The Baby was allowed to Die
Today, December 11, has always been a rather sad day for me. On the date in 1956 my youngest brother,Joseph O’Donnell Fries, was left to die. He wasn’t left to die because his family didn’t want him rather they wanted him so very much. This 11 year old girl, Mary Beth Fries, wanted him more than words can express. Just two and a half years prior, on June 25, 1954, my parents gifted me with one of the greatest gifts of my lifetime, a baby sister that they named Margaret Mary. At the age of 9 years and 3 months I was given relatively free rein in caring for this much anticipated arrival. I was thrilled and I loved every aspect of this new and exciting role. I attribute my desire to become a Pediatric nurse to this early life experience. Thus, when just two years later, I was informed that in December I would have this opportunity to care for another real live baby, I was delighted!
Early in my Mom’s pregnancy, it was discovered that I had the German Measles. As you may know this is typically a rather mild disease with a bit of a rash as the predominant symptom. The day my rash blossomed I was at my grandparents house, and my Aunt who was visiting there suggested I come to stay with her for the duration of my illness. I remember not wanting to leave my mother and putting up a bit of a stink. My Mom put her arm around me and said, “ No, it’s fine, she can stay home.”
Our Family Physician, Dr. William Carrington, gave my Mom an injection of Gamma Globulin to ward off the German Measles infection. My Mother never exhibited any symptoms of the disease, nonetheless, it is known to be highly problematic if it is contracted in the first trimester of pregnancy as it can cause serious complications in the developing fetus. As a matter of fact, back in 1955-56 young girls were actually being purposely exposed to known cases of German Measles infection in order to contract the virus and develop immunity prior to their child birthing years.
As my mother’s pregnancy progressed she developed a condition known as polyhydramnios ( excessive amniotic fluid during pregnancy ). My mother became so huge that complete strangers would pull my father over to the side and discreetly express their concern. 🙁
December 11, 1956 was a school day ( a Tuesday )and I believe I attended school that day. I knew my mother’s abdomen was very large but I was kept in the dark regarding what this condition might signify. What I remember about that day was being in my dining room when the phone rang. I picked up the phone and remember that my mother’s friend, Mary Kent, was on the other end. She said she was bringing over a pie and was sorry to hear about the baby. I can’t begin to explain the horrible pain I experienced in the space of that quick little phone call. I don’t remember questioning her about what she meant, because deep down I knew. But I do remember feeling so horrendously angry that Mary Kent thought that bringing us a pie was going to help in any way to relieve such overwhelming grief. I never even thought that my dearly beloved mother could have been in any type of trouble; that reality was so terribly horrible that I never even allowed it to enter my mind.
I’m not sure when or how I learned the story of what happened that day. One thing that this experience taught me is to never underestimate the capabilities of a child, especially one who is eleven year old one.
Apparently the delivery was a tough one, although a caesarean section was not performed. Our family physician was a good one and I believe he did his best. My Dad was the only family member who ever laid eyes on my little brother. Until her dying day, I believe my mother regrets that she was not given the opportunity to hold and see the baby she carried beneath her heart for 9 months. My understanding is that my father, always an overprotective man, thought it was for the best to shield my mother and the rest of his family from too much involvement in this sadness.
My father said the baby’s face was beautiful and that he looked a lot like my older brother, Charlie, Jr. He was full term and, if I remember correctly, he weighed 8 lbs or so. Immediately it was evident that my brother had serious problems in his midsection. The abdominal organs were in a sac on the outside of his body ( the medical term for this condition is an omphalocele ). As soon as he realized that this defect existed, Dr Carrington called a Pediatric Gastroenterologist into the hospital to do an evaluation and prepare my baby brother for a surgical repair. Before this surgery could be arranged, it was discovered that the omphalocele was not the only problem. Their baby was discovered to have a heart defect and in 1956, surgical repair was not yet an option . My father called a Catholic Priest to come to the hospital (Midwood Hospital in Brooklyn)to baptize his son. My parents had decided during the pregnancy that if their child was a boy he was going to be named Joseph O’Donnell Fries after my mother’s brother, Joseph O’Donnell, who had been killed in action on Heartbreak Ridge in Korea on October 13, 1951.
There was nothing left to do but allow the baby to die. My father said little Joseph lived for 3 hours. Sadly and regretfully, he did not die in my mother’s arms. I’m not even sure if my father ever held him either. I know he saw him and was at his burial although my mother and us kids were not.
I was totally and completely heartbroken by his death 💔 and have always wondered if my German Measles or my failure to go to my Aunts house was the reason my baby brother died. Eventually I realized I was lucky my mother survived this difficult pregnancy and traumatic birth and heart break.
I’ve missed this baby brother and needless to say December 11th is a sad day.
