MY BEGGING EXPEDITION.
ST. VINCENT'S HOSPITAL--ROUTINE OF A SISTER.
During the spring of 1891, the Province of the Sisters of Charity of
Providence of the Pacific Northwest was divided, and by an order from
the head Mother House at Montreal, the sisters were to remain in the
provinces where they were when the division went into effect. I was
ordered to report to the Mother House at Vancouver, Washington. This was
in March, 1891. On my way to Vancouver from Spokane, I had to pass
through Portland, Oregon, and while there the order went into effect,
and the sister superior of St. Vincent's Hospital claimed me as a
subject of the Oregon Province.
I was at St. Vincent's Hospital about a month, when I was transferred to
Astoria, Oregon, to St. Mary's Hospital, where I practiced on typhoid
patients and became more efficient in laundry work, for a little over a
year.
In June, 1892, I was missioned to St. Mary's Hospital, New Westminster,
B. C. My duties in this hospital were practically the same as in the
other hospitals I had worked in.
It was while I was at this hospital that I was sent on my principal
begging expedition. On July fourth, 1892, Sister Ethelbert and myself
were commissioned to go north to the logging camps on the islands in the
Gulf of Georgia (near Alaska) to secure contributions in the name of
Charity for the Roman Catholic Church and to sell tickets for ten
dollars each, which would entitle the holder to care in St. Mary's
Hospital, New Westminter, B. C., for a specified time.
The hardship and terrors of this trip are indescribable. Crossing the
stormy straights in small canoes, camping out at night in the wildest
woods, our lives were endangered many times. Arriving at the camps at
all hours of the night, tired, wet, cold and hungry; being lifted into
bunks by the men when we were so cold, in fact nearly frozen, that we
could hardly move; being carried on the backs of the men across muddy
and wet places where the water was too shallow for the canoe, or boat,
to land. Oh, yes, in the convent we were taught to be so modest--modesty
to the very extreme, but it is all right, in the Roman Catholic Church,
to send sisters to such places as this, where, as some of the men told
me, they had not seen a woman for from three to eight years. It was all
right in the Roman Catholic Church because we were getting the money for
the fat living of the priests and to enrich the coffers of the Pope of
Rome. Believe me, dear reader, no benefit do the sisters ever get from
the hardships and indignities imposed upon them on a trip of this
nature.
[Illustration: _Sister Ethelbert, my companion on the "begging trip" to
the Gulf of Georgia, near Alaska. She told me this was her seventh trip
to this part of the country on a mission of this nature. She died at the
age of thirty-six years._]
At one camp we visited, the men refused to keep us over night, so the
men who had rowed us all day, began to row us to the next camp. About
ten o'clock in the night, a storm arose, and we had to land, as it was
too rough to go farther. The shore space was very limited, as there were
huge mountains on one side and the breakers on the other. Dry wood was
very scarce so the fire we had was little better than none at all. There
were four of us--two sisters and two men--and all the covering we had
was one double blanket, with the rough, rocky shore for a bed. About two
o'clock in the morning, the storm subsided and we embarked again and
continued our journey, arriving at the next camp about four o'clock. Two
of the workmen very kindly gave us their bunk, but because of the cold
there was very little sleep. When we arose, the Chinese cook took us to
the kitchen and had us warm our feet in the large oven. He was a very
good and kind sympathetic friend for he looked so sorry for us and said,
"You have hard time."
Since I had to go begging, I was very pleased to have Sister Ethelbert
for a companion because I knew that she was not a trouble-maker, but a
truly good and sisterly person. I had hungered and longed for many years
to be with some sister that I could talk with on some other than the
written religious subjects and I was sure that this was the opportunity.
I tried to talk to her, and she would smile at me, and she tried to talk
to me, and I would smile at her. It was very apparent that our
vocabulary was very limited and simple, when it came to talking on
outside subjects. It was not till some years later that I realized why
this condition existed. It was from the long silence and suppression, of
not only speech, but our very thoughts, having been in bondage so long.
We were away from St. Mary's Hospital just three weeks and brought back
a little over eleven hundred dollars in checks and cash. Is it any
wonder that Rome can build such magnificent institutions?
As a result of the exposure and hardships on this trip I contracted
sickness from which I did not completely recover during the remainder of
my convent life. And oh, if I could only explain what it means to be a
sick sister! I was not receiving the proper care, so I wrote to my
Mother House, located in Portland, Oregon, pleading that something might
be done for me. I waited for three weeks for an answer, but received
none. I wrote to my Superior again, and told her that if the community
could not give me the care I needed, I would write to my father and ask
him to see that I received medical assistance. This was a very bold
thing for a sister to do, but I was certainly very sick and little did I
care what the community would do to me.
When the Mother Superior received this letter, I was immediately
recalled to the Mother House by telegram. I arrived at the Mother House,
St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland, on the seventh day of July, 1893.
I received fairly good care for a short time; then I was handed a
picture of our suffering Lord, and told by the Mother Provincial, Sister
Mary Theresa, to practice resignation and make novenas to this
miraculous picture for help. (Novena means nine days' prayer.)
For years I was not sick enough to be confined to my bed, although I
should have been there many times when I was drudging away, working for
the Church of Rome. A sick sister need not look for any care until she
is about ready to pass to the Great Beyond. The climax of my sickness
came many years later when I had to submit to an operation.
During the first eight months I was at St. Vincent's Hospital, I had
very little use of my left hand and arm. I thought it was partial
paralysis. A very prominent physician of the hospital staff, whose name
I purposely withhold, diagnosed my case and gave it a technical name,
which my unintelligible mind could not comprehend. But in my presence he
told Sister Mary Bonsecours, who was my officer and who had received
orders to see what the doctor could do for me, that I would never be any
better. Nevertheless, he prescribed for me which improved my condition
to a certain extent.
In this condition I assisted in the caring of patients, doing the best I
could, experimenting, as it were, and learning a little here and there
at the expense of the suffering sick. We had no instructors or books on
nursing until after I had been there about three years, when we were
furnished one book, a manual of nursing, and whenever a sister was lucky
enough to get it she would keep it until some other sister would have a
chance to "swipe" it. A sister once "swiped" it from me, and it took me
eight months to get a chance to "swipe" it back. Also, about this time
we were allowed to attend certain lectures given by the staff doctors.
One of the "certain" lectures we were _not_ allowed to attend were those
given on maternity, and yet the sisters were held responsible for any
errors in caring for cases of this nature. To sum it all up in short, we
were instructed to pray that God would bless us and our work and that
nothing wrong would happen to the patients.
During the first six years of my experience at St. Vincent's Hospital
and after I had recovered sufficiently from my sickness, I was sent to
St. Mary's Hospital, Astoria, Oregon, off and on, for short periods to
assist in the work there.
In 1895 the new magnificent, six-story brick St. Vincent's Hospital was
finished, and we took charge in September of that year.
Here I had charge of ten rooms, and had the serving of two meals daily
to the entire floor, which meant about fifty patients, and the only
assistance I had was one girl who was neither sister nor nurse, but very
good and kind to me. Besides these duties, I had to take my turn in the
laundry, do sewing, and above all else, attend to the numberless
religious obligations.
In order that you might realize of what these numberless religious
obligations consisted, I will here give a program of the daily routine
which I had to follow throughout my Sisterhood career:
Rise at 5:00 A.M.
Morning prayer, followed by meditation 5:30 A.M.
Mass 6:00 A.M.
Breakfast 7:00 A.M.
Spiritual reading 9:00 A.M.
Examination of conscience 11:25 A.M.
Dinner 11:30 A.M.
Beads 11:35 A.M.
Recreation for one hour beginning at 12:00 noon
Spiritual reading 1:30 P.M.
Prostration 3:00 P.M.
Meditation 4:00 P.M.
Examination of conscience 5:55 P.M.
Supper 6:00 P.M.
Beads 6:25 P.M.
Recreation for one hour beginning at 7:00 P.M.
Evening prayer and examination of conscience 8:00 P.M.
Followed by a visit to the blessed Sacrament in the Chapel.
Retire--lights out and silence 9:00 P.M.
[Illustration: _Caught in the Act of Kissing the Floor, a Very Common
Penance for the Sisters in the Order I Was a Member of._]
In addition to these, the following must be observed:
Every hour of the day when the clock strikes, each sister must rise to
her feet and say, "Let us remember that we are in the holy presence of
God. Blessed be the hours of the birth, death and resurrection of our
Lord, Jesus Christ. O my God, I give thee my heart, grant me the grace
to pass this hour, and the rest of this day in thy holy love and without
offending thee," and one "Hail, Mary."
An hour each week must be spent in the chapel in honor of the Blessed
Sacrament.
From fifteen to thirty minutes every Friday evening after evening prayer
for the exercise called the "culp," in some orders called "chapter."
This exercise consists of each sister kneeling before the superior, and
all the other sisters charges her with every mean, contemptible, petty
wrong, usually a breach of some rule of the order, which they have
remarked in her during the past week. Then the "culprit" so charged
acknowledges some of these faults, adds a few more herself, and, kissing
the floor, asks a penance of the superior. The superior has the
authority to impose any of the accustomed penances.
One Sunday of each month is called "retreat day," which means additional
prayer and devotion, that the sister may be fortified spiritually for
the next month. During this day there are three meditations in addition
to the regular daily routine. Each sister must present herself to the
superior to tell her spiritual advancement and the difficulties she has
had in the work. Sometimes all the sisters do not have the time to
appear before the superior on this day, but she must do so the first
opportunity she has during the week, and then it is generally a
reprimand for not being there sooner. This retreat day is ended with a
long Te Deum, which means a canticle of thanksgiving.
An explanation of some of the daily exercises will no doubt be of
interest to most of my readers.
The morning meal is eaten in silence, except on Feast days or unusual
occasions. During the noon and evening meal some sister is appointed to
read, generally from the "Lives of the Saints" or "Roman Martyrology,"
narrations very repulsive and revolting to nature. In this manner we
mortify the senses. If we wish something passed while we are eating, we
make signs for it. Ten minutes is about the time spent in consuming the
gout defying food supplied us. There is a dish-pan with about two quarts
of warm water in it on the table, and the first sister finished eating
has this pan passed to her and she washes her dishes, dries them and
places them in her private drawer in the table at her place. From six to
ten sisters wash their own dishes in this same water, and no difference
if some of these sisters are diseased, as I have seen them, they would
be wasting time to make a change of water, and that would be a breach of
the vow of poverty. In all my thirty-one years of convent life, I never
had a chair with a back to it more than a dozen times in the refectory
(as the dining-room is called). It was either benches or stools.
The following will show the spirit in which a sister should receive her
food, given at my spiritual instruction during retreat:
MEALS.
"Attention and devotion in saying the prayers before and after meals,
eyes modestly cast down, a deep sense of my own misery, a pure intention
in this animal exercise. Never to pick or choose of what comes to table.
If anything is disagreeable, to thank God for having given me an
opportunity of mortification."
According to rule, we are allowed two hours' recreation each day, which,
in reality, are about the busiest two hours of the day. Oh, no, Rome
does not give her sisters any two hours' real recreation, or rest,
during her long hours of labor. Such work as preparing fruit for canning
or vegetables for cooking, folding clothes that are often very damp,
picking over unsanitary gauze, tearing rags for carpet, picking over
feathers from old pillows, and other undesirable work is done during
these two hours; and then they say the sisters have plenty of recreation
and rest.
At three o'clock every afternoon the sister must repair to some private
place for profound prostration. That is, she must kneel and bend forward
and say: "Jesus Christ became obedient unto death, even unto the death
of the cross. Son of God, dying upon the cross for the salvation of
souls, we adore thee; eternal Father, we offer Thee this, thy divine
Son; accept, we beseech thee, His merits in behalf of the suffering
souls in purgatory, for the conversion of all poor sinners, and of all
in their agony." In addition to this prayer, she must say the "Hail!
Mary" and the "Our Father" three times each, or remain kneeling the time
it would take to say them and meditate on the prayer said. Then, this
exercise is completed by kissing the floor.
Three times each day, five minutes is spent in examining our conscience.
We write in a little book provided for that purpose, our faults and
imperfections. Before going to confession we are supposed to look over
this book and in this manner we forget nothing the priest should know.
A bell called the "regulation bell" calls us to each and every one of
these "holy" exercises, and no matter what the sister is doing when
this bell rings, even if a patient is sorely in need of her care, she
must stop and go to her religious duties. If she is late to any of them,
it means punishment, either by reprimand or penance, or maybe both. My
readers can draw their own conclusions as to the care a patient gets
from a sister-nurse, when these religious duties comes before the duties
of nursing.
One of the great inconveniences and discomforts of a sister-nurse is the
clothes which she is compelled to wear. The garb which I wore for
thirty-one years weighed about fifteen pounds, and there is no change of
weight in this "holy habit" for cold or warm weather. Our petticoats and
stockings are the only garments that are changed in weight for the
different temperatures. We are allowed two garbs at a time, but a sister
wears one nearly all the time until it is worn out. All the cleaning
these garbs get is a little brushing with soap and water, and when it
gets discolored, it is dyed to its original color. One of these garbs I
had for twelve years, and when I discarded it, there was only a small
piece of the original left. Think of the cleanliness and sanitation of
these poor girls, wearing such clothes, perspiring over the sick, and
from cooking and doing laundry work, and even being under the rule of
asking permission to take a bath. Over all this when we cared for the
sick, we tied a large white apron, slipped on a pair of white sleeves,
and then the patients would say, "How sanitary these sisters were."
Poor, deluded public; poor, secluded girls; they are not to blame, they
do the very best they can under the gag-rule of Rome. Is it any wonder
to you that the average sister dies between the ages of twenty-one and
thirty-five years, when they are compelled to live in this manner and
endure the terrible practices I have mentioned in this chapter?