Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1943)

Forget those fears! (f~iA^sC&^ IHAVE read that fifteen percent of our younger draftees — the men between twenty-one and thirty-five — have been rejected for military service, temporarily at least, because of emotional instability and nervousness. A few of those rejected were, of course, out and out mental cases. The great majority, however, simply suffered from fatigue. Anyone who suffers from fatigue has my sympathy. I've never told about my experiences with fatigue and how it induced fears of illness and finally illness itself. Ordinarily such stories aren't too entertaining. Now, however, when so many of us are worrying lest we prove unequal to the strain and extra work which war brings I believe this experience bears telling. At first I was only tired, perpetually. The quick energy I'd always taken for granted no longer existed . . . Then fears began. I worried that I was going to be ill. I rehearsed, over and over, experiences and sensations which indicated illness was inevitable. Finally, unable to endure the fears any longer, I went to my doctor. My doctor assured me I was in splendid condition except for a trifling difficulty. He recommended this be corrected whenever I had time to go into the hospital for a few days. In my relief at learning no grim illness threatened I agreed to go to the hospital as soon as I finished my picture. However, after I had left the doctor's office my fears came alive again. Soon I was convinced my doctor had withheld the truth, that there was really something seriously wrong with me. Consequently, when I finished my picture I was afraid to go to the hospital and, so that I wouldn't have too much time to think, I started another picture immediately. Several months later, unable to endure the uncertainty my fears had created, I returned to my doctor. This time my worry was apparent to him. "The trifling difficulty I mentioned before should have attention," he said. "It doesn't concern me as much as your fears, however. For your fears are a symptom of fatigue. And fatigue can be serious. FEBRUARY. 1943 "I want you to take a vacation as soon as possible. In the meantime I want you to rest." It was reasonable enough that I should know fatigue. I had worked hard for a long time. Besides, in a constant race with the illness I feared, I had pressed to finish every job I undertook. I also had worried about my finances — should I be ill and my income cease. Mother and I went to New York. There, however, I kept going. I was afraid to sit down, I think, for fear I couldn't get up again, so I indulged in the popular pastime of fooling myself and running away from myself. I crowded my days with luncheons, Do you lie awake thinking you're going to be ill? Do you worry whether you will have strength to meet the demands of your job? Do you rush from one activity to another trying to run away from yourself? shopping expeditions, the theater. Ten days after our arrival in New York I collapsed. The next morning Mother and I were on a fast train bound for California. "I can't be ill," I told myself frantically. "I can't afford to be ill. . . . "The studio won't hold up production on 'Ramona' any longer! And I need the prestige that picture will give me! The income too! This trip has cost a pretty penny. And I can't be ill and upset Sally's and Norman's wedding plans!" When I reached home and my doctor came to see me he shook his head. "Get in bed and relax," he told me. "Because you're going to be in bed for some time. That trifling disability we talked about is trifling no more. You've worked up quite an infection, thanks to your worry. And you're so depleted, also thanks to your worry, that you're going to have a time fighting it!" He didn't spare me. Before long, however, I wasn't sparing myself. I saw how I had allowed fears to dominate me. I realized I had been so busy concentrating on them and running away from tnem that I had not taken time to pursue the simple constructive steps that would have eliminated them. Also, now that I had brought my worse fears to pass and I was in bed, I perceived that the consequences of my illness were not going to be so disastrous as I had imagined. My illness itself was only a nuisance; it wasn't so grave as I had feared. My studio was entirely willing to postpone production on "Ramona" and as a result of this postponement finally filmed it in Technicolor which proved its greatest charm. In bed for seven weeks, with more time than I ever had had to consider my household, I found ways of running my domestic affairs more efficiently and more economically than I would have dreamed possible. My sister Sally and Norman Foster were married as planned, only instead of a big church wedding they had a small wedding at home, which they both insisted they liked much better. My nurse opened my door so I could hear the ceremony and Sally and Norman came upstairs to drink their wedding wine sitting on my bed. Best of all, however, that illness of mine taught me not to allow myself to be driven by fears; but to accept them as a symptom, probably of fatigue ... to recognize fatigue as an enemy of health and happiness . . . and to combat its first sign by extra hours of rest and a simple diet. All of which, I think, is especially valuable knowledge in this Year of Our Lord, 1943, when courage, confidence and vigor are so vital to the victory to which we are dedicated. 43