.
He sent me to Johns Hopkins for my eye involvement. No one knew what was wrong with me.
Several years after my thyroid was removed, I read that radiation first goes to the thyroid. Even if you are given the pills to protect your thyroid, it doesn't protect one from cancers years later. With the amount over Berlin, that could be 20 years later for adults, sooner for children.
There is no cancer in my family; however, a few years ago, I started getting cancers. At that time, Marshall said he had a spot on his liver, but "it was nothing." I urged him to follow up on that. He didn't. He died last October with multiple cancers. I am still treated with chemo.
At Marshall's funeral, I had the opportunity to question several people who were stationed in Berlin when I was there. They all had cancer stories.
I read that 1 million people died from radiation released by the nuclear disaster at the Chernobyl reactor. It was 400 times more potent than the Hiroshima bomb.
But it was even far worse than researchers believed. Research doesn't include those who were on the fringe, those across Europe during that time. Also, contaminated foods were shipped and consumed across the world.
Of course, this experience has made me more concerned about the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food we consume.
Sometimes we just don't know.
Hilda Mitchell lives in Pinebluff.
I went there for the birth of my first grandchild. She was born in an Army hospital on April 26, 1986. That date is remembered across the world for another reason: the nuclear disaster in Chernobyl.
The Russians didn't warn the world for several days. The wind was taking fallout in Berlin's direction. Sweden detected it several hours after the explosions. They checked all their nuclear plants. Realizing it was coming from Russia, Sweden forced the truth from Russia.
During those first days, my daughter and newborn Mercy were safely inside the hospital walls, but my son-in-law, Marshall, and I were outside a lot - sucking up the radiation. He had outside Army duties, and I, with nothing to do in the small apartment, walked each morning.
One morning, I watched the American children catching the school bus. I cringed when I saw an armored vehicle with guns pointed in every direction following the school bus. The Army was on high alert because of a recent explosion that killed two soldiers in a local pub. Since we were so near the Berlin wall, tensions were high.
Years later, I saw the irony in that scene. There was no danger from a Communist plot. The danger was in the air we breathed. We didn't know.
Three days later, when Russia admitted the disaster, Army officials gave warnings. They said they would check all food at the commissary. They warned us to keep children inside, to not sleep near open windows, and things like that. That was too late for many of us. The levels were highest in those first few days. The damage had been done. We didn't know.
There were many things I didn't know then. I didn't know that this form of radiation goes straight to the thyroid. After I returned to the States, my eyes were swollen and I became extremely nervous. Walter Reed Hospital doctors were puzzled. I didn't think to tell them about the fallout.
They saw the high level of iodine in my thyroid scan and asked me if I ate shellfish three times a day. They scheduled a conference with me on the stage, allowing 30 doctors to examine my thyroid. A doctor from the Mayo Clinic was to see me, but a snowstorm prevented his coming.
Months later, with no answers, I went to an endocrinologist near my work in Washington, D.C. He called me his patient-of-the-year. He said I was difficult to diagnose and used my case to teach his George Washington University students.
He sent me to Johns Hopkins for my eye involvement. No one knew what was wrong with me.
Several years after my thyroid was removed, I read that radiation first goes to the thyroid. Even if you are given the pills to protect your thyroid, it doesn't protect one from cancers years later. With the amount over Berlin, that could be 20 years later for adults, sooner for children.
There is no cancer in my family; however, a few years ago, I started getting cancers. At that time, Marshall said he had a spot on his liver, but "it was nothing." I urged him to follow up on that. He didn't. He died last October with multiple cancers. I am still treated with chemo.
At Marshall's funeral, I had the opportunity to question several people who were stationed in Berlin when I was there. They all had cancer stories.
I read that 1 million people died from radiation released by the nuclear disaster at the Chernobyl reactor. It was 400 times more potent than the Hiroshima bomb.
But it was even far worse than researchers believed. Research doesn't include those who were on the fringe, those across Europe during that time. Also, contaminated foods were shipped and consumed across the world.
Of course, this experience has made me more concerned about the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food we consume.
Sometimes we just don't know.
Hilda Mitchell lives in Pinebluff.
Mom loves to write letters to the editor. I love this one ....
Special to The Pilot
“Guns don’t kill people,” the NRA says; “people kill people.” Guns may be handy, TV and video games may provide an incentive, and the lack of a good mental health program allows crazy people to go unnoticed until it is too late.
But addressing only those issues will not solve the problem of a nation with too many angry and violent people. The USA houses more criminals than the top 35 European countries combined.
We are a nation of laws, and enacting those laws is the business of our elected officials. Our business is to look around us to see how we may have contributed to the presence of so many angry people in this nation.
Let’s sweep around our own back door. Parenting may be the toughest job we face in life, and we aren’t prepared for it. Often, our only source of information is recalling the techniques that were used on us as children. People from abusive homes are likely to abuse their own children. Prisons are full of those who were abused or neglected. This is passed on from generation to generation.
My daughter and I have taught child development to high school students, and we agree that the real need is to educate their parents. No matter what is learned in school, we parents will resort to repeating the behavior of our parents.
Recently, while sitting in a FirstHealth waiting room, I witnessed a parent, or grandparent, with a child who looked to be 5 or 6 years old. She suddenly started wildly beating the child and jerking him around by his little arms. I rose to say, “Stop beating that child!” She ignored me. I said it again, and she told me to mind my own business.
A man near me rose to tell her that she was making it our business by beating her child in our presence. He tried to explain to her that there were better methods, and I tried to explain how harmful it is to jerk a child by the arms. She told us again to mind our own business.
It was significant to me that the child was not crying. It meant that he was used to this sort of treatment. When he is grown and a parent, this little boy is likely to use the same techniques on his children that were used on him. How can this cycle be broken?
Parents need to know how a child develops from conception onward. If the above violent parent had known the stages of development, she wouldn’t have expected logical thinking from a child under the age of 9 or 10. Piaget showed this with a simple demonstration using children from 5 through 10. Had she known this, the mother would have come prepared with crayons and paper or a story to read.
When I taught child development in the 1970s, the school system forgot to fund my program. No pots or pans to teach foods, and no textbooks for child development. The superintendent told me to start my program at the age of 3 — not to begin at conception, as I wanted, because the parents would say it was sex education. Well, I had them over the barrel because they were asking me to teach without textbooks or funds. When I insisted on starting with conception, the superintendent and principal said, “Just don’t tell me what you’re doing.”
Later in the school year, I was able to get some help from the football slush fund, created from the sale of sodas at the games. I had refused to allow them to store Cokes in my empty closet. They said I could have some of their uniform money if I would let them use that closet. When the year was almost over, I had funds to get textbooks.
I tell you this to let you know that teachers often have to use their own resources in order to give the students their best.
I see a ray of hope in Michelle Obama because of her dedication to family. If that can just be harnessed into educating parents, I think along with proper gun laws and video game oversight, and a better mental health program, we might start a kinder, more positive generation.
Hilda Mitchell lives in Pinebluff.
Comments
nothingspecial 1 day, 21 hours ago
Hilda your identification of parenting as a key source for many of our ills and our solutions is so right on target!! Too bad our culture is so scared of "dirty old" or busy body neighbors because our baby boomers are an incredible natural resource for providing help and support for all our parents out there.
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wdd101st 13 hours, 15 minutes ago
It wasn't until say the last 30 years that we started having these mass murders by mentally ill gunmen. In those good ole days, Americans depended on their neighbors/families for help. Now everyone expects the state to do for them. Children listened to their parents. They respected their elders. They respected their teachers because if they acted up in school they would be punished. Then when they got home they would be punished again. In today's world parents sue the schools if their sweet innocents are held to be responsible for their actions.
In order to improve the way people act, you have to get rid of the idea that people are not responsible for their actions.
Dear mom,
I remember a pic of you with a cougar or leopard that I would love to have. I think you were on dad's Navy ship when this was taken.
I know the picture you are talking about. It was when I went to France to see Dad over the Christmas holidays. The first night we went out to eat in a quaint little French restaurant. Had just been seated when two guys came in carrying a baby lion. Of course, they spotted me, wide eyed and enchanted, so they walked over to me and plopped the baby lion on my lap, saying something in French that I didn't understand. Later I realized that they said to be sure to keep your hands on it's feet. Of course, I didn't, but held it like a baby and it promptly leaned over and bit me on the back. The gimmick was that the guys took the picture and sold it to me, and moved on to the next victim..I hope they could understand French. I haven't seen that picture in years. I will look, the pictures of us when you were small are all on 35 mm because that is what we were taking at the time.
Love,
Mom (Hilda)
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3/11/13 (a letter to one of Kevin's sisters)
Dear XXX,
I am 82 years old and during this whole experience, I have envisioned my job as a part of an agency/clan/family that operates within the larger system of laws. The members of this clan have expanded as Cyd and Michele grew to become adults. The mission statement is to ensure the safety, health and spiritual happiness of all members and to accept new members if they wanted to participate. First, Marshall was welcomed when he and Michele were married. When they divorced, we did not let him go. I told his mom that he would always be a member of this family. We just buried him at Arlington last week. Then came Kevin and he was a very important member of our family and I have kept him there with stories and quilts. The boys still honor him. At Thanksgiving, we were gathered lighting candles to anyone we wanted to. Austin lit one for his dad and Zack lit one for family. I loved that Kevin honored everything about his boys. He honored their individuality. When Austin was being tested due to his hyper personality, I remember Kevin saying, "I don;t want his personality changed, We love him just as he is." I agreed and remember how, from the very first, Austin was a participant in life. When I was with him, I would tell him stories, silly stories, sometimes with a moral. He would interrupt, something the kindergarten teacher didn't like, but I loved. Jumping up and down, he changed the name of the little boy who made a bad choice to say, "I know, let's call him Excruciating Delivious." He named his bro Deluxe Delivious. I think I was having more fun than Austin. As he has grown, I notice that he has his Dad's hands. I find it delightful that where Kevin used his hands in excelling in golf and other sports, while Austin is using his hands to excel on the guitar. Kevin would be proud of both boys. Zack's coach said, "Zack has good hands," so he probably inherited Kevin's hands, too.
The reason I am telling you this is I am sorry that your grief for Kevin has interfered with Austin's progress. We didn't recognize it at first, but it has come to the surface. It is easy to underestimate Austin's ability to take things in. This is difficult to explain but going back to Kevin's death, someone said to Austin, "now you are the man of the house." Poor little nine year old boy started trying to take care of everyone. Cyd kept telling him that was her job. but Austin started calling himself "Zack's interpreter" because Zack's grief caused him to stop talking. The grief counselor told Cyd that since Austin was not able to grieve (due to his self imposed duties, I guess) that it would come later in life. That may be what is happening now. And in facing that he feels that guilt has been placed on him and an expectation that he still fill his dad's shoes, be like his dad." He loved his dad but he wants to be Austin. He has gone through the stages of development until now he is ready to assert himself as an individual. It was upsetting to Cyd that you have said things to him that carried messages of guilt, but she didn't know that Austin was taking it that way until now. He wanted to please more than most children. It has been very painful for Cyd and the boys, and she has had to try to overcome a lot of things that she thought were harmful to the boys. She is the best advocate for her boys, and I think they see that. However, you made it plain at the funeral that you planned to cancel her out. We thought it was just grief but when she married Chris, it was plain that you wanted a relationship with the boys but not her and Chris. I don't know why. Kevin would have liked Chris had they known each other. He has been a great father to the boys.
You do not want to be a member of our clan. You may think it is bazaar but we added Sanja, Marshall's second wife from Croatia. We have not added his third wife because, like you, she didn't want to be a member of our family. The difference in family harmony is noticeable. We have not added you because you set the tone at Kevin's funeral. We thought it was temporary because I have found that death of a loved one brings out temporary weirdness in people sometimes. Several things were said that hurt Cyd at a time when she needed support. It was hard for her but I am proud of how she grew and only put Austin's and Zack's welfare above her own. Then she found Chris, a wonderful person who has kept Kevin's name and life in the conversation. But he treats each boy as an individual with their own talents, never making them feel guilty for not being their dad. The boys love him and think of him as their dad.
I am sorry that it has worked out this way. My experience experience with loving Sanja shows me that it could have been so much better for the children, but it was your choice I don't know why you have thought of Chris as a reason the boys would forget their father. You have never expressed it, but it was there and it has hurt the boys, not Chris.
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AUSTIN,
Here is a letter to you from Omie....
AUSTIN THE MOUNTAIN CLIMBER
I would like for you to meet my fantastic 14 year old grandson. He was my first grandson born to Cydney and Kevin Morel. We, his grandparents, were present in the delivery room. We saw him and he looked perfect as they transferred him to a warming table. A nurse said she was taking him to be more thoroughly examined and that we and Kevin could look on from a window. The nurse examined every part of him. When she put her finger into his mouth, she immediately stopped and went for a doctor. We knew she had found something and our hearts sank. The doctor came, examined him and called Kevin to come in.
Austin looked perfect from the outside but he had a cleft palate. We were fearful for what was to come. With a hole in the roof of his mouth, he was unable to suck from the breast or an ordinary nipple. Cyd wanted to breast feed and the only way to get her milk into Austin was to pump her breasts regularly, place the milk into a bottle with a special nipple. Even with that, milk would sometimes come out his nose. Thank heavens we lived nearby. While Cyd pumped, we fed. It was a continuous operation.
Of course Austin had to also be changed and bathed. Cyd set up a changing table in her living room. Right over the changing table was a black and white Ansel Adams photograph. I think it was of mountains. Each time I placed him on the table for a diaper change, his head would turn toward that picture. Despite the fact that I took that occasion to talk and coo, Austin would not look at me. He loved that picture.
Luckily, we were in an area where they had an excellent cleft palate team of doctors. Each visit meant getting an assessment from a speech therapist, dentist, pediatrician, and other specialists who reported to the cleft palate surgeon. He in turn would make the final decision as to when surgery should be performed to close up the cleft. It was important to time the surgery just right. Too soon, before he reached the proper stage of development would result in a pinched look to his face and dental arch problems. Too late, after speech started would allow problems with lisps and nasal sound. I think I am describing that right, I just remember that the timing was very important. We were told that the cleft sometimes opens up with growth, necessitating more surgery.
While eating must have been unpleasant for him, Austin thrived in other ways. He was so pleased with himself when he learned to crawl. He must have been around 8 months old when he discovered the stairs and started to climb them. Cyd, with endless energy, never pulled him away from the stairs. She crawled beside him, all the time saying, “Climb that mountain, climb that mountain.” Pretty soon, Austin was saying, “Cm aah mtn.” No one else would have understood what, he said but we did. He was so happy climbing those stairs, but there was another mountain for him to climb that was not so pleasant.
When Austin was around 9 months old, he underwent surgery to close the cleft. While the wound healed, feeding became more difficult. He could not suck at all. When we were there, his mom pumped while we transferred milk to his stomach through a tube down his throat.
Kids always want to know what their first words were. Probably Cyd or Kevin would say that he said mama or dada first, but his first words to me were, “lawn mower.” That is not counting “cm aah mtn,” which was before he could form words perfectly. Once he was standing on the couch looking out the window. It was clear that something outside was exciting him. I looked and saw a man mowing the grass. I said, “That is a lawn mower--lawn mow-er.” Austin said, “Lawn mower.” There was no nasal sound. It was clear as could be. That was the start of his fascination with equipment. He could tell a back hoe from a front loader, knew what a crane was, and all names for different road equipment like graders etc. He delighted in spotting them and calling out their names as he rode in the car. Everyone thought he was brilliant. He was and is.
It has always been fun to be with Austin even when he was a tot. He always asked me for stories when we visited. Once, I was struggling to think of a story. My mind was a blank. I said that there was once a boy who always tried to make good choices, but he seemed to get into trouble never the less. I was struggling with where to go with the story. I said, “Austin, I can’t think what this boy’s name is. Let me think.” Austin was so excited, he was practically jumping up and down. He gasped, “I know. I know. Let’s name him Excruciating Delivious.” It was perfect name for a mischievous boy. I had hardly gotten back into the story when Austin said, “Let’s give him a brother and name him Deluxe Delivious.” So the story was more Austin’s imagination than mine. He even made Deluxe a cop who made good choices. When we finished, he said he wanted “Chapter 11” the next week. At the time, I wondered what happened to Chapters 2 through 10. Since thinking about it, I imagine he had overheard his dad talking to one of his stores about going into chapter 11. Austin took in all talk. When he heard a new big word, he would put it into a sentence of his own within a few minutes.
Every day, Austin’s dad greeted him with, “Hello Buddy.” Then they would go to the play room where they always played, “Fight to the Finish.” Everyone loved being with Austin.
Maybe his play school teacher didn’t feel the same way. She thought he should be tested. I suspect she didn’t appreciate his interruptions to change her stories. Anyway he was tested and they thought he had ADD. The psychologist would report his findings after each session. The doctor said, “Austin what is the biggest number you know?” Without pausing to think, Austin said, “Infinity.” The doctor said, “Well I know a number bigger than that, infinity plus one. Do you know a number bigger than that?” Austin said, “Yes, infinity plus infinity.”
While in kindergarten, his class was celebrating some occasion. The children were sent out to play while pads were put on the floor in a circle. A child with a severe disability was a guest at the party and was seated on a pad before the class came in. The class filed in and each student looked at the deformed child and chose to sit as far away from his as possible. Austin entered, noticed the child and headed straight for him, and sat beside him. He said, “Hey, Buddy.” When time for refreshments came, he said, “I will get your treats.” I have never been so proud. His compassion and acceptance of those different from him was amazing.
Austin was almost 9 years of when his dad was diagnosed with cancer. He was just entering 4th grade and his brother, Zack was 5years old, just entering kindergarten. Kevin died 6 months later. These two boys had lost their loving father. Kevin was buried in a family plot in Hillsborough. We each dropped our Live Strong bracelets over the urn containing the ashes. The clergyman had Cydney scoop on the first shovel of dirt. Seeing that his mom was having trouble, Austin jumped up and took the shovel from her and said, “Here, let a man do that.” And that was the first indication that Austin felt he was now to be the man of the house. That worried Cydney and she kept telling him that he was not to take care of her, that she was to take care of him.
His brother, Zack, was so traumatized by the death of his dad that he stopped talking at school. He would talk to family members at home but not one word in his kindergarten class. Austin called himself “Zack’s Interpreter.” Zack would whisper what he wanted to say to Austin. Austin would translate. That went on for months.
Austin has climbed many mountains, more than most 14 year olds have climbed. Life has handed him some lemons but each time he makes lemonade. There will be more mountains ahead. His spirit has been an inspiration for me. I hope he never loses those gifts of caring, compassion, and a thirst for learning.
.....................................................................................................................................
DEAR ZACK,
here is a letter to you from Omie...
ZACK IS 11 YEARS OLD
Eleven years ago, a wonderful thing happened; a new person was born. It was a boy, a brother for Austin. “Let’s see, what shall we name him,” his parents wondered. And after considering several names, they came up with the perfect name, ZACK. That way his name contained the initial of each member of his family. The A was for Austin; the C was for Cydney; the K was for Kevin; and of course the Z was for Zack. Put them all together and you have ZACK. His favorite color is green.
When Zack was a baby, he loved to be held and rocked, but soon, he loved to be on the floor playing with Austin. He called Austin “Tin-Tin.”
Zack couldn’t wait to start school and learn to read. The first day of kindergarten, he came home and was disappointed because he said he had not learned to read. Of course, he did learn to read in time. Now, Zack loves to read and often has his nose in a book.
A sad thing happened when he was in kindergarten; his dad died. Zack was so sad that he stopped talking at school. He would go to school and do all the work except he wouldn’t talk. Once, when I was in the play room with him trying to find something to do that he would enjoy, he told me, “I just want to leaved alone.” He did talk to family, especially to Tin-Tin. Austin called himself “Zack’s Interpreter.” For a long time, Zack wouldn’t sleep in his own bed. He slept curled up in a beanbag at the foot of Austin’s bed.
Zack grew used to his role as the “strong silent type.” But, he wanted to communicate with teacher and school friends, and Austin wasn’t always around to interpret. Christmas holidays were coming and the teacher asked if anyone would volunteer to take the hamsters home and care for them during the holidays. Zack went home and asked his mom if she would tell the teacher that he wanted to take the hamsters home for Christmas. His Mom said that he would have to do it himself, that she was not allowed to do it for him. A few days later, the teacher was sitting at Zack’s table and said, “Well, no one has volunteered to take the hamsters so I guess I will have to do it myself.” Zack, in almost a whisper, said, “I’ll do it.” She said, “What did you say, Zack?” In a louder voice, Zack said, “I will do it.” Everyone was so happy that Zack had found his voice. He has been talking, and talking, and talking ever since.
I was reading the horoscope today for those born like Zack, on the 27th of August, making him a Virgo. It says, ”Born today, you are always fascinated by what goes on around you, what it means to you and others.” Sometimes, horoscopes do not fit the person, but this fits Zack to a tee. He saw older boys skateboarding and he became an expert. He was exposed to computers and learned so much about them that his neighbor wants to borrow him to help her. He sees an art or craft project and wants to do it.
Today, Zack has a wonderful father. He has had him for three years and what a difference it makes for a boy to have a loving father and mother. Opah and I are so proud of Zack and the progress he has made. He is a great person and we love having him as a grandson.
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Dear Cyd, I have been thinking about starting a notebook of my writings so our minds are in the same track. I will divide it into newspaper, and some things that I wouldn't want in the newspaper. You know that the main reason I write is for my grandchildren, to show them that I can use my mind at my age. When I was a little girl, I decided to collect oldsters that I wanted to be like when I grew old. Finally I have so few to pattern myself after. Actually none. There is a 92 year old in our neighborhood I would like to copy. She has no health problems--I can't achieve that now, just be happy with what I have. Mama and Aunt Marybelle were the first ones on my list. I keep remembering that Mama said the worst thing about growing old is to stop being useful. So I cling to what I have left that might be useful to others. It probably helps me more that anyone.
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