Broadening My Understanding of Human Sexuality

Right off the bat, I felt comfortable in Pediatrics and I’ve always attributed my relaxed attitude to the fact that my mother had complete confidence in my ability to care for my baby sister, Margaret Mary, even though I was only nine years old when she entered my life. I was overjoyed at her arrival and found all aspects of her care entertaining and fun. I also believe it is one of the main reasons I wanted to become a Pediatric Nurse. Although I took my studies and nurses’ training seriously it came as a rather shocking surprise, when in my first assignment as an RN on the Pediatric Unit at St. Vincent’s Hospital in NYC, I was assigned to care for a sweet little baby who had a condition that I didn’t remember learning about during my schooling. It seemed that most of the rest of the medical and nursing staff on our Unit didn’t know much about it either ( the year was 1966 ). Among other problems, this baby was born with both male and female sex organs. At the time, the terminology we used when referring to this child was “Hermaphrodite”. Even though we were a major Medical Center in Manhattan, I remember the commotion this baby’s diagnosis caused on our Pediatric Ward. Today, the term "hermaphrodite" is considered outdated and stigmatizing, and the condition is currently referred to as “Intersex”. This early experience broadened my understanding of human sexuality and the vast complexities and variations that can and do exist. The publication ,“Understanding Differences and Disorders of Sex Development (DSD)” is in constant flux as research and development in this area is complex and ongoing. Throughout the recent years there has been a shift of focus from individual bodily differences( whether at the level of genes, chromosomes,gonads or genitals,) to the social context in which such classifications are made, and the ramifications that inclusion or exclusion from normative social classifications can have on individuals. This early experience as a Pediatric Nurse helped me to discard negative, judgmental and erroneous teachings about human sexuality. Currently I know and love and support many individuals in the LGBQT+ community. I will continue to speak out against prejudicial behavior that harms the people I love. ❤️

A Young Child’s Misunderstanding

My Mother’s Story about a little incident involving her mother ( my grandmother, Margaret Mary Coleman O’Donnell) that happened in the late 1890’s. My Mother’s parents farm on Rt. 858, Middletown Township, Susquehanna, Pa was a mile or two from the homestead of her paternal grandparents, - Darius Coleman and Margaret Curley. She often visited there. On one of these visits she got her little legs caught in the rungs of a chair. Her grandma tried in vain to get her loose and called to her grandpa, saying “ I’m afraid you’ll have to use a saw, Darius.”Poor mother screamed in protest when she thought she was going to get her leg sawed off!

A Question Too Dangerous To Ask

I recently attended a “meet and great” session for a group of young seminarians at a local church in the Capital District. They were, of course, all male, and they were in different stages in their pursuit of the end goal of ordination to the priesthood in the Roman Catholic Church. All but one were already wearing the Roman Collar. The parishioners asking the questions were seated in an enormous circle around the large room of the parish center. The “priests in training” were directed to one area of the circle and were seated next to each other. I didn’t take an exact count but a rough estimate is that there were about 10 bright and smiling faces in this black, priestly garb. I believe three of the young men were from countries in Africa, and one earnest, young man -intent on mastering the English language -was from Vietnam. I believe only two of the young men were native born Americans. The pastor who was leading the conversation stood inside the circle, tightly guarding the mic 🎤. I understood the instructions that the Deacon and his wife were going to be invited to ask the first couple of questions and then the questioning would proceed from there. I didn’t know that this meant the questions were to be asked around the circle in a specific direction, which turned out to be my first mistake. In retrospect I realized that the questioning was also one-sided, meaning the parishioners asked the seminarians questions rather than visa versa. It didn’t take me long to start feeling a bit bored. The Deacon and his wife and a few others asked what I considered substantial, meaningful questions. One question about welcoming individuals from the LGBTQA+ community was answered in a rather general way, i.e., “ all are welcome “ . Maybe I had the wrong idea, but frankly I was expecting the discussion of meatier topics, and I was hoping to get a deeper understanding of these young men. Instead, rather superficial questions were being asked. It appears the group sponsoring the “Meet and Greet “ met ahead of time and were groomed as to the type of questions considered appropriate. Many of the parishioners read the question directly from a piece of paper they were holding. It seemed rather contrived and unnatural to me especially since the questions were so simple: “ What is your favorite food?”, “What was your favorite book?”, Who is one person you admire most?”, etc. I had a question that was near and dear to my heart ❤️ so I raised my hand. After several attempts at raising my hand, one of the facilitator ladies, came up behind my chair and put her hand on my shoulder so the Pastor would see that I had a question. It worked, but to my chagrin maybe it shouldn’t have. Before even asking my question, the Pastor announced that he was told the questioning was to proceed around the circle in an orderly fashion and I was on the other side of the circle insinuating quite clearly that it wasn’t yet my turn. In my defense I honestly missed this part of the initial directions. Nonetheless, I felt a bit embarrassed that I had “stepped out of line”. It was somewhat awkward to be called out publicly for my indiscretion. I’m an 80 year old “Cradle Catholic”, and I have a long history of being reprimanded for my honest and sincere questions. It seems that certain things are not to be addressed openly and honestly in the Catholic Church. But, since I was now in the position to speak, I asked the young seminarians, “ What do you envision the role of women to be in your church communities? “ I was quite surprised by the pastor’s response. He grabbed the microphone 🎤 from me and proceeded to say that he would handle this question himself. He proceeded to say very emphatically that everyone knows how much women do in his parish, emphasizing that he couldn’t do without them. But since this is a theological issue currently being addressed by highly educated theologians, it’s not going to be discussed here. ( Please note: I’m paraphrasing here as to what was said and how I heard it). Nonetheless, it was the only question during the entire hour and a half “Meet and Greet “that the seminarians were not allowed to answer. Near the end of the formal meeting I turned to my friend in the circle and whispered that I felt like crying 😢. As soon as the meeting was over the pastor came over to us and tried to smooth over what had happened. He said something to the effect that he had to be protective of the seminarians and asking them that question could have be damaging. His goal is to get them ordained.

A Change of Heart

I was a newly minted Registered Nurse, when I taught a young mother named Maria about the different methods of birth control.  Other Catholic Nurses refused the assignment saying it was against their religion. I was Catholic too, and at that time in my life, a rather rigid rule follower especially when it came to teachings about sexuality. I had swallowed the theory that artificial birth control was “ against the natural law “.  In case you never heard of this reasoning before, basically it’s the belief that preventing the sperm from reaching the ovum was interfering with nature and therefore evil. I went to an all girls Catholic Academy and an all girls Catholic Nursing School therefore I was well versed and thoroughly indoctrinated about “ the sins of the flesh”.  Nevertheless, I readily said “yes” when assigned this task.  I had a relationship with Maria and her young husband and their little toddler daughter.   They came to Clinic D at Downstate Medical Center every 3 - 4 weeks and sat with their baby girl in the Infusion room as she received the blood transfusion she needed to survive. She had a very serious medical condition known as Thalassemia Major. This is a generic condition (autosomal recessive inheritance) where if both parents are carriers of the recessive gene there is a one in four chance that the child born to them will have the disease.  Back in 1967, children affected with this disease typically died in their late teens or early twenties and their lives were severely impacted. I was the Infusion Room Nurse and I got to know these families quite personally.  Therefore when I was asked to instruct Maria in the different contraceptives that medical science had blessed us with, I knew what I had to do.  I didn’t hesitate, I had no doubt, I had not an ounce of guilt.   My thought process was clear and concise. Maria was 22 and her husband was not much older.  To ask them to risk another pregnancy and expose another child to this kind of disease and the suffering it involved was absolutely evil.  God is love ❤️ and he wouldn’t want that.  Moreover to ask a young married couple to spend the rest of their married life as brother and sister was truly against the “ laws of nature”.   I taught Maria with a clear conscience and a loving heart as I knew it was the right thing to do. 

Memorial Day Ceremony, Colonie, NY 2025

 The following was presented at the Town of Colonie’s Memorial Day Ceremony at Veterans Memorial at the Crossings Park on Wednesday. May 21, 2025.  

This is the story of my mother‘s younger brother, Joe O’Donnell. Although Joe O’Donnell was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, his daughter Sharon and many of her family members reside in the Capital Region of Albany, NY . I’m grateful for this opportunity to share my Uncle Joe’s story with you at this Memorial Day ceremony this evening. 

The night before my Uncle Joe O'Donnell left for Korea, he and my Aunt Marie stayed up all night talking. They wanted to spend every possible moment together, as they knew there was a possibility that Joe might not return. The trip to La Guardia airport the next day was solemn and somber. We were all so terribly sad. I was only 6 & 1/2 years old at the time, but until this day, whenever I pass the airport, I still feel the blanket of sorrow that covered us, Joe's family, as we hugged and said our final good-byes.

When Joe arrived in Korea, he had no way of getting to his post. Since there was a desperate need for officers at the front, Joe arranged to share a jeep with an Army chaplain, the Rev. James Meeder. During their quiet ride together, Joe told Father many family stories about his wife and two little girls, 6 year old Sharon, and 2 and 1/2 year old Diane and he spoke unabashedly of his tremendous love for them. The next day, Joe shared in Mass and Holy Communion with Father Meeder and the rest of his platoon before leaving for the front. 

Even though he was a strong and brave young man, my Uncle Joe was not what I envisioned as a warrior. Although he had served his country for three and a half years during World War II as a member of the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division, and had fought in and survived the Battle of the Bulge, when I think of Uncle Joe, I remember a kind, sensitive and unusually gentle man. 

I remember a man who drew pictures in letters home so his two little girls would get some idea of the people and places their Daddy was seeing. I think of a devoted son, a son who composed an original poem for his mother one Mother's Day, adding a note of apology at the end because he wasn't able to get to a store to buy a real Mother's Day card. I have no doubt this little poem meant more to my grandmother than all the most elaborate, expensive cards she ever received.

On Oct. 13, 1951, 1st Lt. Joseph T. O'Donnell was killed in action while leading his men, soldiers of the 38th Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division, up a hill called Heartbreak Ridge. On the day the news of Joe's death reached us at our home in Brooklyn, my Grandma, a reserved and ladylike woman, ran out in the street screaming, attempting in vain to run from the most horrendous news any mother could ever receive. Joe was her only son and just 29 years old. 

I remember the bitter cold day in January when we brought Joe's body to its final resting place. I hear the loud and frightening 21-gun salute and the final, mournful sound of a bugle playing taps. But most of all, I still feel the sadness on my Aunt Marie's face as she was handed the flag of a grateful nation. 

Now, all these many decades later, whenever I pass a war memorial, I slow my steps and purposely allow my eyes to fall reverently on the names of the young Americans who gave their lives in service to our country. There on these silent, cold monuments are names written in stone, too numerous to count. I offer a silent prayer for them and for their families. 

I learned at an early age the pain and sadness that lingers forever when one so young, one so beloved falls on a battlefield. And, it causes me to 

think these thoughts once again. May we continue to remember them. May we never look lightly on war and may we work feverishly, unrelentingly to maintain the freedom and peace they died to preserve.

80!

 80!

Reflecting on this monumental birthday: 

Today, March 9th 2025 at 1:20PM, I turned 80 years old. It’s difficult to get these words out, no less comprehend how that happened. I’m now in the “very elderly” category. Feelings are flooding over me- I’m experiencing an avalanche of thoughts and memories.  I’m driven to write them down in an attempt to come to terms with and understand this part of my life. 

This is all new to me as I was never here before.  As a matter of fact I probably never even envisioned what life would be like at this grand old age - the golden years ( who the hell are they kidding?! ) I’m not sure of the best way to document my feelings and I’ve hesitated to start, but the only way to start is “to actually start.”Therefore, I will let my mind brainstorm and see what surfaces.

Recently I have attended several 80th birthday celebrations - one for a High School friend, one for a longtime friend and one in honor of my cousin. 

I guess you could say we’re lucky to have made it to this ripe old age, and I acknowledge that. Nonetheless, there is pain and heartache attached to this age. I’ve said goodbye to so many of the previous generations-mother, father, aunts and uncles, brother, cousins, friends, nursing school comrades. In some ways, it’s as if I have no past. I miss the phone calls from my mother and my father and my aunts, I miss the ability to seek them for wise counsel, or just a willing ear to listen to the mundane activities of an ordinary day.  And, more and more  in the presence of the younger generations, I feel superfluous. Their eyes and actions and words mirror back to me my elderly status. I’m seen as someone who needs extra help, both physically and mentally.  I appreciate the help but it also reinforces a very vivid picture of “old lady “ that is being mirrored back to me. We live in an age of rapid technological advances, and what used to require the simple turning of a knob on a small screened, boxy TV set now requires multiple remotes and an unending array of different viewing sites. I feel like I need to seek out higher education in order to watch my favorite shows.  Luckily my husband of 53 years knows how to navigate the remotes better than I can. 

It seems that I spend a great chunk of my diminishing years visiting a vast array of specialists. I have a different doctor for every part of my body. 

A Gastroenterologist for GERD(Gastro Esophageal Reflux Disease) and IBS(Irritable Bowel Syndrome) a Cardiologist for high blood pressure, and high cholesterol, an Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist (ENT) for sinus issues, an Endocrinologist for Osteoporosis and Adult Onset Diabetes.  Add a Dermatologist, and an Orthodontist, Oral Surgeon, an Ophthalmologist and a Physical Therapist to the list and you can see how keeping body and soul together uses up a great deal of one’s time and energy. 

Turning 80 has a way of bringing this question to the forefront of my mind , “Will this be the last time I do this ? For example, when I’m repacking the Christmas Ornaments and placing them on their designated shelf in our basement. Or when we head off in our car for our annual trip to Florida for a month during the winter. The drive seems to get longer and longer every years even though the  actual mileage doesn’t change.  Our joints get stiffer, eyesight weaker, bathroom breaks more frequent. The amount of equipment I need simply to hold my body and soul together is becoming overwhelming- water pick, electric toothbrush, nasal wash bottles, distilled water and saline packets, heating pads, multiple medications, prescription creams and ointments, orthotics, back pillows, bed pillows for positioning myself to avoid back pain.

I guess I’ve reflected enough on turning 80 for one night and an old woman like me needs her sleep 😴 so I’ll say goodnight and reflect again another day.  Next time I’ll try to focus on the things an 80 year old can still do and enjoy 😊! 

Love ❤️ you all 

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