Clara Mae Hamilton

Clara Mae Hamilton 

Clara had never liked her name, but, that name was on her birth certificate in her father and her mother’s own hand so she had accepted it. She never liked being called Clara Mae and definitely not Mae. As a young child she had insisted that Clara was the only name she would accept. Young Clara had read Heidi by Johanna Spyri. Clara, in this story was, according the then young reader, was weak of body and mind, as well as a spoiled child. It made Clara Mae Hamilton shudder to be called Clara. But when she read about Clara Barton, the nurse who founded the American Red Cross she found her namesake and role model. At the tender age of ten, she knew she could be proud to be called Clara. Clara grew up reading as much as she could about Clara Barton and the stories of her bravery in the American Civil War, the nursing care of family and friends. As young Clara passed in to adulthood, all that faded, wrapped in shimmering gauze and tucked away.

Clara raised her children in an ordered way, volunteered in the community in an orderly manner, and generally conducted her life in blocks and schedules. Even her marriage seemed on a schedule, but her patient, kind and loving husband let her be until it was time for him to take her dancing. That's when she let herself go, whirling about in her red dress and black patent dancing shoes, held by the man she loved so dearly. When Michael passed away at the age of seventy five, Clara’s life continued on past her dear, dear Michael’s death. 

Holding her sadness still in her heart, she only allowed tears to flow when she played the Big Band Music they loved so much. When the record stopped, as if on cue, so did her tears. If her son or grandson was there, she allowed herself to dance once more. There were no tears then, her young men brought her such joy.

“Mom, what did you just do?”

“What do you mean, Michael?”

“You just dropped the tea kettle.  It’s a good thing it wasn’t boiling. It looked as though you almost fell!”

“Well it wasn’t boiling and I didn't fall.  There was water on the floor and the kettle just slipped out of my hand. It was nothing.  Happens all the time. Well, not all the time but just out of the blue once in a while.”

“Mom, how long has this been going on?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of months maybe.  I’m sure it’s nothing. but if you’re worried, I’ll go to see Jim Huttleson next week. I have seen him about one fall I had a while back, but it was nothing.”

Michael, her eldest child, had come for a visit. His sister had called him and had casually mentioned some her concern about the fall. It strengthened his plan to come for this visit. A bachelor and newly retired, he had wanted to spend time with his aging mom, who was now eighty years old and living alone. He wanted to be assured that his mom was still able to take care of their childhod home comfortably. He had noticed a few things out of order. His mother’s usual order, anyway. He dismissed it as his mom realizing what she could and couldn’t do. She had been making noises about the house being unnecessarily large just for her. It was becoming illogical. The grandchildren no longer visited often, away at universities or on some European trip. It was hard to keep track of them. 

So, Michael quietly made an appointment with his mother's family physician. Jim Huttleston and Michael had known each other since high school. When he told his mom about the appointment, Clara did raise a bit of a fuss, but true to form, she said ‘Oh all right.  Let’s get this foolishness over with.’ Dr. Huddleston had already known about a few of Clara’s falls. She had omitted information about dropping things from time to time. When he learned more of these details (with Michael's prompting), Clara was referred to a neurologist, Dr. Ann Clancy.

Clara had blood tests, an EEG and an MRI very promptly due to her age. Two weeks later, having extended his visit, Michael took his mom to see Dr. Clancy to review the results. Not an unpleasant visit, Michael did feel sorry for the young woman when she explained her findings to his mother.

“What on earth are you talking about?! I knew when I heard your name, that you wouldn’t know much of anything. Epilepsy! That’s ridiculous. Epilepsy is what children get and in case you hadn’t noticed I haven’t been a child for many years. Now, tell me how you can be sure and have you shared your findings with Jim, I mean Dr. Huddleston.”

"Mrs. Hamilton, Dr. Huddleston and I have spoken and he has reviewed all the test results. He agrees with my diagnosis and treatment plans. He has also asked that you be referred to the local Epilepsy Foundation for some educational sessions about epilepsy and medications. I understand, from your son and Dr. Huddleston, that you live a pretty orderly life. That in itself is a very good start. I will get you started on medication today. Will you have someone with you for a while? You may experience some drowsiness while your body adjusts." Dr. Clancy glanced quickly at Michael who nodded.

Clara was less than pleased that there had been so much talking behind her back, but she would discuss that with her son and Jim Huddleston later. Right now, that was not terribly important. Her mind had slipped back to all she had read about the nurse, Clara Barton. She remembered one of the entries in a book about Clara Barton. She had cared for a young boy named Ira who had epilepsy at a time when just the word epilepsy was said in hushed and shamed tones. Clara Hamilton would learn to take care of her own epilepsy - as soon as she was assured by Dr. Huddleston that this young woman’s diagnosis was correct.

With characteristic abruptness, Clara’s anger had dissolved. She pinned Dr. Clancy with her clear blue eyes: “My dear, I have one question  for you. Can I still dance with my sons and grandsons?” “And for you, Michael, I’d like to begin looking for a smaller home."