Reflections from Two Years Ago

Please don’t feel obligated to read my reflections but in case anyone is interested here goes….. Reflections regarding my anxiety surrounding my Nuclear Stress Test -so I after having some time to think about it, this is what I came up with: 1. During the last stress test, my blood pressure went so high that they kept taking it every two seconds and so I was concerned over having a similar reaction this time. Even though my blood pressure was a bit outrageous yesterday, the lady in charge of the treadmill and watching me seem to take it in stride. 2. I was also concerned that I might not be able to have an adequate test and then they would push me to have the medication that makes your heart race, and I wanted to avoid that at all cost! I have a sensitive heart(❤️ no pun intended) and something as simple as too much caffeine can give me tachycardia. 3. This particular time I was especially anxious about needing stents placed since I had been having significant chest pain recently. On my most recent visit to the cardiac office, I saw a Nurse Practitioner rather than the doctor and frankly I felt she was more interested in establishing her authority than in listening to what I was saying to her. I told her I was having frequent chest pain but I was also suffering from rather significant Gastrointestinal- Esophageal Reflux Disease. I told her that the pain improved during vigorous walking. She started to hand me a prescription for a new cardiac medication, Renexa. I told her I was already taking 5 cardiac drugs already (Atorvastatin Calcium, ie, Lipitor, Propranolol HCL ER Cap 60 mg, ie, Inderal, Hydochlorothiazide 12.5 mg, Norvasc 5 mg twice a day, Lisinopril 40 mg ) and I preferred to see if it was indeed my heart that was causing the chest pain before adding another medication. The NP said that the Renexa would help with the Nuclear Stress Test. She meant the medication induced stress test and I had already told her that I did not want that medication and I planned to walk the treadmill. But I must say that my Nursing School Buddy probably hit the nail on the head-I was really frightened that they might tell me I needed stents and frankly that scares the hell out of me because the damn stents basically killed my beloved older brother, Charlie. He was placed on the anticoagulant, Plavix, and one hot and humid July night a plastic molded chair tipped backwards and he hit his head on a decorative cement paver behind him. A week later he was dead after the neurosurgeon tried every medication in the hospital to stop the bleeding in his brain but nothing worked. So yes, Susan Smith Joseph, I believe the thought of needing a stent was probably the biggest reason for my anxiety. I’m thankful that no blockages were found!! And I don’t think I will have another Nuclear Stress Test but I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it. I guess the bottom line is I’m afraid of dying but more specifically having no control over the circumstances. One more very good reason to be anxious-I’m a retired RN and I’ve seen the consequences of a few medical/nursing mistakes. Sometime, I’ll tell you a story of my own miraculous miracle but not tonight because it’s after 11pm- pass my bedtime.

Charles A.Fries Sr locksmith and photographer

i stand corrected: My husband read this Blog entry and it appears there were two separate events regarding breaking open locks. Apparently the very old, heavy safe was in the sacristry behind the altar and Bob was the one who accompanied my Dad on this assignment. i brought my Dad to the rectory on another occasion and i followed closely behind him as he ascended the steep rectory stairs to the second floor. He had his toolbox with him and it was heavy withe the tools of his trades ( there were many types of jobs he was good at) i honestly don't remember if he let me carry it but probably he insisted he could carry it despite being in his golden years. It might have been a file cabinet or a personal safe he had been summoned unlock on that occasion but as usual he succeeded. My Dad didn't like any job to defeat him, any puzzle to go unsolved. My original post starts here: So anyone out there in Facebook Land know anything about this “Recording Wire”? I found it in a container with 8mm film and old VHS tapes. I remember my father using a rather large, old fashioned looking tape recorder machine when I was a kid. He had access to a lot of equipment when he worked for Queens College in Flushing NY ( he started there in 1940 and was with them for 40 years) and pretty much had complete access to anything connected with cameras and equipment and technological stuff. Among other many other talents, he was an excellent locksmith and had access to every room at the college. At one point after a bit of an uprising on campus he was assigned to change every lock in the entire campus. Later in life, as a rather old man, Father David Noone, the Pastor at Christ Our Light Church in Loudonville NY, asked my Dad to open the church safe via the combination lock since no one knew the code. I remember following behind my father - unsteady with age - on the steep stairs of the rectory on Exchange Street to get to the heavy, old safe that was located on the second floor. My father was able to listen to the combination lock clicks and could open the safe without breaking the lock. Afterwards he told my husband Bob, if he hadn’t gone the honest route, he would have made a great second story man. He learned his locksmithing skills as a kid when he hung around and helped his Uncle John at his shop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn ( the old German Town )

The Roaring Lion on the Movie Screen

A marvelous memory: I never hear the opening of a movie without thinking of the following: Going to the movie theater as a kid. It was at the RKO Bushwich or the Loew’s Gates on Broadway in the Bushwich section of Brooklyn. My Aunt Anne O’Donnell use to take Cousin Sharon O’Donnell and me and then we would go either to the Ice Cream Parlor for hamburgers and a chocolate malt ( in a large frosty metal container from which you could pour more and more delicious malted into your glass - it was like being in Heaven! )or up the stairs to a Chinese restaurant next to the elevated train on Broadway. We saw such movies as “ Dial M for Murder” with Grace Kelly, “Singing in the Rain. “ and “ The Seven Little Foys” as well as others. We would walk in at anytime during the movie and stay until we got back to the point at which we walked in. Sometimes it would be a double feature or at least a cartoon or a “short”.

Anne R. McCarthy-a adolescent’s memory

Another wonderful memory involving Anne Purtell occurred when I was 12 years old. My Dad drove my mother and me to Hoboken, New Jersey, where we boarded a train by the name of “ The Phoebe Snow” and headed to Binghamton, NY. We were on our way to attend Anne’s wedding to Mr. Eugene McCarthy. My mother absolutely loved her younger Coleman cousin, Anne, and on several occasions Anne shared with me the loving feelings she had towards my Mom, her older cousin, Rita Mary O’Donnell Fries whom she admired and viewed as a role model. A bit of family pride was the fact that the 8 Coleman children born to Hannah Byrne and G. Francis Coleman produced a whopping 46 first cousins. For me, Anne was a link between her generation and mine. We were 10 years apart in age - Anne was born in 1935 and I came into this world in 1945. As my mother taught me, I was Anne’s “first cousin, once removed “. As I got older Anne became a mentor, role model, non-judgmental sounding board, and a true spiritual soul mate. I am filled with gratitude for Anne Purtell McCarthy and I will carry her love in my heart eternally.

Anne Purtell McCarthy-my first memory

https://photos.app.goo.gl/jTjQvBRhJbnX5w1G7 My very first memory involving Anne McCarthy occurred during the summer of 1951 when I was 6 years old. My family and I were staying for a little vacation at my Great-Great Aunt Bridge’s farm ( Bridget Byrne O’Reilly was my Great Grandmother’s (Hannah Byrne Coleman)sister in St. Joseph, Pennsylvania. Coming from the hot city streets of Brooklyn, this time on a farm in the country seemed like heaven. Being 10 years older than me, Anne was a teenager and still “Anne Purtell “. At that time, she was living at the farm with her mother, my Great Aunt Norene Coleman Purtell. They had moved into the farm to help Norene’s Aunt Bridge who was quite elderly and incapacitated. When my mother brought me into a bedroom behind the staircase in the old farmhouse to meet my Great Great Aunt Bridge, I remember seeing a frail, ancient woman sitting in a bed, a big old cat lying on on the blanket beside her. At that time in her life, Anne appeared to me to be a popular and socially involved teenager. Even as a 6 year old I took notice of Anne “fancying herself up”, leaving the house, and jumping into the front seat next to a young man in a pickup truck. One rather clear memory from a truly magical vacation was this interaction: When my cousin, Anne, invited me into her room I noticed and admired a little canvas Indian teepee and canoe that she had recently acquired at a local county fair. When she saw my wide-eyed excitement, she picked up this treasure, handed it to me, saying “Here, you can keep it. “ The fact that she was willing to give it to me “for keeps” impressed me beyond words and I knew, then and there, that I would love her forever.

Mom remembering in 2025

March 25, 1917 - November 19, 1998 It is amazing how fast time passes.  Can it really be 27 years since my mother’s spirit left her body?  I know for certain that she left because I was lying in bed next to her at that very moment when she was no longer in the physical structure that had held her since March 25th 1917.  Believe me dead is dead.  Her body was vacant, empty; there was no question about it, she was not there anymore.   When the hospice nurse asked me to check for her pulse, I said “no”.  I knew without any doubt she was dead and more importantly I refused to feel my dearly beloved Mother without a heartbeat.   Since I was close beside her, I actually saw her take her very last breath.  I imagine if this could be viewed without any emotion, it could be an interesting phenomenon.   People breathe in and breathe out so many times over their lifetimes that we hardly notice this small physical activity. All of a sudden after slowing down and coming in spurts, there is a moment when a specific simple breath is the very last one.   My parents had shared a bed together since October 19, 1940 and on this particular day, my Dad stood at the foot of their bed anxiously willing his wife to continue breathing.  When he saw that she exhaled and did not inhale again, he basically screamed at me to shake her.   He had been stimulating her breaths like this for the last day or so and he felt if I shook her really hard, I could keep her alive.   I remember saying, “Daddy, I can’t do that.”  The cyanosis had already worked itself half way up her body and it seemed cruel to insist she keep breathing now.   So my mother died.  But honestly it is not her death, but her life that I want to remember today. I want people to know who Rita Mary Agnes O’Donnell Fries was and what she was like ( Agnes was the name she chose for her Confirmation although I am not sure why – I think she told me but I no longer remember). I especially want her great-grandchildren to know a little bit about their Great- Grandmother since this type of thing was always very important to my Mother.   So here are some things that I remember and want to share about my Mom: * she smiled a lot  * she cried a bit too.  * she made the best apple pie I ever ate. * she had a crush on Johnny Ryan and took him to her High School Prom where she met her husband, my father, Charles A. Fries. (Charlie escorted his sister, Rosemary Fries, to the Prom and Rosemary was my Mom’s good friend so they sat together at the same table). * my mother always let us kids build forts and other interesting things under the dining room table and in other places throughout the house.  There would be sheets and blankets and pillows and upside down chairs all over the place. It would make the house a really big mess but our imaginations could run wild. * she also allowed us to paint the windows with snow scenes at Christmas time.  Was that white shoe polish we used? * my mother didn’t care for housework, but she enjoyed cooking and entertaining.  * she always had room for one more at her table- always! * she researched family history better than anyone else I ever knew. * after High School my mother went to work at the Mohegan Company but once her firstborn son was born in 1943, she became a full time Stay-at -Home Mom.   * my Mother lost her fifth-born child, Joseph O’Donnell Fries, several hours after he was born ( December 11, 1956 ).  She carried her baby for a full nine months and was never given the chance to see her son or to hold him which only added to her horrendous heartbreak.  * she took some college courses later in life and I was amazed how brilliant she was when I read her research paper on Peyote. * the parish priest once told us that my mother was more Catholic than the Pope.   She held an office with the Christian Mother’s Association. * luckily, my mother sang the praises of conjugal love. Otherwise, after the negative perceptions of sexuality absorbed during my years in Catholic School, I might never have gotten married. Thanks Mom for explaining things in a positive light. * my Mother loved books and started a library at St. Michael the Archangel Church on Jerome Street in Brooklyn, NY. * she loved the fact that her husband had a college education and worked in the Physics Department at Queens College and that they were exposed to highly educated, stimulating people.   * my mother wanted to go to Ireland but sadly, never got there.  * she wanted to drive but never took lessons. * she loved being an O’Donnell and was disappointed that she had to give up her maiden name when she got married.  * She would get mad at my father but told me on several occasions that she looked at other women's husbands and quickly decided she liked the one she had the best.   She said she wouldn’t trade her husband for any of the others.   * my mother loved children.  * she loved to sleep * she loved ice cream and it was the last thing she ate before she died.   * she took art classes in her later years and wasn’t a bad artist. * she has wrote realms of journals and copybooks filled with her thoughts and feelings and what she ate for dinner. I can’t throw them out.  * she was always planning outings and activities rather than planning for her death.  * she left this earth 27 years ago but somehow she isn’t really gone.  * when I am out shopping and I hear a woman say, “Mom”, I get jealous.  I have the urge to go over to the younger woman and tell her how lucky she is, but I restrain myself. 

The 60th Reunion

60th Reunion On Friday, November 7th, 2025, I was the first person from the St. Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing, Class of 1965 to walk into Jack Doyle’s Irish ☘️ Pub. My husband Bob and I had left our home in Latham NY early enough so as to make certain that we would get there in time for the 12 noon meetup time. After all, our 60 year reunion is a once in a lifetime event that I absolutely didn’t want to miss. We figured if we made excellent time and arrived early we could sit and chat in the car for a while before I went into the Pub. We made fabulous time until we were about a mile away from my destination. We hadn’t driven into Manhattan in many years so we were not prepared for the massive traffic we had to deal with once we reached midtown. We crept around the last couple of blocks but it turned out the streets were so crowded, there wasn’t a spot available to pull the car over to the curb, so when we got close to Jack Doyle’s I had to grab my pocketbook and Nursing Cape and jump out of the car. I opened the front door and stepped into a winter wonderland of Christmas greenery, sparkling white lights and shiny ornaments. Wow, how very magical I thought as I walked over to a young woman who was unstacking chairs in the relatively empty Pub. There was a handful of people sitting at the bar when I arrived but not one single sign of a reunion. I asked the young lady the whereabouts of the St. Vincent’s Reunion group and she looked at me rather confused before answering. For a moment, I thought maybe something had changed and I missed the email. Or maybe my 80 year old brain messed up and I was at the wrong Pub or worse yet, I travelled to New York City on the wrong day. In case you’re not there yet, when one turns 80, remembering details is no longer a strong point. But almost as soon as these fears entered my mind, I dismissed them. After all, I had reviewed the details over and over a million times as this was something I didn’t want to miss. Finally the young lady responded in her sweet Irish brogue “ Oh yeah, but we’re not quite ready yet” Thank God, I thought as I asked the location of the Ladies Room. Another consequence of turning 80, is the relief at knowing a bathroom is nearby. As I was exiting the stall and was washing my hands, I overheard a familiar Brooklyn accent and it made me happy. When the Ladies Room door opened, I fell into the embrace of a very dear classmate, Gail Dougherty Checkett. It was at that moment that I realized the depth and true emotional implications of this reunion. …….to be continued When I exited the restroom, I watched the staff preparing our alcove area on the first floor. I believe the initial plan was that we were to have a room on the second floor but because stairs would be problematic for some of us, the Pub made these necessary adjustments. As older women walked through the front door and started walking towards our area in the room, one by one these “elderly women” slipped away and my young classmates appeared in their places. I need a scotch and soda I said as I walked over to a darling young waitress by the bar. I took a couple of comforting sips and I remembered our welcoming party our first night at 158 West 12th Street. An upper classmate sang” Scotch and Soda, Mud in your eye, Baby do I feel high, Oh me, oh my, Do I feel high”. Yes, I certainly felt high but it wasn’t the alcohol. Rather I felt something so monumental, it almost took my breath away. All of a sudden I started to cry. I turned toward the back of our little alcove in an attempt to stop myself from letting go as I knew if I let it out then and there I would be sobbing hysterically. This was the type of emotion that would be difficult to contain even though, quite honestly I really didn’t understand the full meaning of my tears. Thank God, Missy and Pat had the reins of this event firmly under their control. I was a bit of a wet noodle. The time flew by but, honestly, we are older now and it was probably just about the right amount of time for one day. Nonetheless, it made me wish we were somewhere together where we could sleep overnight and regroup the next day.. Every second when we were together was magical for me. Since those magical hours ended, I’ve done a lot of reflecting and here is what I’ve come up as to why it was all so emotional and so monumental for me. In this group of 22 women, I could feel the presence of all our beloved classmates including all those who weren’t able to make the trip for one reason or another and even all those of us who have already died. We didn’t have an official Mass together on Friday, but in my humble opinion, we had a very real Communion with all the beautiful members of the SVH, Class of 1965 Communion of Saints. I also thought about the impact of all these “cream of the crop” nurses who graduated at 4pm on Tuesday, June 15, 1965 at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and I imagined the vast impact of all these loving, healing hands and hearts over these past 60 years. I thought of the rippling effects on every single person whose lives were touched by my classmates. Dear God, if that isn’t monumental!! I am so honored to have known you and to be numbered among you. I want to be remembered as a member of the St.Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing, Class of 1965 throughout eternity. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of you.