Darkness in December

We entered one shop after another, each one more festively decorated than the one before it.   December had just begun and already our voices were overcome by the refrains of all the usual Christmas melodies.   I began to think there was a conspiracy to singe the message that “it’s the most wonderful time of the year” into the convoluted pathways of my brain.  There seemed to be a conspiracy to convince me that the words to the songs are true; to make me believe that nothing can go wrong during this marvelous, glittering season.   I would love to believe that December and the Christmas holidays will somehow shield me and those I love from sickness, death and all things painful, large and small.  But somehow, I’m just not buying it this year.  More than ever I feel vulnerable; I don’t feel especially protected by this “special, magical” time of year.  Maybe it’s the horrors of random shootings; maybe it’s my age and the all too frequent funerals I seem to be attending lately.    Whatever it is, I react to the message as I would to a bold lie.  I find it insulting and demeaning.

Then I walk out into the street and see the tree.  It is at the very end of a long, narrow wooden pier, jutting out into the angry lake.  It is late in the day and the sky is prematurely darkened by the ominous clouds blowing furiously this way and that.  It is a somber scene yet strangely I am pulled right towards it.   In spite of the cold, powerful wind, I walk quickly across the boards.  through the chilly mist.  I am looking down into the black, white caped waves on either side of me as my steps hasten and I realize I am almost running through the chilly mist.  Finally, I am pleased to be standing directly in front of this tree that is speaking so clearly to my heart.   It contains no fancy ornaments, and it is simple but not perfect.  The meager scattering of white bulbs with one larger white bulb at the top is just what I want it to be.   Somehow, it gives me solace and I can’t really explain why.   I think about my reaction and consider why I am reacting so strongly.   Maybe this scene represented truth to me.  The truth that people I knew and loved got sick and even died right smack in the midst of this “most wonderful time of the year”.  The truths that people still get tired and stressed and feel sad.  The fact that there is no holiday break to war and violence and terror.   And, the realities that people are still hungry and thirsty and lack the basic necessities.  This lone tree says to me I don’t have to pretend that all is jolly and bright.  It tells me that life is not perfect, and truth continues in spite of the dazzling lights and intense excitement that jitters my nerves and rattles my soul.   I like the simplicity of this tree, I like the truth it expresses, and I like the fact – even though it is a bit weird and maybe a bit depressing in and of itself - that I am old enough to acknowledge and be at peace with some of the darkness in December.

Rita on her Honeymoon

Came across this photo recently and thought it was cute.  It is a photo taken in October 1940 on my parents' honeymoon.  They went to Washington, DC and Mount Vernon and my mother had purchased a special honeymoon suit and a fancy-dancey honeymoon hat.  It is how things were done back in the day.  From what my Mom told me over the years she felt like she married the right man, and she had a marvelous time on her honeymoon.

Today is the 95th Birthday of Anne Rose O'Donnell

 

Anne wondered if she would be remembered after her death since she never married and had no children "of her own" (Actually, being an adopted mother, I hate this expression.)  I dare say, we - her nieces and nephews - were all her children and as long as I have breath in me, I will remember her.  I thank God that she was a part of my life.  Every time a movie begins, I think of her; every time I drink a milk shake I think of her; every time I enjoy Chinese food (especially Moo Goo Gai Pan), I think of her.  Every time I think of unconditional love, I think of her.  Thanks for everything, Aunt Anne. I love you and I miss you.

Anne was the 4th child born to Margaret (Coleman) and TJ O'Donnell on December 10th, 1920 in Brooklyn, NY..  She died on Oct. 7th 1994 and is buried in Friendsville Cemetery in Friendsville, Pa where, long ago, she left the "love of her life"  Eddie Moran.

One of Us

On the monumental occasion of our 50th Anniversary of our graduation from St. Vincent's Hospital and Medical Center, School of Nursing, NY, NY, my classmate, Patty Lynch Finch, (see photo of Patty - isn't she adorable!)

gave me a beautiful framed commemorative plaque with a  special poem by Brain Andreas, (artist, writer and storyteller).

Someday, the light will shine like

the sun through my skin & they will

say.  What have you done with your life?

& though there are many moments

I think I will remember, in the end,

I will be proud to say, I was one of us. 

Uncle Joe alongside the Military Cemetery in Cypress Hills, Brooklyn, NY

My Uncle Joe O'Donnell (on the right) sitting with a friend alongside "Snake Hill" in the Cypress Hill section of Brooklyn, NY. In the background is the Military Cemetery whose entrance is on Jamaica Ave.  Not too many years later, on Oct. 13, 1951, when he was 29 years old, my Uncle Joe was killed in action on Heartbreak Ridge in Korea and was laid to rest in this cemetery.  His grave site was directly behind where he is sitting on this particular day (date not known).  His wife Marie Murphy O'Donnell, who also died tragically on June 25th 1965 at the age of 40, was laid to rest beside him.

Newspaper Article about TJ O'Donnell

You Go Grandpa O'Donnell , I'm so proud of you - It pays to have been a Farmer!

Today in my "massive house clean-up", I came across this article about my maternal grandfather, T.J. O'Donnell.   It is obviously from an old newspaper clipping and it is rapidly disintegrating, therefore, before I retire for the evening, I will type a copy of it into my Blog in an attempt to preserve the information for future generations.   It does not contain a date or the name of the newspaper.

MANY ARE RESCUED IN DASH OF RUNAWAY

_________

Bravery of Patrolman Thomas J. O'Donnell Saves Lives of Woman and Child.

_________

OFFICER HIMSELF INJURED.

________

Grasps Horse and Succeeds in Throwing It to Ground.

_________

       A woman, her five-year-old son and a policeman narrowly escaped serious injury yesterday afternoon when a horse ran wild in Fulton street, between Albany and Tompkins avenues, and imperiled the safety of scores of pedestrians, who ran to safety in hallways or stores.

       The woman, Mrs. Bertha O. Floyd, 25 years old, of 1490 Atlantic avenue, and her son, Frank, Jr., sustained bruises of the face and body when they were hurled from the path of the onrushing animal by Patrolman Thomas J. O'Donnell, of Atlantic avenue station, who grasped the horse about the neck. 

       The patrolman was dragged about a block before he managed to turn the animal into Kingston avenue, where he headed it toward a stone wall.  As the animal reared at the wall, the wagon turned over and the horse fell on its side.  The policeman, bruised, and his uniform badly torn, climbed on the horse and sat on its head until people came to his rescue and helped him hold it. 

       Mrs. Floyd and her son were attended by Dr. Marcus, of Jewish Hospital, who had been summoned by Patrolman O'Donnell.  The patrolman had escaped serious injury and refused medical attention to bruises.

       The horse, owned by Morris Levine, of 293 Ellery street, a painter, was attached to a wagon and had been left  in Fulton street near Albany avenue by the driver, Isadore Lowenthal, of 494 East 139th street, the Bronx. It was reported the horse might have been frightened by the whistle of an elevated train overhead, which caused it to start on a mad rampage down the street.

        Patrolman O'Donnell had heard the cries of woman and children as they rushed to safety.  He saw the animal dashing down the street, with the wagon swaying from one side to the other of the street.  Directly in the path of the animal was Mrs. Floyd and her son.

        The patrolman ran across the street and bolted over the woman and boy just in time to prevent them from being run down.   At the same time he reached up and clasped his arms around the neck of the animal, and by turning the horse's head directed it toward the stone wall. 

  _____________

Remembering Uncle Joe once again this Veterans Day

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 and 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 Chaplin, the Rev. James Meeder.
During their quiet ride together, Joe told Father many family stories about his wife and two little girls and 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 and survived the horrors of 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 his 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 poem meant more to my grandmother than all the most expensive store-bought cards she ever received.
On October 13, 1951, 1st Lieutenant 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 away from the most horrendous news any mother could ever receive.  My Grandma had six children, but Joe was her only son, and he was just 29 years old.
I remember the bitter cold day in January when we brought Joe's body to its final resting place.  The six year girl in me can 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 this 26 year old mother of two was handed the folded flag of a grateful nation.
Now, many years later, I walk up State Street and pass a memorial to another forgotten war, Vietnam.  There on the silent, dark monuments are the names written in bronze, too numerous for me to count.  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.  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. 

Piece about my Beloved Alma Mater - great summary of St. Vincent's Hospital, NY, NY accomplishments

Anne Marie O’Brien, RN,MSN,CIC February 7, 2010 · 8:56 pm

The following is an excerpt from the NY Times which was written by SVH Graduate, Anne Marie O’Brien:

“I offer only a small portion of SVH accomplishments or “firsts” which have directly impacted on the lives of our community, city and, indeed, the art of healthcare:
1) Dr. Stephen Smith established the first Dep’t of Health in 1875 to control communicable diseases. I believe that the NYC the Dep’t of Health is the finest in the world; 2) SVH developed the first “Code 99” team to resuscitate victims of cardiac or respiratory arrest and the first mobile coronary care ambulance team; 3) SVH is renowned in outreach to and healthcare of the homeless, an often overlooked population with unique illnesses and a myriad of needs; 4) SVH pioneered the Chelsea Village model of care bringing a team of MDs, RNs and Social Workers into the homes of the frail elderly to help them remain in their homes (far less expensively than frequently hospitalizing them); 5) SVH diagnosed one of the first 10 AIDS cases reported to the CDC and helped develop models of care which ushered HIV into the realm of a chronic, treatable disease rather than a death sentence; 6) SVH was first to offer Hospice care to, at the time, beautiful young men dying of AIDS, and their significant others and families who often had little support; 7) In its 160 year history, SVH has treated victims of every major disaster affecting NYC from the Civil War to the Triangle shirt factory fire and the Titanic to September 11, 2001, and last year’s “Miracle on the Hudson” . We treated over 800 survivors on 9/11, innumerable families and friends searching for their loved ones for many weeks thereafter, and pioneered post traumatic stress treatment of survivors, rescue workers and witnesses (especially children and young adolescents); 8) SVH cared for the “worried well” staff of NBC and the Post Office after the Anthrax attacks, shortly after 9/11/01; 9) SVH is a center of excellence in the treatment of Cystic Fibrosis, in cardiac and stroke care and other specialties; 10) SVH’s Dr. Vincent Fontana pioneered child abuse recognition, prevention and treatment nation-wide, and through the astute recognition and documentation of the horrific abuse and death of Lisa Steinberg in SVH’s Emergency Department, all Emergency Departments in NY State are required to photograph suspected victims of abuse; 11) SVH established the first Neonatal ICU (NICU) and ambulance transport system for premature infants (using Bellevue’s ambulances) in NYC. The NICU is a center of excellence with an extremely low mortality rate (even in infants as small as 400 to 500 grams), and the rate of chronic lung disease in our infants is 2% compared with most other centers publishing rates of 23 to 48%. Most recently, SVH in conjunction with the Sisters of Life, established the first perinatal hospice in NYC offering care to parents who have received an adverse diagnosis in their pregnancy and who choose to have their baby to cherish during its brief life. The dignity of life and death is emphasized and parents are tenderly supported by Father O’Connell, the Sisters and SVH staff on this journey. Through the Mother Seton Foundation, clothes may be purchased, free funeral services and burials are provided, as necessary, to ensure that these treasured babies are not buried in Potter’s field.

Accomplishments such as those above, do not occur in a center for mediocrity. SVH provides excellent care, despite the innumerable obstacles of today’s healthcare system.
Each member of my family and I can also personally attest to that excellence as recipients of that care. As SVH’s recent advertising campaign stated: “St. Vincent’s is my hospital” and it always will be !

Memories,Terrors and True Confessions - More bullets

·         Some of my memories are vague but the feelings surrounding the next memory are as vivid today as they were in 1963.  I remember getting on the elevator and squeezing as far back into the corner as I possibly could.   I was holding a package that was quite heavy and looked exactly like a nice fat, rolled piece of roasting beef.   Other people got on the elevator and I averted my eyes and tried to look nonchalant.  I wanted to say, “no, I can’t do that” but how could I refuse to do one of the first assignments that I was given as a Student.   I was told to bring a freshly amputated leg down to the morgue. I was sure that everyone I met knew what I had in the package in my arms. 

I remember:

·          Routinely giving aspirin for temperatures over 101⁰.  The connection to Reye’s syndrome hadn’t been made yet.

·         The kids on Peds would get soaking wet in those clumsy square oxygen tents.

·         Sitting in a 4 bedded “baby” room during feeding time.  I/We would pick up and feed one baby and prop up the bottle for the next baby.  In our defense there wasn’t usually enough staff on evening and nights, the kids needed to be fed and we never left the room while a bottle was propped.

·         This leads me to the next memory.  We would have had loads of people who were willing and anxious and ready to feed each and every baby in the most loving manner if we didn’t practice the cruel and inhuman policy of limiting parents’ visiting hours.  I can still hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth and visualize the horrendous scene of parent’s being pulled away from sick, young children who were screaming at the top of their lungs for Mommy and Daddy to stay.   I NEVER AGREED with this policy – NEVER -but I was powerless to do anything about it.  It used to break my heart.  What was wrong with “us”?  Thank God this practice no longer exists.

·         I remember the new “clean room” on Pediatrics.  I believe Dr. Vincent Fontana was instrumental in getting this up and running.  (He was also a Leader in the Field of Child Neglect and Abuse Prevention)  You needed to don all kinds of gear including foot covering before you entered this chamber.  When you walked through the ante-room you were practically blown away by the vacuum jets.  I felt as it I was on a mission to Mars (similar to being in an episode of Star Wars) on those occasions when I was assigned to that room.  I must say it was a bit of a pain in the neck to get in and out of that place.   Do any of my classmates have more details about this special environment for kids with severe allergies and asthma?  Whatever happened to this concept?  Was it proven to help or did it go the way of aspirin for temps over 101⁰?

·         I remember attending a little “party” in the playroom area in the middle of Pediatrics. Dr. Vincent Fontana was in attendance, accompanied by the “heavyset” nun (am I allowed to say that?) who was the Pediatric Supervisor at the time.   Dr. Fontana approached me and said something like, “Hello, there, I don’t believe we ever met?”  I had worked on Pediatrics for near close to a year at that point ( It was the year after graduation so it really doesn’t fit in the category of Memories of a Student Nurse but since we are on the topic of Dr. Fontana I decided I’d throw it in).  I was more than a little bit insulted that he didn’t know that I was one of the nurses on the Unit and I responded, “Maybe it’s because I recently dyed my hair blonde. But I recognize you because your hair is the same color it has been for the last few months”.   The staff within hearing range couldn’t believe their ears.   How could I say such a thing to this big Specialist’s face?  I guess it was because I was now wearing white and was starting to get tired of the philosophy that the doctor was a supreme being and I was an ignorant peon.  This was a time when nurses stood at attention and offered their seats to any doctor entering the room.  Even, I might add, after being tattered and frayed after running ragged all night with the humanly impossible task of giving care to a ward of 40 very ill patients.