Transcribe
Translate
Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 127
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
and the friendship of this fine man - the sort you felt you could go to in times of trouble. Dr Horton made out the admittance and to the hospital where the doctors really wanted me. Knowing my complex at St Mary's however and having no doubt had some idea of what in the draw for me, they couldn't very well manifest too great an eagerness into getting me there, they didn't want to force me. It was through ingenious manoeuvering and suggestion and my own desire to follow the path of least resistance and he the most comfortable with the best care and chance, that led me back. I went docilely enough, under Drs Hortons and Rivers service. It was approaching evening - the darkness of a long winter night had already closed down - when I was deposited in the waiting-room at St Mary's with my personal effects. A few moments more and I sat before the registry desk, the black-draped room filling out the entrance black. Move? Home address? Apt? Profession? she monotoned in turn. I monotoned back. When it came to the query Religion? however, the little devil within me scared and popped out "Mohammedon." There was no slightest gesture of surprise or disbelief upon the countenance of the nun. Her acceptance of my statement made me have a bit of conscience. Later when I related the story and told some of the doctors the complete lack of incredulity they were interested in the reason for me being a Mohammedon. "Because," I explained, "in the Mohammedon faith women are not permitted to go to the mosque (the equivalent for church) and worship. That to my mind is an ideal arrangement and will never compromise me." "Do you know of any religion where men don't have to attend church?" asked one. At second-center medical at St Mayr's any rooms are usually at a procession. Even now, a week before christmas there was little choice in the available single rooms what I
Saving...
prev
next
and the friendship of this fine man - the sort you felt you could go to in times of trouble. Dr Horton made out the admittance and to the hospital where the doctors really wanted me. Knowing my complex at St Mary's however and having no doubt had some idea of what in the draw for me, they couldn't very well manifest too great an eagerness into getting me there, they didn't want to force me. It was through ingenious manoeuvering and suggestion and my own desire to follow the path of least resistance and he the most comfortable with the best care and chance, that led me back. I went docilely enough, under Drs Hortons and Rivers service. It was approaching evening - the darkness of a long winter night had already closed down - when I was deposited in the waiting-room at St Mary's with my personal effects. A few moments more and I sat before the registry desk, the black-draped room filling out the entrance black. Move? Home address? Apt? Profession? she monotoned in turn. I monotoned back. When it came to the query Religion? however, the little devil within me scared and popped out "Mohammedon." There was no slightest gesture of surprise or disbelief upon the countenance of the nun. Her acceptance of my statement made me have a bit of conscience. Later when I related the story and told some of the doctors the complete lack of incredulity they were interested in the reason for me being a Mohammedon. "Because," I explained, "in the Mohammedon faith women are not permitted to go to the mosque (the equivalent for church) and worship. That to my mind is an ideal arrangement and will never compromise me." "Do you know of any religion where men don't have to attend church?" asked one. At second-center medical at St Mayr's any rooms are usually at a procession. Even now, a week before christmas there was little choice in the available single rooms what I
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
sidebar
