North and South

Magical.

Fall is almost over, and as I sit here in the GWN, I have made a few observations:

1. Why the hell did I zip line 18 towers? The first nine would have been plenty. I was honestly going to chicken out on the second set, once I got to the top of the first of the second nine towers. But I didn't. And I was okay, until the 6th or 7th tower, the tallest one. That one, you fling yourself from the edge of the building, no platform, nothing. And as my heart was pounding and my thoughts were racing, I had to tell myself that I had already completed thirteen of these towers, suspended by a harness and a wedgie, and survived. Well, I'm still here.

2. I will say the same about parasailing, but at least I had a couple of margaritas on board once again.

Weeeeeeeee!!!!!

3. Kayaking in an underground cavern complete with stalactites and stalagmites with more than two other kayaks is just not worth your while. They talk about preserving these structures and that it is forbidden to hit them, but really? Most folks down there are neophytes, and what took the earth thousands or millions of years to produce is being destroyed, slowly, but surely.

Maybe he had too much Gallo.

4. The best German food is in Playa del Carmen. Trust me on that one.

5. Someone in Guatemala thought my Spanish had really improved, actually said it was good. Too much Ron Zacapa, methinks.

6. There is a list of the ten worst airports in North America, Bloomberg Businessweek. No small surprise I have been in 7 of them. I must be doing something really wrong.

7. Even less of a surprise is that Miami airport was on that list. And that my luggage decided to overnight there. Again.

8. Disneyworld is for grown ups. Forget the kids. Really

Meanwhile, in the North:

All the monkeys aren't in the zoo. Some are in Disney World.

a) Readying a northern patient for an ECG is like peeling an onion. You roll up the snow pants. Then the stretchy pants. Or the blue jeans if they are male. Next you roll down a pair of wool socks. Another pair of wool socks. Then the long johns go up, followed by the usually too tight leggings. You might see skin now. Never mind the upper body layers. Jacket, vest, sweatshirt, button shirt, t-shirt, thermal shirt, wife beater. Maybe a bra. And here I am, in minus 30C weather, running between buildings in my greens. With a bra. Just thought you would want to know.

b) I was looking for the thermometer tonight. "Why can't you use that one?" asks the Mom as her child puts the probe of the rectal thermometer in his mouth.

And that is my wee world for now.

My perfect man.

A Bit of Everything

1. Who Needs Sleeping Pills? Any grandparent who has ever run after young grandkids certainly do not. I was in bed every night 5 minutes after the two were tucked cosily into their beds. My alarm clock was the goofy goldie breathing heavily in my face at HER breakfast time.

2. Don't You Know..... That a) it isn't "my job to eat corn." Said the Humvee when I tried to sneak some corn in the funky mac and cheese I made. The Kumquat didn't think it was her job either, but she unceremoniously picked out each kernel and heaped them at the side of her plate. The Humvee made a trip to the garbage can, with each individual kernel of corn. And you know how many kernels are in a big can of Green Giant Niblets, right...?

3. Grandma Does Not Know How to Dress. Kids, maybe almost four year old little boys, to be exact. The great sock toe box is one example. If the pinkie toe is not included in the coloured toebox, well, "You're just doing it wrong, Grandma!" Apparently my Mom never learned me.

4. I Am Strong, I Am Invincible, I Am Grandma! As I tore through the end of the Reptilia exhibit and the Gift Shop, melting down almost four year old footballed under one arm, while wielding the jogging stroller with the Little One with the the other arm, through the crowds and out the door. It stopped when I couldn't fold the stroller down properly. Curses! Foiled again! But that's what SUVs are for.

And in the GWN (Great White North):

5. Fish hooks and fingers do not mix.

6. Neither do fish hooks and noses.

7. You would think that a nursing station, any nursing station, in the wilds of Northern Canada, would sport decent fish hook cutting implements, like a really decent set of wire cutters, or something like that. Since, you know, they fish up here. All. Year. Around. Ask the guys with the hooks in the finger and the nose. Apparently they don't have them either. Because hooks are meant for fish and not people.

8. DNR does not mean "Do Not Resuscitate" when emblazoned on the roof of an out building. Although some buildings look like they need it. It means "Department of Natural Resources." In case you were wondering.

9. GluStitch. The Krazy Glue of the medical world. Still holding my stethoscope together after 3 years. Imagine what it does for cuts.

10. How long does it take to fix water pipes? Apparently a very long time. And the workers come out at night, kind of like skunks. The water has been off most nights, without warning, and sometimes during the day, with and without warning. I think someone is just messing with our minds and playing with the switch. Would like to rap  some knuckles. Just saying.

11. Today I flew into my next assignment, in a true puddle jumper. A float plane, big enough for four, but carrying the pilot and myself. And as we glided over the Canadian north,  the magic reminded me that I am the most blessed and luckiest girl in the world.

And that is my little world for now. Love to all.

News From the South 2014

Tastes like chicken....

1. Chicken: For breakfast. For lunch. For dinner. Growing feathers out me arse and now have a strange desire to peck at things on the ground.

2. Margaritas: Fix everything, except for number 1 above. I think they doubled my body's chicken capacity and act as the Miracle Grow for the tail feathers.

3. Holy Chauffeur: The song "Nearer My God to Thee" is welded into my brain. I am sure the Reverend must be moonlighting over there. The Holy School of Speeding  Honking  Lead Footing Driving with the Last Rites in Mind  Where's the Fire  Last Confession on Wheels  One Step Closer to Heaven Unless You Are Doomed to Hell  Not Your Ordinary Sunday Drive  Offensive  Defensive Driving. No wonder we like to pray the rosary on the road.

The Horn on The Van

The horn on the van goes honk, honk, honk,

Honk, honk honk,

Honk, honk, honk.

The horn on van goes honk, honk, honk,

in Quintana Roo.

The people in the van go "Please slow down!"

Oh my God!

Hit the brakes!

The people in the van go "Please slow down!,

In Quintana Roo.

The driver in the van goes "No comprendo"

No Comprendo,

No comprendo,

The driver in the van goes "No comprendo"

in Quintana Roo.

The people in the van go "Cerveza please"

Cerveza please,

Cerveza please.

The people in the van go "Cerveza please"

 Though it's 9 AM.

You get the idea.

4. I Can See Clearly Now: After a beer in the park. My second day as Director of Logistics saw a rather huge turnout. And things not set up as I would have wanted, so I had to make do. Made a few small changes throughout the day. We saw (drum roll, please) over 800 patients officially, a squidge over 900 unofficially with those that slipped by our triage. Somewhere during the day, when I realized the multitude that was there, I slipped over to the convenience store and bought a cerveza, to be enjoyed by me, all by myself, in the park across from where the clinic was being held. When I returned, I and the Fastest and Best Translator (Margarita, the translator, not the drink!!!!!!) cleared out 135 or so of those patients in a couple of hours. We all worked hard. And the Logistics Director/Bartender said "Let there be cervezas for all!" Because some days, teetotaling just doesn't cut it. And God saw that it was muy bien. Dos Equis, in fact.

A fraction of what we saw......

So many people.....

5. Unloveable: Imagine as a Mom with a brand new baby being told to leave your baby in a corner. That she will never be anything. That she will never learn. To not even bother to breast feed your own baby, in a culture where it is practiced very openly. Imagine being told for the first time since your baby's birth four months ago, that our baby has Down's syndrome, by a bunch of foreigners. And that your baby at this moment is so ill that she may die. Imagine a priest praying over your baby, hoping she will make it to the hospital while she is struggling for breath. Imagine being told that your baby is someone, is a soul, that with hard work and perseverance can learn. If only she survives this crisis.

Before she took a turn...

Just no words....

Imagine the 34 year old young man who slipped in the shower 8 years ago, who became partially paralyzed. Imagine his Mom, still so young herself, trying to hold down a job, and trying to take care of his every need. Imagine feet so twisted, limbs so deformed, that it brought tears to the eyes of the foreign medical personnel elected to visit him in home. Imagine the hopelessness, the anger, the resentment he feels, the pain he has endured so much that he has likely refused activities that would have kept him mobile, his limbs straight.

These are the realities we as medical missionaries face. And it is why I, and many others like me, do what we do.

Look closely....

With thanks to Medical Mission Network for the pictures from Jose Maria Morelos.

Merry Christmas

I had everything all planned out, how I was going to help Karma along the way. I was involved, actually had a boyfriend, for the first time in five years this year, only to find out that he was a liar and a cheater, among other things. Those closest to me know about that.

To say I was devastated is putting it mildly. It took five years to open my soul to someone, to lay it on the line. And what happened is how I was rewarded for trusting again. Trusting the wrong person.

I know that Karma is a bitch, and I know his day and that of the Skanky female will come. I came across info that would ease Karma along, even delighted in the wickedness of planning, nothing huge or major, but enough to cause a little bit of grief, small potatoes compared to what I have endured. Let them squirm and hurt, thought I.

And so we have Christmas, a time of joy, happiness and peace. Quite a while ago, I had sent a note to him saying I had forgiven him. But was I truly living the forgiveness in my heart? I think by now, you know the answer.

Now, today, I make the final peace in my heart, the peace that God and Jesus have gifted to me. I have no doubt that someday they will get theirs, because as ye sow, so shall ye reap. And I want to reap kindness, love and joy. I want peace, harmony and tranquility. By wishing ill upon others, no matter how much they deserve it, I will only keep the thorns in my side and in my soul.

And so my challenge to you on this glorious Christmas Day, the day when hope was born, is to forgive someone who has hurt you. If even from afar, love that soul, and wish that soul peace. No one says you have to be with them, talk to them or even think much about them. But embrace the peace and joy of the season by letting forgiveness fill your heart. It is the best Christmas present you could ever give yourself.

A truly blessed and peaceful Christmas to all.

News From the South: Good Deeds: Where's Karma When You Need Her?

Shopper's Drug Mart, Mexico

1. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Part A: While trying to heal my broken heart after breaking off with a lying, cheating SOB, I went on my usual fall missions. Nothing like good friends, good deeds and good margaritas to balm the wounds. On the way to Guatemala through Miami, I discovered via the wonderful xray at security, that I had left my treasured Leatherman in metallic purple in the bottom of my backpack. Apparently, security in Mexico didn't think anything of it. But American security thought I could down a plane. I had to either lose the $75 + tax tool, or check in my back pack. Being penny wise and pound foolish, and in a hurry as usual through that stupid airport, I checked my backpack with the snarky American Airlines guy who said to me " I can't believe that you thought you would get away with that!" What, do you think I'm stupid? That I fell off the turnip truck yesterday? My turnips have been rotting in the ditch for weeks, thank you very much, I explained how I always have it in my checked belongings, but I had totally forgotten that I had put it in my backpack for the mission for the purpose of pulling things out of people's ears, screwing things in or out, and even filing my nails. Snarko rolled his eyes.

Family vehicle.

And when I went for my camera a day later, well, the case was there, zipped up and intact, but the camera and the charger were gone. So, a net loss of about $700. I totally forgot to pull it out of the back back. American does not cover the loss, because they clearly state that they are not responsible for electronics left in checked baggage. Which means there is a giant, invisible sign that says, "Take Me." The fact that the case was left in the backpack, zipped tells me it is an inside job. Thanks again Miami frickin' airport and American Airlines. You've done yourself proud.

The only good thing about MIA: key lime pie by Icebox.

2. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Part B: While in Mexico,  my right second upper molar decided to sing a tune, and that tune became louder and louder until I was eating 600 mg of Advil avery2-3 hours along with some Tramadol, and rum chasers. Eventually I was never able to relieve the pain much, but I didn't care. That part lasted  until Guatemala. I had to approach our dentist, I was in such agony. He wanted to save my tooth, but face it, in a dark room lit up by LED headlamps, you can imagine there wasn't anything there for something like a root canal. He froze me two or three times one day, and it was the only time I had no pain. The unfortunate reality is that freezing wears out, especially since he was using Lidocaine, hence the multiple freezing.

The last morning of the mission, I could take it no more, and I eagerly climbed into the chair as the first patient of the day, with many sets of Mayan eyes on me as they were going to be next. I needed to be brave and show them it was okay. When the tooth proved difficult to freeze, I had an iron grip on the Translators hand, I bet to this day it is weak and withered, such is the life I squished out of it. Once the dentist thought I was frozen enough, a healthy "Ow!!" followed by chicken sh*t tears sent the message loud and clear to the next patients. That either I was a complete Wuss (guilty) or that this was not going to be a very good day for them. Out came the tooth with a piece of my jaw bone. After 45 minutes of letting the freezing wear off, I was in less pain than before the extraction. And of course, the cerveza/rum combo at the closing fiesta was pain killer enough.

Opening soon...

3. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Part C: I had to have a stitch in my gums, a figure of eight, he said. So I went to my dentist once home to have it removed. A couple of snips, and it was gone, so I thought. Until I explored the area with my tongue, and found the damned stitch sticking out like chicken wire. What the heck to do? More rum. Maybe go to the walk in clinic the following day - I was flying out to work in the evening. Nah. Because like a dog with a bone, once you know that thing is there, you constantly play with it over and over until your tongue starts feeling raw. So toughen up, says I to my lily-livered alter ego. Grabbed my wonderful Tweezerman tweezers, the same kind the Mexicans had confiscated two years ago because they thought I might bring down another plane. Poked around until I had the end of the stitch. Gentle tug. Nothing. A little harder. Ow, still nothing. Finally with the will of someone performing her own bikini wax, I pulled hard, screamed, had tears in my eyes, and now a hole in my gums. The thing came out, with a non flexible kink where the eight crossed over. It's a good thing my dentist didn't charge me for the visit. I'd be looking for a refund.

Where toilet seats go to die...

4. In Other News: We now know where all the toilet seats have gone. And we're not telling.

I bought a new camera. For next time.

Love to all.

More Arctic Antics

Summer Arctic.

Pet Rock.

1. Only in Canada: My flight was late into Yellowknife. I tore into the terminal and ran screamingly to the gate room, where gates 1 and 2 reside. Lots of people, but no Canadian North attendants. Until I heard my name over the P.A. system. I had to report to gate 5. Where the hell was gate 5? Didn't know Yellowknife airport was big enough to support 2 gates, never mind 5.  And so once again, I channeled my inner O.J. and ran and leaped over to gate 5, where I had my own personal escort out to the plane.

2. Someone exposed the x-ray films, and we aren't telling you who.

3. That'll Learn Ya: Imagine my delight when one of the undisciplined little kids, cute as a button, decided to figure out the mouse trap. A sticker made the boo boo all better.

4. EEK!!!: The Quack of the Week does not like mice. Hence the traps. He is afraid. Very, very afraid. Bwahaha!.

4. WAKE UP!!! : Imagine my complete and disdainful surprise when I realized that I had turned on the timer on the Ridiculously Expensive Alarm Clock Known as the iPhone instead of the alarm, and that this realization came at 0205 in the AM whilst I was fast asleep. That sucker was ringing, vibrating and lighting up all over the place, and in another context, might have been wickedly fun. Just saying...

Who let the dogs out?

5. Someone may have exposed the x-ray films a second time in the same day, and we are still keeping it a secret.

6. Who in their infinite wisdom decided that room darkening blinds and windows that work are not a necessity in the Land of 24 Hour Sun?

7. I wonder why it was necessary for me to find out how much of a mess a can of exploding pop left in the freezer overnight makes?

8.  WAKE UP! part 2: I am in Belgium. The temperature is hovering around 30 degrees C and sweat is pouring off my brow. Ah, but a lovely Belgian brew awaits me, just a mere one minute walk away. Who dares to blast me from my reverie? What the...? I am in the Arctic? Who makes this stuff up? God? Can you have a little mercy down here on someone who wants a palm tree and a beer with the heat? Or just a tree, period? Doesn't matter what kind, anything over 6 feet tall would be appreciated. In full leaf.

9. On the first day of placement, at my front door, within an hour of landing, I was asked if I wanted to buy: a wall hanging; another wall hanging; a hat; ; sealskin mitts; the first wall hanging yet again; and a carving. The first wall hanging pretty much did the daily rounds. Assorted carvings came and went. More wall hangings. Jewellery. Eventually they tried to appeal to the foodie in me, with char and caribou. I bought the char. What I really wanted was someone with a beer and a palm tree. Guess I was expecting too much.

That is a grain of rice. Those are hand carved.

And that is how it went. Love to all.

PTSD Rant

I just want to say thanks to the U.S. Military. Since becoming involved with my Ex Marine, I just want to thank you for all the knowledge you have inadvertently helped me to gain.

1. I am now an amateur expert, if there is such a thing, on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Thank you, because in trying to understand the man you sent home broken, I have become a better nurse. My patients are well served.

2. I am better able to pick my battles. I can step away from a problem and wait. Most of the time.

3. I know first hand what PTSD can do to an individual.

4. I know firsthand what PTSD does to those who love them. 

5. I always understood grief and anguish, pain and suffering. I have always understood souls. But now I have the almost unbearable pain of watching someone's soul suffer, someone whom I love dearly, where I can do nothing but watch and worry. And maybe let go. 

6. I have re-learned to second guess myself at times.

7.  And now I am re-learning to not. 

8. I have learned that even the simplest requests/wants/needs are not always the easiest.

9. Of the many bodies and souls I have tried to help and heal, his is the one soul that I wanted to support. And the one that may be impossible to heal.

You took a young man, who did not lose his life overseas, but in reality, he has lost his life. You have taken many many others, and constantly re-deployed them in spite of their altered psyches, and sent back broken images of suffering, of guilt, of shame, of pain. These men and women are our forgotten angels, except I cannot and will not forget the one you sent to me. Nor the other ones I have met along the way.

 I have learned that I have more compassion than I ever thought possible, and that all the compassion and love in the world may not be able to repair the damage to him, to me, to us. That these courageous men and women, and specifically, my man, are left within a shell so impenetrable that all the love and compassion in the world cannot help them, inspire them, comfort them, has my stomach and my soul in knots. 

 Expendable for a lifetime. That is what you have so carelessly sent home. Some get excellent care. Many do not. And yes, thank you, I know the ins and outs of sufferers themselves, that poor decision making can be rampant. That denial is constantly by their sides. But in constantly re-deploying those already affected with PTSD, you have given them and their family members a life sentence on a road so rocky that many end up alone, used, and abused. And deep down, oh so very frightened.

Whoever said "All you need is love" is a liar. And thank you for proving that to me.

And thank you for reminding me that when any of us is stripped of everything, of love, of dignity, of self worth, that we still possess a brass ring, a glimmer of hope. The soul.