Being poorly when young.

daddima that's lovely (the mirror and the caring).

For me, it meant the one time when I was allowed to be put in my grandparents bed (during the day when sick) because mostly their bedroom seemed as if their room was out of bounds (although this was never made explicit). I must also explain that we lived with my grandparents (my mother and 3 children after my "father" left).

Another very strong memory is that the bed was high, and I was very sick with measles or similar, and woke up from a sleep to find our family doctor sitting quietly in a chair reading. Those were the days - I still remember his name, Dr Morton.

I remember our doctor visiting for the most minor things. I think he was more interested in talking to my mother about painting than he was in treating me

Actually he had the sense to see that I really couldn't cope with more than a few weeks of school and would then develop a rash or a temerature and he would recommend a week at home.

The worst thing about being ill in those days was how little was ever explained. I had to go up to Charing Cross Hospital for a chest X Ray when I was about 7 or 8. My mother never thought to tell me what an X Ray was and I had been brought up not to keep asking questions. I was absolutely terrified, with no idea what would happen. If only someone had said "They are just going to take a photograph"

I remember being in hospital having my adenoids out. I would have been around 7-8 and remember crying for my mum and being told to "stope being a baby" by a nurse. Parents weren't encouraged to stay in those days. I also remember seeing children being wheeled away and brought back (from the operating theatre) screaming and wondering what they were going to do to me . I was so afraid. It seems barbaric these days.

At age 7 I had scarlet fever. I was put into an isolation ward for over three weeks. I was totally on my own. Very scary. My parents were not allowed into the room to see me. My mum would visit during the afternoon and had to stand outside and talk through the window. I only saw my dad at the weekend. On leaving the hospital they wouldn't let me take anything home. I had spent the three weeks doing my French knitting and had yards and yards of it. I was horrified when I learnt they would burn it. I managed to pass it to my mum and we made it into a rug for my cat to sleep on.It was all very traumatic for me. Luckily I never had to stay in hospital again until I had my first child. Still wasn't a good experience!

gilly you have reminded me of a similar experience. I was younger, 5 I would say, for some reason the children's ward was in the basement. My parents had to leave me at the door and I was told if I cried they wouldn't come back. I was terrified. I can still remember the smell and the darkness at night. As you say, barbaric. I was given a Muffin the Mule puppet by my parents when they collected me. I don't know where it went, which is a sadness. I had lived in a very isolated spot until I was five, hardly saw another child, then moved to a busy town and began school, of course I caught every illness it was possible to catch. I was away from school so much. My teacher used to come to the house and bring me school books and exercises to do while I was in bed. I didn't mind, in fact loved it. I wonder if that would happen now or would my parents just be in trouble for all the absences?

3 weeks in hospital with pneumonia was the most traumatic event of my childhood. I was 6 and had to be away from my family at Christmas. On the plus side, I became a very good reader and never looked back. Being ill at home was quite enjoyable. Mum would get the doctor in and I would be advised to stay in bed for a few days and then gradually get back on my feet. I read a lot, had the dog on my bed, and listened to schools broadcasts on the BBC. I lived on Lucozade and sometimes had fizzy pop which was made at the factory just across the field from our house.

I was staying at my Mum's last weekend and we remembered how, when I woke up one morning with a stiff neck, she had called the doctor and he came and picked me up out of bed, holding me by the head. I remember the word "fibrositis" (sp?) vaguely being mentioned. I think I got up and went to school after that, but it did really hurt; I wouldn't have dreamt of skiving.

Age 9 I was in hospital to have my appendix out. I think I may have been sedated for most of the time because I can't remember much. Just the smell of the rubber finger that the nurse put on to stick her finger up my backside. Presumably she was inserting suppositories. Also, my father said later that there had been some complication, but I'll never find out what. To this day I have a huge appendix scar - far longer than the usual. It was about 4" then - it's now about 6" long.

Horrible memories JackyB, how things stay with us.
My children too think of Heinz tomato soup as a comfort food when they are ill even now.

After reading these memories, I recall an association called NAWCH,that was aiming for decent visiting times for parents with children in hospital. I think it stood for something like, National Association for Welfare of Children in Hospital.
Apologies for being so vague, it was a long time ago. Does anyone else have any recollections about this?

I remember being in hospital when I was six years old. I had to have surgery and, because the children's ward was full, I was put into the Women's Surgical Ward. There were beds round the walls and some down the middle of the ward. Every morning I was invited into the bed of one lady (I can still remember her name!) and we would read to each other and have a chat. Can you imagine that happening now?!!!

I have the most dreadful childhood memories of hospitals and ill health. Due to a congenital spinal condition I had to have major surgery and was a guinea pig for a particular procedure in the U.K. I was admitted to hospital age 9 in August 1959 and didn't get out again until July 1960. I was encased in a plaster jacket from neck to knees which rendered me bedbound. I still remember the wet plaster bandages being applied and crying because I was afraid I would be given gas as at the dentist. Two major surgeries followed 6 months apart, spinal fusion and a revision. I only saw my parents for an hour on Wednesday/Saturday and Sunday afternoons and my younger brother and I could only wave through the window. No children were allowed to visit. Nobody was there before or after my operations, parents not allowed. Sometimes in the summer we would be wheeled outside onto the verandah and our beds covered in a tarpaulin so we could sleep outside. Sister ruled the ward with a rod of iron, you did what you were told and ate everything given to you. Sweets were taken away and kept in the kitchen and given out once a week.

I could go on but I think you'll get the gist. Barbaric is only one of the words I would use to describe my 11 months incarceration. It didn't end on my discharge either but that's another story.

After a tonsillectomy when I was six years old, I was moved to our local cottage hospital to recover from a haemorrhage & be closer to home. I was the only child there, surrounded by elderly, infirm patients who told me I was going to die, as people only left in a box....pleased to say sixty years on I'm still in good health!

Being ill at home, for me, meant Bengers Food and Lucozade. I did have to go in to hospital for T&As and sinus washouts. I was very scared the first time because I thought the collection of equipment behind the screen in a corner of the ward was were the operation would be done. However I was on an adult wards and was spoilt rotten. It also got me away from the rows at home so I actually quite enjoyed it. Perhaps that's why I became a nurse.

I had to go to hospital when I was seven to have my tonsils and adenoids removed. The walls of the ward were tiled with nursery rhymes. I got friendly withe boy in the next bed and didn't want to go home. But when I got home my mother had bought me a dolls tea set and I was allowed to have Bovril out of the cups. My sister was jealous and broke some of the items.

I joined NAWCH in 1975, when my 2-year-old had to spend 5 weeks in hospital. But it was shutting the door after the horse had bolted. Parents could stay an a disused nurses' home, eat in the canteen and tend to their children whenever they needed us.We worked in tandem with the nurses and were highly valued. The real victim of this prolonged absence from home was my other son, still only 3, who missed his mum, though he was allowed to visit with Dad. What a change that was from my 1946 ordeal!

In those days the doctor would come for the slightest illness and would stay for a drink with my mother even on Christmas Day. I remember the charge was half a crown.
When my sister and I had measles we were confined to our bedroom and the coal fire was lit. Normally the bedroom was very cold. We thought it great fun.

Hearing the stories about going into hospital reminds me of how grateful I am to Claire Rayner. She wrote a guide for children about going to hospital, which I was given before my own tonsillectomy, aged 8, in 1964. It meant that I had a reasonably good idea what to expect, and wasn't scared at all.

I'm feeling quite envious if those of you who were coddled when I'll! My mother usually told me to just go to school and I'd be fine. And if I was ill enough to stay home I was left alone in the house. I can still remember having mumps at the age of 6 and sitting by the window waiting for Mum to come home as I was scared. As I got older if I was unwell I'd sit on the stairs as I'd worked out that if anyone looked through a window or the letterbox the one place they'd never see was halfway up the stairs. Needless to say my children and grandchildren are treated better than that!

Migraine every weekend as a child, the sickness and pain of it all and being made to feel as if I had ruined family outings on purpose and been a bother to everyone...............it has haunted me all of my life.

The shame as a teenager of having appendicitis and the ward sister parading around the ward with my flannel in her hand, it sported a fabulous hole in the middle and her loudly proclaiming that 'some people expect me to care for their children with this'.

How I hated her. Weeks later I found out that she had been very ill with a mystery illness, I had no sympathy at all.

I had my tonsils out in hospital when I was 4 in 1958. I remember crying when I left because I had left my comic book there and my very own tube of toothpaste! I was devastated.

I had pneumonia as a complication of measles as a child and was bedridden for weeks. I loved it when my father read to me when he got home from work, and the bliss when my mother got me out of bed to put on clean sheets - I still like starched cold bedding to this day.
The restricted visiting in hospital was very distressing for children when I was young. My DGS was in a new Childrens Hospital at the week end and all were welcomed 24 hours a day, and a bed provided beside each patient for family. I was impressed! How things have changed for the better.

For me it was Heinz tomato soup and Lucozade. Taking the cellophane wrapper from the latter and peering through it at everything so that all was amber! Mum used to give me the family photograph collection to look through which is probably why lots of our old pics are rather tattered with childish pencil scrawls on the back!

I was ill a few times a year with tonsillitis and spent the time in bed drinking Lucozade, as it was the only thing I could keep down. Had my tonsils out when I was 7 and can remember being wheeled down the corridor, put on the operating table and the smell of an awful rubber mask put over my face. I then remember the fluorescent light spinning round. I spent 3 days in hospital and nobody came to see me. Not a nice experience.