It has been awhile again. Why? I have had computer access
that actually works in the poorest of nations that I have visited,
including Sierra Leone which was billed as the second poorest country in
the world at that time. And here in northern Canada? Not much for
almost a month. To qualify that a bit, and to give the powers that be
their due, the first two weeks or so of this rotation were
spent in the high school gym because of encroaching forest fires. I
think the station actually had some minor damage. We were still allowed
to sleep at the clinic residence when not on call. So no computer in
either place. Until our phones at the gym pooped out. Then we got a
couple of Roger's cell phones. I love
pressing buttons, so I pressed enough oddball icons (I'm a somewhat
disgruntled Telus customer) until I figured out I could access my e-mail
from the phone. I at least was able to check my e-mail, but my thumbs
are primed for iPhones, not whatever brand of the day we had. So I
didn't send much off.
So there's my excuse.
I
was on a medical mission, in Mexico, prior to this stint. The Chiapas
region has some of the most beautiful land in the world I have ever
seen. When you drive into the mountains, you become one with the clouds.
It is breathtaking. When you drive on the switch back roads, it is
breathtaking as well, as in "Holy s***! Look at the size of that boulder
in the middle of the road! That
wasn't there yesterday!!!" Gut wrenching at times too, as in "STOP THE
CAR!!! I'M GONNA HURL!" Not me, but a few of my amigos. Gravol was king
of the road.
Our accommodations were top notch
for the little town we were in. We had a room air conditioner,
thankfully, because it was so very hot in the evening, and the only
window out was about 180 feet off the floor and just big enough for a
canary to see out from, if we had one. An interior window opened to the
equally hot hallway. I have roughed it in a few places, and this place
wasn't horrible, except, this is Mexico. So quite a few folks fell prey
to Montezuma's Revenge. And the bathrooms in the rooms sported only
shower curtains for doors, so you couldn't even pretend that no one knew
what you were doing in there 4 or 5 times a night.
The last evening
in Copainala found a few of us missing the post mission cervezas, so we
went on a mission of
our
own to find a spot near the town square to toast our accomplishments.
So we could walk home. The little spot with the cute patio overlooking
the happenings? Dry. The only nice place was a cab ride away. We were
then directed to a little cantina about a hundred yards down a dark
road. The patio proprietors assured us it wasn't very nice, but we went
anyway. We just wanted a beer.. How bad could it be???
 |
| Omar, my partner in crime. |
The bar was
an open air little place, with a palapa-style roof. We were greeted by a
drunk holding a jug, if I am not mistaken, and speaking a Spanish
slurry. There were less than ten people, all locals, and only one kind
of cerveza, one litre bottles of Sol. There was entertainment, a guy
with one of those one man band keyboards, and he wasn't all that bad.
The chairs were your cheap plastic patio chairs, and we found a table
with three of them. Before we
could sit down, a very obviously drunk woman came over and tried to
take my chair, which I grabbed back, and parked my behind in. That
should have been clue number one. That she grabbed a chair elsewhere and
parked herself beside me should have been clue number two. In fact I
had many clues, and as the senior missionary on this little jaunt with a
couple of medical students as my escorts, I should have recognized
them. But there I was, oblivious for quite the while. Like when she told
me I was "guapa", pretty, in Spanish. Even though I was with two young
male medical students, one who is from Mexico. Then she poked me on the
arm a couple of times. One of the students, Mark, asked my other
student, Omar, who is from Mexico, to ask her if she liked girls. Now
folks, that should have really clued me in to what was going on, but all
I thought was, why would he want to ask him to ask her that? We had
ordered 1 cerveza for our little toast, with three glasses
of
course, then the
senorita grabbed Omar's glass, well, plastic cup, and was going to swig
out of that. I grabbed it back and set it back to Omar. In Spanish, she
said that there were no more good looking girls in Chiapas, and I
received a few more shoulder strokes and an invitation back to her ranch
for drinks. If I had moved any closer to Omar, I would have been on the
other side of him. My brain finally hooked up its wires properly. In my
pitiful Spanish, I old her the guys were my boyfriends, that I liked
MEN, including the younger ones. That didn't stop her. In the meantime,
some other happy patron tried to pick a fight with Mark, who was
innocuously drinking his beer. Another patron intervened. Omar, ever the
gentleman, informed the senorita that we were Catholic medical
missionaries, you know how the truth will always set you free. Right. It
didn't. Mark's amigo tried again to pick a fight, the other patron
intervened again, physically (no punches, I swear!), the
senorita was getting upset because we had been laughing, then grabbed
our lonely bottle of cerveza and starting drinking from it. She calmed
down, we quickly finished what was in our glasses, and left, but not
before the senorita tried to buy another round. She reached into her
ample cleavage to retrieve her money, giving me a show that is
unfortunately burned into my memory. And the inebriated soul was still
outside with a cup this time. And that is why they don't let us loose.
The
absolute impossible happened on my way out to work this time. I missed
my flight. In 50 something years of travel, I have never missed a
flight. I had the 0640 flight to Winterpeg, the alarm was set for 0300.
In a flash of organizational productivity, I had totally packed my
suitcase the night before. All I had to do was pack my cooler in the
morning. The alarm went off. Actually, two of them, the one from the
Ridiculously Expensive Alarm Clock Known as the iPhone, and
the most annoying buzz in the world from my home alarm. Both got turned
off for the extra five minutes of sleep. I woke up at 0540. No food
packing, no shower, nada. I made it to the airport by six, and just
missed the cut off for catching my flight. A few f-sharps and $150
later, I had secured a seat on the next flight, which would still get me
to Winnipeg on time for the puddle jumper out here. And as I sat down
to a breakfast of grease at Coyote Jack's, I watched as the last folks
boarded my original flight. That the puddle jumper folks almost didn't
let me on the flight to St. Theresa's had me fit to be tied. They said I
was late, even though they had two flights scheduled to go at the same
time. Graciously, they gave me a seat on the second flight. My fellow
nurses were on the first one, and left promptly, non stop, at the
scheduled time. My flight boarded 20 minutes later. And I arrived here
before they did. I don't get it. It's the north.
I
was pleased to find some of the office staff had taken up golf while
working at the gym. That was for but a brief moment, until I realized
they were trying to get the mouse. It ran behind the photocopier.
The
gym was interesting to work in. The walls around the two stretchers
were velcro-ed gym mats. One stretcher had no brakes. One night we ran
out of oxygen in the big portable tank, while bagging a little girl who
wasn't breathing. The spare was at the other end, and somehow the dolly
to help transport it was MIA. A rather looming kind of man, a relative,
just bear-hugged the new one, and with Superman-like strength and speed,
picked the thing up like it was a toothpick and brought it to us. The
child was shipped out, and is back home now, laughing and skipping and
jumping around. Wonders never cease in this job.
We are now in the
new residence, spiffy-do, it is. I'm still looking for the fan in the
bathroom, in a place where mould is the most
common form of wildlife. I went to use the microwave, and it wouldn't
work. It is in a little box type open shelf at face height. I knew if I
got the thing out and down that I would never get it back up. And so
with moves that could grace a Cirque du Soleil performance, I managed to
teeter the thing on my shoulder, and inadvertently, my head, while
using two fingers to unwind the damned twist tie that held the tightly
coiled cord on the back of the stupid microwave, and then clawed my way
to the outlet behind it, without electrocuting myself.
Can anyone
explain the "Dream Machine" alarm clock? It's got time zones! Some
bright person, likely a man, threw out the instructions, and there are
six of us nurses in the building, and no one can figure the dang thing
out. Dream? Dream on, it's a bloody nightmare, that's what it is. Thank
goodness for the Ridiculously Overpriced Alarm Clock Known as the
iPhone. Provided you get up when it goes off.
And that
is my world for now.
