Chaplain Father Brendan Gormley's Covid-19 Story & Thanks Summer, 2020 The NYPD Emerald Society has been both honored and blessed to have Father Brendan Gormley serve as our Chaplain since 2013. In his years with the Emeralds he has always found time to attend a countless number of our events. Our monthly meetings and dinner dances opened with a Prayer, trips to the Catskill Mountains offering Sunday Mass are just a part of the way Father Brendan keeps our Catholic Faith so strongly linked to our society's Irish American pride and tradition. Many of our Members have sought his assistance and guidance through difficult times and his Prayers and support have been there for them. When Father Brendan became gravely ill, in March with the Covid-19 virus, during the height of the Pandemic in New York City, our Prayers were all he humbly requested. Attached below, in his own words are Father Brendan's firsthand account of his life-threatening ordeal. If you were to wander in Calvary Cemetery, Queens in the old section, you might come upon the grave of James Gormley, who is my great-uncle. Like so many of his generation, James left Omagh, Tyrone, Ireland and came to New York hoping for a better life. He joined the New York Police Department and began to serve his adopted country and city. James contracted the Spanish influenza in 1919 and unfortunately, he passed away at the age of 39. My grandfather bought the burial plot to bury his beloved brother. Everyone who ever knew James has passed away and the only tangible remembrance my family has of him is his NYPD nightstick. I can't say I thought very much of my great-uncle during my life until I contracted the virus of the next pandemic, which we are living through in our own day. As I started to get sicker, I thought if my uncle was not able to survive that pandemic, would I be able to survive this one? In mid-March, I was looking forward to celebrating St. Patrick's Day. I have the best St. Patrick's Day. I concelebrate the morning mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, join some priest friends for a breakfast hosted by the Cathedral, proudly march with the Emerald Society of the NYPD up the avenue, join the Knights of St. Patrick for lunch, head over to the pier for the continuation of the Emerald Society party, stop in at a friend's bar on the West Side and proceed home, tired and happy. This year the parade, thank God, was canceled. Each day, the news of the spread of the virus grew more dire. On March 14, 2020, I performed last rites for a dying person at Staten Island University Hospital. There was not much protection given to visiting clergy at the time. On my way back to St. Clare's, I realized I could not go into my mom's house any longer. Did I get the virus then and bring it into the rectory? I don't know. On Wednesday, March 25, I woke up with a fever and starting coughing in the shower. I started the quarantine at that time. I only left to get tested for the virus. For the next week, I slowly declined. The fatigue was horrible. I forced myself to eat and the only thing I was interested in was my temperature. Tylenol became my best friend. As a priest, I consider it my solemn obligation to pray for people. Now, people were praying for me. On Monday, March 30, my cousin, Pat Nee O'Keefe also known as the "doctor", said my breathing was getting bad and I should go to the hospital. I went to the emergency room of Staten Island University Hospital at 10:30 P.M. The wonderful staff did an x-ray and EKG and monitored me. The doctor said I probably had the virus but I was not bad enough to admit to the hospital. She said I should return if I got worse. The next day, I was speaking to my brother Jimmy and he said I sounded terrible. He asked if my condition had deteriorated from the day before. I replied yes. As only a brother could do, he starting yelling at me to return to the hospital. I gathered a few things together and started to drive back to the hospital. I stopped at my mom and sister's house because I knew they would not be able to visit me. Seeing my mom and sister at the door of their home and not being able to go near them was tough for us all. I gave them a blessing and they sprinkled Holy Water at me. Upon my arrival at the hospital, I was examined and the doctor determined my lungs had gotten worse over night and that I would be admitted to the hospital. In the examining room, I had no cell phone service. A few hours later, they moved me to another room. This room was isolated and no one wanted to come into the room. But I had cell phone service. At 10:30 P.M., my cousin the doctor called as the hospital doctor was coming in to talk to me. The two doctors started talking doctor to doctor to each other. My cousin wanted the hospital to start hydroxychloroquine, but attending doctor said that could not happen until my test result came back. My cousin persisted and concluded by saying, I was a priest and that I would pray for the doctor if she started the hydroxychloroquine. The doctor promised to consult with her colleagues A half-hour later, the doctor returned with my first dose of hydroxychloroquine. I know there has been a lot of controversy about this drug. All I can say is that my lungs stopped declining once I started the treatment. I don't know what would have happened if I had had to wait until the next day to start taking hydroxychloroquine. I am grateful to God for placing me in that room so that my cousin could consult with the doctor. Please don't call it a co-incident. It was a God-incident. Eventually, I was given a room the following day. During the next few days, I was isolated in that hospital room. No one could visit. The hospital staff from the doctors and nurses to the food service people were wonderful. But no one wanted to be in that room. The visits were short and to the point. The nurses would give the medication, including a blood-thinning shot in the stomach and the hydroxychloroquine, and then get out. I do not blame them. But I never felt alone. In a very real sense, I trusted God and Jesus were with me and taking care of me. A friend had recommended I travel with some saints' relics, which I continue to do so. I was praying the Rosary (a lot) and the Blessed Mother was comforting me. The room was quite crowded. Also, I heard how many people were praying for me. I always thought I was the one to pray for them, now, they were the ones praying for me! Each day, the nurse would come into my room and decrease my oxygen support. I did not realize it at the time, but that was an indication I was getting better. One day, I actually negotiated the same level of oxygen. I was not able to leave the room. I did not feel strong enough to brush my teeth for a few days. I continued to receive the hydroxychloroquine twice a day. Each day, the amount of oxygen I was getting was decreased and yet my oxygen level improved. I was getting better, thank God. I missed offering mass in the hospital. I have consistently offered mass through my priesthood and it had been years since I missed a day of offering Mass and receiving Holy Communion. When people tell me that they miss Mass and receiving the Eucharist, I can identify with them as I went through the same feelings. I was released from the hospital on Palm Sunday, 2020. As I was being wheeled out, I gave a blessing to ward 4B. I regret not asking if I go on by each room and offer Absolution to the patients. I don't know if I would have been allowed, but I wish I had thought of it at the time. I was nervous about being discharged and was not clearly thinking. My car was still in the parking lot and I drove back to St. Clare's for two weeks of quarantine. I stopped by my mom and sister's house. This time the emotions were quite different from the last time. They wanted me to stay at the house to recuperate but I would not consider it. What if I got them sick? I returned to St. Clare's, happy to be home. I offered Mass in my bedroom that night with the long Passion Gospel, but no homily! I returned to St. Clare's quite weak and slept a lot. A few days after my return, my pastor, Msgr. Richard Guastella passed away from the virus on Holy Thursday. He was a good priest and friend and I pray God to be merciful to him. The staff of St. Clare's, especially Gerri Smith and Deacon Rich, were mourning the loss of the pastor, yet they took excellent care of me. I did not want to be around people for fear that I was still contagious even if the doctors said I was not. I could not take that chance. Two weeks after my discharge from the hospital, my quarantine was completed. I had the opportunity to offer mass on Divine Mercy Sunday via live-stream. While there was no one in the church, many people were participating via YouTube and the internet. I gave a short homily and a longer talk expressing my gratitude to God and so many other people for their goodness. While I offer many masses, this one was memorable. In order to improve my lung function, I began walking. At first, I could not go very far. Gradually, the strength and endurance returned as I persisted in the exercise. My goal became to reach Richmond Avenue. Eventually, I was able to walk that far (about 2,2 miles round-trip). It was the perfect opportunity to pray the Rosary. I came to hear how happy people were seeing me on Amboy Road "counting the beads." I was getting better and stronger. For months, the parish life had slowed to a snail's pace. Slowly, we were able to open the chapel for private prayer and hear confessions. Thanks to Jonathon Castro and Marie Noel, the parish was live-streaming masses for people who could not attend. Under the leadership of Teresa Signorelli, the school was teaching the children remotely. I sent the students a daily reminder that God is with us all this day (thanks for the inspiration Fr. Vincent Capodanno). Thanks be to God, we are permitted to offer mass again. We must wear masks and social distance, but at long last, people are able to join Christ at the Table of the Lord. Admittedly, the number of people attending mass is down, but that is completely understandable. We will do our best to ensure people are safe and confident when they return to the open doors. As the parish returns to life, my own opportunity to walk and spend time in prayer is declining. That is the life of a parish priest, he is called to be with his people. Jesus sends us to be with His people, not to pray all the time. I was tested for the antibodies. The test results indicated I was making antibodies against the virus. The next day, I was talking to a nurse who told me that the convalescent plasma was saving lives of seriously ill patients. It was the catalyst I needed to immediately donate plasma. I contacted the New York Blood Center, demonstrated to the Center that I had the disease and scheduled an appointment. I wanted an appointment the next day. The first available appointment was a month from that day! Jesus poured out His Blood to save us. I wanted to follow His example as soon as possible by saving someone's life. I have donated two times at this time and am waiting for the Blood Center to schedule another appointment. The virus has changed so much. We continue to learn how to adapt to these challenging times. Yet we are not called to surrender nor despair. Those are not options. As St. John Paul the Great said, we find ourselves in the giving of ourselves to others. I have been inspired by the generous nature of people. While some are seeking personal glory, so many more are seeking to help in the way that they can. When my great-uncle Jim put on the NYPD blue uniform, he sought to help his community. The current members of the NYPD perform the same function this very day. I don't know why God spared my life when others died. God's will be done. I hope that I am a faithful priest doing God's will for His people. I am grateful to God for my life, my vocation as a priest and for the opportunity to serve as the Chaplain of the great Emerald Society of the NYPD. Go mbeannai Dia is Muire duit.