Head Heart Hands

By Duffy Keenan RN

It is June 1970 when Kathleen Kelly graduates from a private, all-girls Catholic high school and prepares to begin a new chapter. Ever since she can remember, she has dreamed of being a nurse. Both elated and terrified, she is finally ready to fulfill that dream.

As Kathleen enters Catholic nursing school amid a war in Vietnam and student protests in her own country, she soon realizes the educational expectations are more detailed than she imagined. After she settles into her residence room that was formerly a cell in a convent, Kathleen reconnects with her high school friends, Bridie and Cass, and embarks on an exciting journey where she soon learns not just about how to be the best nurse she can be, but also about life, relationships, and how faith will play an important part in both her personal life and professional career as she discovers all that accompanies becoming a dedicated caregiver to her patients.

Head, Heart, Hands is the story of a student nurse’s foray into the 1970s nursing school experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: May 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665701877

Duffy Keenan RN

Duffy Keenan, RN, is a retired nurse who attended Catholic nursing school in the 1970s. In her debut novel, she weaves a compelling story based on her recollections of her days in nursing school, before computers, when life was very different.

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HEAD HEART HANDS

DUFFY KEENAN, RN

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Copyright © 2021 Duffy Keenan, RN.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0188-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0186-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0187-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021901115

Archway Publishing rev. date: 5/20/2021

CONTENTS

• One •

• Two •

• Three •

• Four •

• Five •

• Six •

• Seven •

• Eight •

• Nine •

• Ten •

• Eleven •

• Twelve •

• Thirteen •

• Fourteen •

• Fifteen •

• Sixteen •

• Seventeen •

• Eighteen •

• Nineteen •

• Twenty •

•

FOR MY MOTHER. •

• ONE •

The day of high school graduation, June 1970, dawned sunny and clear. I had been so privileged to attend a private girls’ Catholic school, and I had worked so hard to pay for it. My Grandfather’s friend was a religious Sister and the school’s librarian. He paid for my freshman year but decided it was too much money to continue to send me and my sisters to private school. To earn my tuition, I worked summers full-time in a factory packing pills. The meanest man I had ever met ran the factory and openly yelled and belittled the middle-aged widows who worked there. He called them names and made fun of them in front of an entire line of workers, frequently bringing someone to tears. Every one of them was terrified of him but never spoke up fearing he would fire them on the spot. The wages earned were better than cleaning houses. These women worked hard, had little to no education and, mostly, no husbands. They supported their families. I also worked weekends year round at Sparkle Doughnuts, the local coffee and doughnut spot. Early on Saturday and Sunday morning, I opened the store to find my orders wrapped in white paper and smelling heavenly! Freshly baked cinnamon buns are one of the best smells on earth and so much better than a factory.

Graduating classes wore long white dresses and carried long stem red roses with large gold ribbons. It was a small class that had bonded, but everyone realized there was money and privilege and there were workers. I definitely was in the worker group, compared to the girl who received a beautiful yellow Mustang Convertible for her sixteenth birthday, the most beautiful car I had ever seen. There were girls with extravagant jewelry, braces on their teeth, and the latest clothes and handbags. The abundance of stick pins with cute lady bugs occasionally made me twinge with envy.

I wanted to be a nurse my entire life. As a confirmed book reader, I had devoured every Kathy Martin and Cherry Ames book I could find in our tiny local library. As the oldest in my family, I was told to get a scholarship or get a job, so I was thrilled to earn a scholarship to St. Stephen’s Hospital School of Nursing in downtown Philadelphia. The prospect of living in the city seemed so glamorous! Although I had been born in the city, my family moved to a quiet middle-class suburb when I was a toddler. I attended a local Catholic parochial grade school and got accepted to a private Catholic Academy for high school. There was never a question of attending anything but a Catholic nursing school. I dreamed of going to college but knew there was no money for me, and I did not have the heart to ask for tuition money from my parents. I was also told by the guidance center that nurses do not need a college education—hospital nursing school was adequate and achieved the same goal. After the graduation ceremony, which concluded with our theme song Fill the World with Love, I started a new job as the first female lifeguard at the nearby country club. Although I was a certified lifeguard, I knew the real reason I was hired was to put coal tar lotion on the mayor’s wife after she swam her laps. She was always so kind to me and frequently told me she was sure I would be a wonderful nurse. The guy in charge knew I was going to nursing school in September, and his boys balked at this job. I spent my weekend mornings at Sparkle Doughnuts and closed the pool in the evenings, to the delight of my male coworkers who wanted to party in the evenings. I visited my sweet family doctor weekly to get a battery of shots. She felt that multiple shots at one time confused the immune system, I got immunized weekly for diseases I had never heard of, frequently causing swollen upper arms and fever.

August brought uniform purchases and a few textbooks, wiping out my savings. My grandmother, a talented seamstress, hemmed my uniforms and made me two skirts. I eagerly looked forward to the day I moved out of our house and the room I had shared with my sister my entire life, but I dreaded saying goodbye to my sisters. We packed all my things, all five of my sisters and both parents into the Tempest and headed into town. I was elated, I was terrified, and I was going to be a nurse!

• TWO •

The loaded Pontiac Tempest, with all the kids singing along to The Long and Winding Road on WIBG radio, made its way to town. Each sister carried some of my things, and we made the transfer in one trip. I had never slept in a room alone in my life; I shared one bathroom and three bedrooms with my parents and five sisters. My residence room was formerly a cell in the convent. I had a small room, a closet, a bed, a tiny three-drawer dresser, a small desk, and a sink. We unpacked and headed out to the hall where we met Bridie and Cass, my high school friends, and their families. One phone for the entire floor! Bridie exclaimed. An ancient pay phone in a tiny, peeling booth was pointed out. One bathroom with three toilets and three showers for the entire class! Cass said. Wow.

There was an elevator, but freshman were forbidden from using it. The expanding metal door squeaked so loudly, it could be heard floors above and below when moved. My family and friends trooped down the two flights of stairs to the visitation room where the sisters were permitted to see their families.

The principal, Sr. Josepha, spoke to our gathered parents and families. She led the entire group out of the nurses’ residence and across the courtyard to the Accident Ward door. She proceeded on a short tour of the hospital, focusing on the chapel and four floors of a wooden staircase that had been hand carved. She mentioned that the stained-glass windows in the chapel were donated by early Irish families and were over one hundred years old. We returned to the visitation room and, again, Sr. Josepha addressed the group. She told us we would learn to be the best nurses as was the tradition of St. Stephen’s. She also announced that our class of twenty girls had been chosen to participate in an experiment with Canesius College. Brother James, the Dean of the college, had attended St. Stephen’s with his friend Brother Joseph as young brothers in the 1940s to earn RN degrees and care for the ill and infirmed members of their Order. Brother James and Brother Joseph had each gone on to earn PhDs and were professors at Canesius. Brother James felt that nurses needed a college education and that Canesius would benefit greatly having women students. Our class and the Huntertown Hospital School of Nursing, also twenty women, were participating in this experiment. As the test class, we would be expected to earn excellent college grades as well as maintain our rigorous nursing schedule. We would acquire six college credits, and the college would consider admitting women students. She droned on about how fortunate we were to participate in this experiment and also that Canesius would not charge us for participation. She added that our behavior as moral women would be carefully monitored. She reminded us that we would be taking a course, Moral Theology, taught by Monsignor Malroney of the cardinal’s office while at St. Stephen’s. Sr. Josepha told our families that we could say our goodbyes on the large front porch that connected to the main hospital. As my parents and sisters said goodbye, my very stoic father said, I have something to say. I felt a shiver, thinking of all Sr. Josepha had just said about moral behavior. My father looked me directly in the eyes and said, If there ever is a fire, get out! This whole place is a fire trap! Hugs and kisses and well wishes, and they were gone.

• THREE •

Back in the visitation room, Sr. Josepha addressed the twenty freshmen. She was brusque and brief. Freshman on the third floor, and you will be there all three years. The Seniors are on the fifth floor, Juniors on the fourth, and there is a study area with a porch on the sixth floor. No male visitors are permitted in the residence. The Sisters also live in the residence, and you are to respect their space and privacy. You are expected to be in chapel on the second floor of the hospital at 6:30 a.m., promptly for prayers every morning. Your meals are included in your tuition, it is your responsibility to get there. Classes begin at 8 a.m. in the first floor classroom. Books will be distributed then as well as your clinical and practical experience roster. She left without further comment.

We looked at one another in stunned silence for a moment. We began to talk and introduce ourselves, and I was thinking I was fortunate that Bridie and Cass were with me. Cass had already met the cousins Katherine Crowley (Katie) and Margaret Mary McDillon (Maggie); we sat together and chatted. Katie and Maggie had gone to a huge parochial Catholic high school and were thrilled to be in such a small group. Smaller than my High School homeroom, quipped Katie. Their mothers were both nurses, and they