Sheba Siriano

The Life Under Socialism And USSR Sheba Siriano

In the deep winter of 1962, the stork dropped off this little person to my late wife and me. Unfortunately, the little thing was miserable, cried incessantly, and wanted to be rocked at all hours of the night. In bewilderment, our family practice physician referred us to a pediatric allergist who quickly diagnosed lactose intolerance, put her on a milk-free diet, and watched her blossom. But it was hard living in DC's Maryland suburbs with our first baby; we were both very young (22 and 20), had no close friends from whom we could get advice, and were unmoored from our families who were back in the Midwest. Furthermore, her parents resided in the North of England where she had no phone contact. Obviously, we lacked the experience, knowledge, and societal togetherness that makes bringing up babies a village endeavor.
On too many occurrences, when Dr. Spock was not definitive, it was Dr. Diamond, the pediatrician, who got the panic calls at 3:00 AM; his weary response after being wakened from a deep sleep was always the same. Speaking in a slow Maryland drawl: "Missus-Fea-their-ing-ham. I can't di-ag-nose over the phone but healthy babies like Ju-lie do not die instantaneously. Bring her in in the morning, and good night." Unfortunately, we didn't know this stuff, so any sneeze or elevated temperature was cause for panic, and Dr. Diamond's kind words would soothe the panic.
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