Snowpocalypse

So, as it snows...and snows...and snows...AND SNOWS outside, I have about 5000 (almost exactly) things to do, and no time to do them, but am TAKING time (out of snow-rage) to write a blog entry. Going to try the ol' "Sunday" blog day again, and see if that sparks me to keep writing. I have TONS of writing to do, but sometimes I find a bit of fun writing is necessary to keep the ol' brain alive!

ALIIIIIIIIIVE!!!

I'm back in Kamloops again, after eight lovely, strange, amazing, work-filled months in Sydney, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. The Brodie-McDavid Mission Home for Wayward Folklorists was a wonderful respite from the chaos of no job, living with family (like, rooms next to each other!!), and trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life. I wasn't sure what living with a 6-year-old would be like, but must say I enjoyed it immensely! I hope like hell the brain of a highly intelligent grade-one-r remembers me over time, as I'd like to keep up my friendship with this amazing little dude, and my good buddy. Jackson taught me a lot about Mario Bros, and how to make up a fast "young Minecraft Steve" story, and I laughed a lot. He was definitely a huge balm to my raw nerves.

Jodi and Ian were peaches, keeping me generally fed and alive, as well as helping me find great work teaching and researching and interviewing, and Ian helped get me set for thesis writing. Hope and the thought of actually being able to do the thing you had been terrified you could never in a million years do is an amazing thing. Who needs drugs when you've got the high of the graduate-student thought: "I think I might be able to pull this out of my ass!" You know it's a graduate student 'cause you still put that "I think" in there, as you're never really sure until it's done.

Had some great time with my pals in Halifax, and thanks again to Anya for putting me up a few times, and Steve for some delicious waffles and game time, and Whitney for a great movie, and Anne for a delicious lunch convo! I also went to Saskatchewan in August and got to meet some fantastic researchers there with the project I was working on, and that was amazing. Hard work and a lot of head filling stuff at a workshop, and yet still really fun.

The AFS 2014 conference in Santa Fe was a hoot, and I saw some great papers, and got to meet/reconnect with some wonderful folks. It's super great that 2015 will be in Long Beach, CA, meaning it's on my precious West Coast when I'm on this side of the country! Boo yeah!

I've been speaking with a few people, and it's funny how sometimes things seem to really BE happening all over at the same damn time! Like, everyone feeling kind of zippy, or down, or broke, all over the place, all in the same month or week. 2015, for whatever reason, seems to be the year of "realism." I've had a few years in the recent past where I said to myself, "This will be the year of ME! I will do amazing things! The planets will align and I will do everything I set my mind to!" And then...well...I don't know WHOSE year it was, but it certainly wasn't mine!

Now, this doesn't mean good things didn't happen in these years! Of course there were the usually ups and downs and sideways and below-stairs and garrets and all manner of "ways" that went on. But in general...things were not the grandiose years they honestly and truly felt they were going to be in my fat head.

And it's not just me! Several pals and family have stated the same thing: thoughts of grandeur and high hopes at the start of the past few years slowly fizzling to wading slowly through the slog of poop that was seeping through the foundation by the end of the year. Perhaps that's WHY we all kept making these grand statements. "Ok, my shoes are filled with some pretty disgusting poop here, so I guess I'm as low as I'm going to get, so hey, it's got to be better next year, right? Yeah...of course! No where to go but up! Yeah...YAH!!! Up we go! THIS is going to be the year of ME!"

Finally, so many people I've spoken to are in the same boat this year: "Well...I was slogging through some pretty disgusting poop this year, and my shoes all got pretty ruined. But hey, I guess my pants didn't get TOO saturated, and that's pretty good. I think this year I'm going to just manage things, and ensure the poop just gently kisses the floor, making it a bit sticky, and yeah, I'm not going to want to walk around with socks on, but I'll get those good rubber-soled shoes, and it's going to be ok! Yep! Just some small puddles of poop, and it will all be well."

Yes, I do have hope that not only will there be NO POOP (I mean, GAWD! It's a pretty gross metaphor, already!), but also lots of wonderful sunshine-y rainbow kitten kisses! However, if the poop leaks in and just kisses the floor, and I can pull on some good rubber-soled shoes, and still keep trodding along ok, I'm going to be just fine with that!

Realism wins. Good thing I'm a Virgo and we thrive on realism and highly critical expectations! Especially during a bloody Winter Snowpocolypse Storm that's not supposed to end for DAYS!

Happy New Year, everyone, and here's to Poop! Small, manageable amounts of poop.
And good shoes.

Sometimes It's Good to Come Home. Sometimes It's Good to Leave Again.

Or, How I Got Sent to the McDavid-Brodie Mission-Home for Wayward Folklorists

So, after my amazing sojourn in Iqaluit, I decided to come home. Ill and depressed at cancelling my New Orleans trip-one that would have been both fieldwork and AFS meeting combined-I headed to Kamloops, BC (after a lovely weekend with friends, and a reunion with my pal Crystle, in Ottawa--can you say hello Dinosaur Exhibit!!). I arrived depleted, mentally, physically and emotionally, and found some comfort in the bosom of my family. It was not my intention to stay. I was merely visiting on the way to a job and a place of my own, and I wasn't even supposed to be there until Christmas, so that's fine, I'll just have a nice visit and move along.

19 months later, I'm heading out.

I have never felt so unmarketable in my life. Dumbing down my CV (Curriculum Vitae for you non-academics, a compendium of a good majority of your work in teaching, publishing, grant-getting, jobs, etc., and the more on there--within reason--the better), I attempted to make a good looking resume. I applied to a plethora of jobs at the local university in admin, library work, curriculum development; and then I applied to a plethora of jobs through local, provincial and federal government sites, at museums, at other universities and colleges, at large mining companies, at hotels, all looking for administrative work, teaching work, cataloguing work: all the work I know I can do. No calls.

I dumbed down my resume and sent it out again.

A local bakery called looking for data entry for their very busy and growing business, and it would be my duty to ensure that all the next days orders, which come in from stores, restaurants, etc. the evening before, would be entered correctly, thus ensuring the computer program would tabulate the correct amounts of flour, yeast, etc. needed for that day's bake. I would also make invoices and packaging labels, and send the yummies out with appropriate labels to their various destinations. No sweat!! The woman who owned the bakery looked askance at my enthusiasm for the work, and said, "But your resume says you're very educated." Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand?????? Were you looking for the village idiot to saunter in, snatching buns and cookies off the shelves screaming, "YESSSSS!!" before devouring them faster than Cookie Monster can mash cookies into his cloth face, and then tell clients that bread makes you fat and mangle the entry program while kicking holes in the office wall?? I replied, "I can't think of many instances where having a good education would be a bad thing."

"Weeeelllllll," she replied slowly, "The job is very high stress, and let me tell you, it gets HOT back there, like, humid and hot. Because of the ovens. The bakers will pester you as they have to get dough proofing at night, and then come in at 5am to bake, and they will pester the life out of you asking if the orders are in, are the orders in. Then you have to shut the door, and it's just SO HOT. And if you get the orders wrong at all, it could lose us business, so it's EXTREMELY important you do the job right. If you don't, we could go down the drain."

I made a joke about wearing short shorts in the summer, we both laughed, and I said, no seriously, I was fine with the heat, a bunch of swearing bakers (did I mention they apparently all swear like sailors? Well, change that saying to swears like a baker!) didn't concern me, I was very detail oriented, and it would all be well. I would ask lots of questions at first, but one thing that fancy education taught me was cognitive thinking, and I felt sure I would be ok.

She started hemming about a trial, and then said, "Well, ok, if I call you, we'll have you in for a trial run, and see how you do. Oh, the job pays $10/hr, you work from 2pm to midnight every day except Sunday, you are not permitted to take holidays as there's no one else to take these orders, and if you don't have a car get one as we don't tolerate lateness and no busses run past 11pm."

Now, I've never been great at controlling my face. I know I can get all kinds of squiggly eyebrows, largened (it's a word!) eyes, strange grins, even an occasional double take.

She looked at me where (reading upside down is a skill I've developed) she had written "looks great for the job" she added "not sure." I asked her what the woman who was currently in the position was doing, and she said, "Oh, she wants to go back to being an accountant because she makes more money." Yeah, no shit lady.

I did not get a call back.

I put out more resumes, fine-tuned cover letters, asked friends and colleagues to look around for me, joke-pestered friends in the lower mainland to get me jobs, and asked about dossier writing. My mom, a dyed-in-the-wool, cradle-Catholic who has been a member of her (and my as a child) church, Our Lady of Perpetual Help (OLPH, or as we used to call it, Old Ladies Play Hockey) got the Sunday bulletin and discovered that the admin woman in the Bishop's office, located only a BLOCK away from me, was going on maternity leave and would need a replacement. The only major obstacle was that you needed to be an ACTIVE member of the church.

Not only am I not currently attending OLPH, but I do not identify as Catholic. Though I know it breaks my mother's poor heart, I doubt I'll ever identify as Catholic again, and have my own spiritual beliefs that are quite a bit outside her doctrine. However, when we talked she said, "Look, God knows you need a job, and that it would be healthy for you to be working. Maybe this will even bring you back to the church. If you say that you're a member, I'll back you up, and you were baptized there, so, there we go." So with that great mom-logic, I applied.

I had an interview the next week, and it was with Gary, a man my mom knew (not as a good friend or anything) through the church quite well. I went in and we had a great chat, lasting for over an hour. He also said, "As I look at this resume, I'm realizing you're quite educated (I had dumbed the damn thing down again!!), and I'm wondering if you would like this job." First of all, I love administrative work. I know, it's sick. But I do. So it was no lie to say that I would love the job. Second, I thought it would actually be an interesting experience to work there. I wasn't planning on taking down the Vatican from the inside, or anything, but seeing the workings of the business end of a local parish would be kind of cool.

He was lovely. Kind, funny, and he was FROM NEWFOUNDLAND! Why, Gary, I just spent ten years in Merry Newfoundland going to school. He had even hauled up a record of some 60s Newfoundland singing group he found in the church basement and was showed it to me. He told me how proud he was of my mother's accomplishments in the church (she used be quite the decorator, and made a multi-story painting of Mary for a jubilee year that was astonishing!!), etc., etc., blah, blah. I was positive I was a shoe-in for the job, and then as I was getting up to leave he said it.

"So, just to be honest, I already have someone in mind for the job, and am introducing them to the Bishop later today. I've known the girl all my life and know she'll do a great job, but it was mandatory we see other candidates, so.... Please extend my heartfelt thanks to your mother for all her years of service."

Nothing like being metaphorically crotch-punched by an administrator for a Catholic bishop.

After that, I'm not going to lie, I was desperate, on a pittance of student loan money, dealing with my family getting sick of my joblessness and depression, and was just kind of done. I shut down and didn't put in resumes, started doing whatever bits of work I could do for my dad, and just existed.

I'm kind of scattered and that whole, "If you want something done, ask a busy person" thing kind of sucks--that person is busy, let them get their work done for Pete's sake!! But, not having a regular job was actually crushing my spirit to do anything. Breathing was getting hard, to be honest.

But, much like a movie, like a heroic novella, like a heart warming tale in a doctor's office Reader's Digest, at my lowest point, help arrived.

Talking to Ian Brodie, old chum, former sessional prof, great folklorist and all around good egg, about applying for teaching jobs, and about how his folklore program at CBU came about, through messages and a super long phone chat it was revealed that I was doing terribly, at my wits end, and didn't think it was even possible to finish my thesis because I'm an idiot and didn't have enough information. Thanks to this righteous dude, I was quickly acquitted of 56 Counts of Idiocy (though 26 were left standing for the nonce. You heard me, nonce) and disabused of my notion that I had no research. I felt more positive and capable then I had in years, and started plotting some writing. (I should mention my awesome thesis group here as well: formed through AFS and the interwebs, Olivia, Tara, Amber and I are kicking ass and taking names!)

A few hours after our awesome convo (and after hearing Ian going to the wrong pizza place to pick up dinner, which was hilarious), he called back.

"I was talking to Wifey, and I know it's kind of crazy, but we think you should come to Cape Breton, live in our house, and we will help you to get working on this thesis. What do you think? Wifey says we can make this happen."

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa????

Yes, what do I think, indeed? Brain explosions and weirdness. Who would want me in their house for months?? Who would invite an interloper to come and live with them and their almost (now) six-year-old-child?? Didn't they have enough on their plates with a kid, house, jobs, research projects, etc., etc.?? And then the blessed darlings actually started SELLING ME ON THE IDEA!! We live in walking distance from this, and there are jobs here, and we'll give you a nice room, and there's space for everyone, and all will be well!!

I did need about a week to really think it over. It means leaving family--who can be crazy, but who I love. My mom, who has been alone a great deal of her life, has taken comfort in my being here to help. My brother, who can be a turd (he is my younger brother after all!!), has been happy to have a movie watching buddy and joke partner. My dad enjoyed that I worked with him, and I think we had some fun tooling around the Okanagan together. My parents are aging, I worry about my brother, I love BC. I just got back to BC from years away. But, I can honestly say that I have (and sorry for the intensity here) NEVER been more depressed, felt more defunct as a person, worried more, did less, got this sedentary and unhealthy, and cried like a little bitch. Not even my divorce broke me this much.

So, realizing I would be 50 times the fool to not take up this offer, I said yes, and started having anxiety dreams that everyone would hate me creaking around, and that I would lose this 6-year-old boy as he flees into the night, and that I would get in trouble for pooping too much. But I also started having all these thoughts about my future, and hope, and friendship, and passing in a finished thesis, and working and being functional, and returning home with a job already set up here and a more positive attitude. All that mushy stuff.

And so in a few short hours I need to get up, get on a plane and endure about ten or so hours of travel, and have a rockin' weekend with my good pal, Anya in Halifax, and then head with Ian to Sydney for two whole semesters. Jodi (Wifey, folklorist, old pal, former sessional prof, grant writing diva) has helped me secure a Research Assistant position with a cool-seeming professor, and I'm teaching Urban Legend later in the summer. I'm teaching two courses in the Fall, which is an embarrassment of riches, and I'm working on sundry other tasks for Room and Board, and, most importantly, WRITING. I'm not even sure what's happening, but I guess when you're both very, very bad and very, very good you get sent to the McDavid-Brodie Mission-Home for Wayward Folklorists.

Stay tuned for adventures!!

And it's so fucking great to say that again that I have to damn well swear like a bloody baker about it!

An Underground Expose on the Nunavut Health Care System (or) How I got my first I.V.!!

Somehow, I have made it to 40 (almost 41!! 2 weeks, yo!) without having spent more than a few cursory visits to the hospital. There were multiple (and I mean MULTIPLE) stitches visits to the emergency room from childhood up (the last major visit when I was about 13), and a few when I discovered I had a heart murmur (sometimes it tells me to do bad things, but I resist it…….but for how long….how long…..), and a few when I discovered I had some pretty major anxiety. But other than brief emergency room visits, or visiting friends/family, etc., I had avoided any major health-style incidents!

Until Nunavut. (heh heh…place being rather irrelevant, but ominous sounding, non?)

**Warning, this post is sometimes a bit gross, and often quite pathetic, and I guarantee will not be my best. In some spots it’s funny, but if you don’t like gross or pathetic, give it a miss!**

Sunday, September 2, 2012

So, I took Friday off so I could have an extra-long weekend, which was apparently a good thing, since it became an extra-short weekend. After spending a lot of time pissing around on my computer, watching movies, actually walking around the pond once or twice, and just generally living in pj-pants and filth, Sunday night I got up from my laptop and had the most intense “spins” I had ever had in my life. Like, the world literally started to revolve around me, spinning like a top, and I was watching my counters and calendar and bookshelf go round and round. It was awful, and I felt sure I was passing out, having a stroke, or being abducted by aliens! I was hoping it was something nearer the first, nothing to do with the middle, and only the last if it was those sexy aliens, not those little grey buggers.

I was sure I was going to upchuck dinner, and grabbed the phone pondering ambulance time (yet, Oh North, still aware in my sickened state of the high costs of your ambulance services!), when it started to settle. I was woozy, kind of scared, but getting under control. I figured I had spent way too much time on the computer, and would just take the phone to bed, and see if I could sleep.

Monday, September 3, 2012

I did indeed sleep, and woke up a little woozy, but not really worse for wear. I still had a whole day of holiday left (being Labour Day and all), so I could just relax and take my time. My pal Lynn was home from a brief leave of absence to the south, so I knew she was a couple doors away, and I just puttered about my day. However, I had two more very brief bouts of dizziness. In my hatred of all things “hospital” I felt nothing was so out of whack that I needed anything special happening, and so just tried to be easy, kept the phone with me, and decided if it still felt blerghy the next day, I would head to help. The dizzy was NOT fun, and at one point I was brought to my knees in front of my dryer, and I’m sure anyone peering in the window would think I liked laundry a little TOO much, but I still got the clothes out and folded! Boo yeah!

 Chores trump all!

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

(PS: I am picturing these dates in a rather Stanley Kubrick-esque, “The Shining” kind of way, with the sound of mashed and discordant string instruments or clash of symbols or something creepy after each subheading! Tuesday: CLANG!)

I made it into work, glad it would be a four day week, and though I was tired and a bit headachey, I was mostly thinking of all the stuff I had to do. So. Much. Stuff (said with as much self-importance as an “administrative officer” can muster). I made it all morning with only minor weirdness, but then, after lunch, things got what I can only term “interesting.” No, wait, not interesting…“fucking shitty!” Yep, that’s the term.

As I started back to work, the room suddenly started to spin so violently that I was positive I would upchuck lunch into my keyboard (you can never get vomit out of a keyboard!), or start mumbling something in some sort of demonic language that would only end up in me getting fired…or possibly promoted…on the spot!

I was whisked to the hospital, and I had kept everything pretty together (she said proudly in the face of adversity), and I got checked in with my little armband, and then I sent Renee back to work in case I had to get nekkid at some point, and waited to get to the back.

So. Many. Youth. Why are doctors so YOUNG now??? I felt ancient watching these youngun’s zooming around with their stethoscopes! Finally, I saw young intern S, who seemed miffed at everything I told her. She would ask me a series of questions, poke something, then go and consult. Ask, poke, consult. Ask, poke, consult. The vertigo had staved off again at this point, but didn’t feel far off. There seemed to be only three choices: a) a virus in my eardrums, b) the stones in my eardrums were off alignment or c) I don’t know so just go home and see what happens. No blood tests were taken, though my temperature was normal, and I didn’t seem to have specific pain, etc., so we tried option b) stones.

Benign Positional Vertigo can apparently happen when small “stones” or crystals in your ears are out of alignment, telling your brain you’re dizzy…or something or other. The way to fix this is to have you go from a seated position to a rapid laying position with your head tilted one way, whip your head the other way, roll on your side, and sit up. I am not a small gal, nor do I have a great back, and I’ll admit, when you feel the spins, thinking you’re going to whip your head around is kind of panic inducing. However, I was all for giving it the old college try. So, I flung my rather large frame into the hands of a girl the size of a small bundle of kindling twigs, and hoped for the best.

However, after flinging me around for a while, nothing shook. No dizzy spells, no “not” dizzy spells, so what the??? After a consult, I was sent home with Gravol, a prescription for some drug to settle the ears, and the hope that things would sort themselves out.

I got home around 8pm, called Lynn and then my mom to tell them what was happening, hung up the phone, and then promptly got dizzy and started vomiting everything I had ever eaten in my life out my word hole! I tried to get a Gravol down, but nope, there it was in the toilet! Since this wasn’t an Irvine Welsh novel, I left it there and tried another (hipsters and pretentious author types, note my crazy reference! Boo yeah!). I kept trying to lay down, but at one point I had to run to the bathroom, VOMITING IN MY OWN HANDS!!! At least I didn’t wreck the carpet!! And, though I swore to myself I would try to keep my dignity and not tell my own secrets so freely…since it’s so freaking funny AND pathetic in one foul swoop, I may have been vomiting hard enough to actually…well…pee a little…in my pants. HEY! Don’t judge me! I was sick and on the bathroom floor, so who the hell cares! I spent a lot of time making great friends with that toilet (oh god, porcelain is so cool on a hot, sweaty face!). I had long passed puking food, and only yellow bile was coming out (a taste I shall not soon forget), until finally I was so tired and done that I slept for a while.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

After a rough night, Lynn, who had her friendship bond sorely tested through this ordeal!!, got my prescription for me and helped me get a pill down. By the way, the pills are meant to be taken with food….HA HA H AHA HA HAAAA!!! Yeah, ok. It didn’t really matter as that didn’t stay down all that long either. I called Lynn back, told her what was up, and she said she was coming to take me to the hospital!

 

My growing number of hospital wristbands.

I tried to rally myself for the trip, but by the time she got to my wee bachelorette pad, I was back on the bathroom floor in slightly biled (but not peed!) pjs, and was not in any space to do much about it. Lynn, the amazing creature that she is, bustled around and got stuff I would need in a hospital, found me a baggie to barf in on the way, and then hauled me off to the Qikitani General!

She got me re-checked in and then sat with me as I barfed bile into a baggie in a room full of strangers! I tell ya, kids: That’s some crazy friendship right there! She even took the used baggie, tossed it, and got me a new one so I wouldn’t have to keep the old one under my schnozz! The spins were not quitting, and so we finally got back to triage, I got a bit of poking and prodding, and then we were back in the comfy chairs to wait it out. After quite a while we were moved to a bed, and I started to rally a bit. Lynn saw a hilarious sign for protective gear that had a small dog in a frog costume (what the ???), and took a pic, but she can’t get them off her cell phone! I may update at a later date!

I went about a half hour with no disgusting junk coming out of me, or spins, and was just talking about, “Ain’t that always the way! You get to the hospital and are miraculously cured!” Yeah…as the doctor walked in, the spins had started again and I was basically barfing stomach butter into a new garbage bag! I couldn’t even talk, and have only a vague awareness of Lynn giving some information (hopefully not about that incident in Tijuana! HA HA! Joking!) (PS: Why does Tijuana get such a bad rap…sheesh…I’m sure many lovely things, like weddings and birthdays, also happen there.) and then I heard, “Yeah, let’s get her on an I.V., get some Gravol in her, and then I’ll come back when she can talk.” Heh heh…spooked the doctor away!

By the time I was getting my first I.V., I think they could have asked to slice my head open and I would have been relieved something was happening. I hardly felt it, and was so done at that point, I didn’t really care. I’m glad, as the thought of a needle pumping crap into a vein in the tender back of my hand would normally not have gone down so well. I was still sick as a dog, but I did calm down enough to talk. The doctor again indicated that maybe they needed to flip me around until they knocked something loose in my head (a suggestion I’m sure many a friend, family member, or professor has had in the past!) but he wanted to give me some rest first. Knowing it would be several hours before anything happened, Lynn (who had stayed till 11:30 p.m., holding my hand, rubbing my back as I vomited, taking pictures of my I.V. at my request, and just generally being awesome!) went home.

 

Since I can't currently access the actual I.V. shot, here is the pinprick on the back of my hand. Much less thrilling, but there you go.

I spent a LONG and exhausting night in the E.R., as they closed the curtain and I attempted to sleep till morning. At around 5am, I had to shout for a nurse to help me get to the bathroom, peed (not in my pants! Huzzah!!!! And thanks to kind Nurse A., who was a doll!), and then after I got back into the bed vomited for a while, and then dozed off. And man, those beds ain’t the kind at the Ritz!

Thursday, September 6, 2012

When the doc got to me in the morning he used the ol’ tuning fork on me, but my tinitus fooled THAT plan by hearing sound LONG after it had receded! He then decided to try the flippy thing again, and I was thankful I got through it without vomiting on his pants (which he also thanked me for!), and was surprised HE didn’t vomit on his pants from my bile-breath. He said my eyes were jumping around like crazy, but he wasn’t sure what was up, and then asked if I wanted to go home to try some Gravol and see what happened. I answered by vomiting into the kidney-shaped bed pan and crying, so I got admitted. If you ever need to get admitted to a hospital, you now know what to do.

I was so grateful for the whole “We will move you and your whole bed and roll you into another bed” thing that I was profusely thanking nurses and everyone who passed! I got put onto the baby ward in the hottest room I have ever been in (like, Sauna hot!), next to a poor wee, though noisy, 5-week old baby. Wee ha! I was pumped full of saline and Gravol and slept like a monkey on saline and Gravol who had just survived a tough night in the hospital.

At some point a little man put some lunch on a table. I attempted to indicate “no lunch” by sort of waving my bed pan at him, but he left it there “just in case I got hungry later.” Thankfully when Lynn came to check on me she had it removed. I was pretty out of it still and man, I was hugging that bed pan like a beloved ragdoll! Seriously, the kidney shape makes it fit into your arms and cradle your boobs perfectly! I was supposed to see a doctor, but he never came, and nurses only came to change my bag of juice and take me to the bathroom. Finally, around supper time (which was again left on my tray and had to be removed by a nurse before I puked on her shoes) I started to rally. I was hot as dog’s balls in the desert, and thankfully Lynn had found a fan at lunch to blow on me, and I was starting to hear babies crying even when I’m sure they weren’t. I still hadn’t had my blood taken, and was sure I was going to be forgotten in this weird hot room forever.

Around dinner, I started to slowly rally again, and noticed that I could see the clock, and that I hadn’t thrown up in a while. I went pee, and then made it back to bed myself! I again had dinner removed (I have no idea what it was, but it smelled like death!) and then had a visit from my pal, co-worker and work overlord, Janelle. I was so thankful to see her, but I have never met a more “animated” person in my life! It was bloody nice to see her though, and I badgered her to catch me up on work stuff, and then off she went again.

I was starting to feel better and better, and actually was allowed some apple juice and water! Lord, that apple juice tasted SO good. Well…anything would have tasted better than what was swimming around in my mouth! By the time Lynn came back after supper, I was starting to feel less crazed in the brain, and after she helped me wash my hair and face, brush my teeth (OH GOD! SO GOOD!!) and get some clean clothes and such (like I said, friend bonding, man!) I was feeling a lot better. Then another work pal showed up, Lindsay, and brought me granola bars and fruit and books. Unfortunately at the moment I could not handle any of it, but it was so lovely to see her! One thing about Iqaluit: people come see you in the hospital! Makes you feel pretty damned special, though I’ll admit, it’s a special I could have done without as I would have rather seen them at home! *sigh*

After visiting hours were over, I was actually starting to feel kind of starved and did NOT want to be in bed, and the bed was SO uncomfortable! I asked if I could have crackers, but apparently there were none. I was sad. Sad for crackers. I heard a rumour of snack time, and some digestives, but I didn't remember to ask for any, and missed them! Needless to say, I dived into Lindsay’s bag of tricks and ate a handful of almonds and part of a nut bar like an animal. It all stayed down, and the spins were still at bay, so I suddenly felt like fleeing! However, one more night in the Qikitani for me!

Friday, September 7, 2012 FINAL DAY!

After one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life, including no sleep, lots of having to unplug my I.V. machine to take trips to the bathroom, beeping of machines, the bed being bent at ALL the wrong angles no matter how much I monkeyed with it, and my I.V. hand itching like crazy, I was pretty done. Since the doctor had not made it to me the day before, I was praying I was on the top of the list for the morning. After washing up a wee bit I made friends with the grandma of the baby next to me, and heard her life story! I spoke to some other baby mamma’s and daddy’s, and pestered the nurses till I’m sure they were ready to bitch slap me back into Vertigo City! I was ready to be sprung!

 The doctor finally came to see me, pronounced me generally healthy (at least neurologically speaking!), and I could go in a bit. Lynn came at lunch again, and like a good luck charm I was suddenly sprung, with the promise to get further check ups at a later date. Lynn did not come alone…she came bearing a big flower bouquet and …wait for it…a helium dinosaur balloon!!! All from the gals in the Policy Dept. and is it bad that I loved the dinosaur even more than I loved the flowers?? Though I loved the flowers, too. So spoiled.  

 

Gifts from the Policy Gals!

Made me so happy!!

I literally could not get out of there fast enough, and though I was still pretty weak and weird, I just wanted to bolt! I think my first foray into being sick enough to go to the hospital was pretty over. And I very much hope to not repeat it any time soon.

And now…

I’m feeling a lot better, though I think my fevered brain was thinking that as soon as I wasn’t dizzy anymore, I would be totally fine. I kind of forgot to factor in the not eating, violent vomiting, on fluids, etc. things. So, I’m slow, tired, and still pretty headachey. The verdict is that “we may never know what it was” which is not exactly satisfactory, but I’m wondering if it was a viral infection that needed some time and sleep to deal with.

Regardless, I’m bloody grateful the hospital was there as I would NOT have been able to deal with that state of dizziness, not keeping food down, etc. on my own. And I’m desperately thankful to Lynn for taking me in hand (once again) and keeping me going! I’m even more grateful that the curse a local witch must have actually cast on me is over, and that they have relented, as what else could it really be.

I am not grateful for bile. Though I suppose it was satisfying to throw SOMETHING up when you’re gagging. So, maybe I am slightly grateful to it. Heh heh…disgusting.

Ok, not a very exciting post, and not very fun, but ‘tis better than telling this sad story several times over. I promise you this! I will never go on a merry-go-round or any “spinning” device for the rest of my life! GAH!!!!

Peace all! And keep healthy!

 

PS: Lindsay: I made a "make me feel better smoothie" out of your gift fruit when I got home! Hee!

 

My smoothie with nectarine, kiwi, and banana from Lindsay!

Of course I'll feel better after this!

Happy Mother's Day, and Happy Two Weeks to Me, From the Top of the World!

Well, I’ve survived two weeks in the North!

Leaving St. John’s was an incredibly mixed-emotion salad. I was desperately glad to be finished with the awfulness of packing, shipping things, cleaning, hauling suitcases around, going up and down three flights of stairs a MILLION times! I’m super grateful to those who helped me in any way they could during that time, as it was just painful. Plus, trying to pack and organize stuff to ship to the North to LIVE in the North, while also remembering that I will be going straight from the North to the extreme South (read: hot!), is confusing. Thankfully, I remembered to pack the rubber boots in my suitcases and the sandals in the boxes I shipped to myself, so all is well.

The final couple days in Merry old Sinjan’s was pretty nice. I had a sleep over with the very first friends I had made in town, and after cleaning all day, it was damned sweet to have bbq, silly horror movie and sleep on squishy and comfy futon. Thank you Ginny and Blair. The final night was back downtown, just two doors up from my old place, at Emily and Andrew’s. After my final walk through (which went fine, though it was weird to see the place I had been in for almost 7 years looking all empty and such), and a panic about my heavy suitcases so a dash to the mall to get a third, me and Emily and our pal Cynthia had a nice dinner (thank you for paying ladies!), and then me and Em went to see a final and ridiculous rom-com and had to sit in the 2^nd row with our necks craning as frozen yogurt had become our main priority! Good times.

I almost had a mini-breakdown in the airport as the suitcases made it onto the belt to be loaded, and me and Emily were saying goodbye, but I sucked it up before I ended up looking like a mascara-running crazy woman who would no doubt get a “special” welcome by airport security!

 A hop to Halifax and a jump to Ottawa later found me at the lovely airport hotel, overlooking a lovely dirt field! I don’t know about you, but you haven’t really lived until you’ve seen a dirt field in our nation’s capital!

                     Visions of Ottawa                    

                                                     ~some sort of official looking flags~ 

                                                                       ~cause this is just hilarious~

                        ~tiny Ottwa...where I deeply mourned my forgetfulness and realized I did not have my gnome~

                                                          ~Fancy hotel...does NOT have view of dirt field~

                                                                        ~Ottawa Canals~

 I hemmed and hawed about being tired and broke, but then finally got a grip on myself and headed down to meet gal pal Cristina in town for dinner. I splurged on the way there and took a cab (which wasn’t very expensive actually), and then had the BEST chat with the cab driver. I always do, but this was hilarious as we started talking and I told buddy that I had been living in St. John’s, was going to the North, had been to England, Paris (for a weekend), Nova Scotia, Ontario, Quebec, New Orleans, and to think, I hadn’t even been on a plane before my trip to St. John’s at 33!!! He got all excited and said that he was thinking of making a big move out of Ottawa, and he was 33, and that I totally inspired him! Viva la moi! We joked around and had a great chat, and then talked for a few more minutes on the curb downtown, and both agreed that it was a great cab ride! Poor Cristina thought that perhaps I didn’t have enough money to pay the driver, and was trying to talk my way out of the fare! Then she remembered it is me, and I would talk the hind leg off a donkey, so all was well…

Had a great dinner at a pub (can’t remember the name...damn it!) (and also, thanks for the dinner, Cristina!!), and then walked around looking at stuff and taking pictures. Ottawa is very pretty, but very official looking, in a hipster kind of way. I enjoyed the hang out, and being ridiculous and weird in a new city, and then took the bus back to the airport, and the shuttle back to the hotel, and had a hot bath, and went to bed.

Next day I was on First Air to the North. There was some confusion at the airport when a First Air employee came up and asked me what my priority was for my three checked bags. I asked her what she meant, and she said, “Which one do you want to arrive with you on the plane. The rest, depending on room, may arrive on a cargo flight later on.” Still somewhat confused and not meaning to be saucy, I said, “But they all have priority. There’s underwear in all of them. They’re like my children; I want them all to land with me.” She gave me a strange look, sighed, and tiredly said, “There is sometimes not enough room in the cargo hold of the airplane, in which case we will make sure one priority bag definitely gets loaded. The rest will come later in the afternoon, but you need to tell me now which one gets priority.” “Oh…well, the big one I guess.” My figuring went that the big one would have the most stuff in it, as well as be the most pain-in-the-ass to get to my new domicile, so might as well get that one out of the way first.

As luck would have it, everyone’s stuff made it on. We sat on the tarmac in Ottawa for a half hour extra to make sure it did. I was fine with that.

Wedged into my seat (though I did bravely get up and pee when the dude in the middle seat did as well, though I hate asking people to move….’spose it’s better than asking their forgiveness for peeing on them), I thankfully fell asleep-ish for a bit. I am one of those nervous flyers who never put their seat back, as I don’t like to infringe on other people’s space, and so don’t sleep well on planes. There’s a lot of weird head jerking and snorting and I once heard myself sort of moan-sigh as I started to fall asleep, and then jerked myself awake with embarrassment! Thank god for loud engines…when they invent silent airplane cabins, I’m gonna be in trouble.

I woke up and rubbed some grit out of my eyes, drank a bit of water, and the guy in the middle seat sort of nudged me and then pointed out the window. Frozen. Tundra. Baby. Very weird to look out and just see the frozen, white North, and bits of rock and the pale blue of a winding river or waterway. I looked at the dude in the middle seat, a very cute French West African who had let me watch his soccer game on his iPad earlier, and we both sort of smiled, and also shook our heads in a very “What the fuck are we doing here?” kind of way.

~Nunavut~

The landing was a tad rocky, but fine, and I was super happy to see the smiling and gorgeous face of my pal, Lynn! After wrangling my suitcases on the one little conveyor belt (kind of runs along a wall) and laughing at the sheer number of them (and I also noticed how battered they were. They went to England, to the States, back and forth across all of Canada several times, and yet one trip to the North totally monkeyed them…viva la North!), and stuffed them into the jeep, and then bumped our way into town!

The roads here are BUMPY! I mean, if you DON’T have kidney cancer when you get here, the sheer bumping will most likely cause some. Or some sort of ass-bone crackling. I ensure that I have taken a good long pee before I get into any vehicle here, or lord help me, there’s going to be another “elevator” style story here! (read last post…and if you haven’t yet, shame on you. It’s hilarious)

We made it to my new digs at the end of the Road-to-Nowhere. No. Seriously. That’s where I live now. In the second-to-last building on the Road-to-Nowhere. It’s awesome. And I’ll take this moment to also express gratitude to Lynn and Kevin (HELL-O 6’6” of manly hilariousness! Phwoar! You heard me Lynn.) for the use of Kevin’s old bachelor pad. I LOVE having my own space, and it was lovely to unpack and poop in peace.

                                                      ~view of kitchen from living room~

                                                                ~view of front door~

                                                       ~view from front door--to the front...~

                                    ~...to the right (and towards Lynn and Kevin's place and the goat path...~

                                                        ~...to the left and the end of the Road-to-Nowhere~

Went to Lynn and Kev’s (only two doors down!) for supper, but when I first arrived my “goat path” between buildings was still covered in snow and ice, and my poor tiny fat legs just would have flung me to the road below a 4’ drop off some rocks. So we headed to the road and up we went. After supper we headed to the Northmart for supplies, and I suffered my first (though I’m sure not my last, and ever present) case of “sticker shock.” How much for toilet paper?? 50$ for 24 rolls of the good stuff?? 15$ for a small jar of instant coffee? *cue scenes of people fainting and/or dying of starvation/unwiped butts here*

Yep. The North is expensive. Especially when you haven’t made the infamous Northern Money yet. Well, thanks to a few people helping out, I had money for very expensive groceries, and we headed home. Next day I just got organized, and cleaned and sorted cupboards, and finished unpacking, sent out a MILLION resumes and looked outside in wonderment. The day after, I took a cab (all cabs are 6$ per person, regardless of where you’re going, and sometimes already have folks in them, but you just jump in and everyone eventually gets dropped off!) to the Nakasuk Elementary school and dropped off my resume for supply (substitute) teaching opportunities. That evening I had wing night at the Legion. You heard me. By Friday I had a supply teaching gig for that afternoon, and a job offer for the gov of Nunavut (GN) in the Health and Social Services division (sub-division: Population Health) to start on Monday. Can I just say, in hindsight, that after that teaching experience, I am desperately thankful for the GN job!!

Friday afternoon I nervously headed back to the Nakasuk Elementary school to take over a Grade 5 class. There was a lot of confusion as I was told to meet them at the “Green Door” after lunch, and all the teachers meet their students and walk them to the classrooms, and I kept finding the “Red Door” and then taking this little hallway which led to the library and back around, and then finally found the “Green Door” and saw the children coming in and all was well. Well…almost…. When the class came in and someone said that I was replacing their teacher, they had me marked. Like, deer in a headlights, so let’s just calmly get out the shotgun from the back seat and take this doe down, marked.

~Nakasuk Elementary School...yes, there are some odd buildings here.

This "stacked marshmallow" being just one of them~

They ran up the stairs without me, with only one little gal shouting after them, “We have to go with the teacher!!! Come on, I’ll take you up.” (thank the lord for those few “nerdy but good” kids in class who help you out and remind you of tests and where the classroom is…heh heh) I finally wrangled them and took roll (I’m still fearful I missed a couple) and then we looked at a beaker of water and noted how much had evaporated since last week, and then we marched to the library to meet an author. Two other grade 5 classes met with us, and it was kind of hilarious to watch them try and sit still, and as the author (a very nice seeming chap) read from his latest kids novel and talked about writing, and some boys were rolling around on the floor or throwing each other’s shoes into the centre of the circle and then trying to surreptitiously “snake” their way to get it, all with other teachers attempting to quietly wrangle them.

Plus, I think I am WAY too immature to teach children. At one point, the author mentioned that a character was hiding in a bush…two young boys started mouthing the word “Bush” to each other and erupting into full body-convulsing giggles. But, dear reader, though I did it much more sneakily, SO WAS I!!! Later, the author was teaching us how to create characters, and told everyone to give him something to be, and then ask him questions AS that character. Finally, someone said, “You’re a dog” and he went with it. When one young gal asked him what colour he was, he said, “brown on my top, but black on my underside.” This caused MASSIVE giggling from EVERY child in the circle. Another (and very kind) teacher named Meghan looked over at me and mouthed, “What’s so funny.” DUH!!!! They thought he meant the dog’s BUTT!!! I mean, c’mon! Keep up here people! This is high comedy happening!

After losing several children in the hallway on the way back up to the classroom, I managed to get them all in and they met with a language teacher. This was somewhat confusing for me, as apparently learning Inuktitut meant watching an English and VERY 1970s video on caribou in the North. Weird. After the language teacher left we were supposed to have physical education, but thankfully (I figured dying of a heart attack in front of a bunch of impressionable 11 year olds would not really be cool) it was gross out, so we had it indoors. However, this apparently meant “free for all” and “this chick has no authority” and the boys started a rowdy game of handball in the side room, and the girls started writing out and illustrating Adele lyrics on the board. My little helper gal told me this was fine as long as the boys didn’t get too violent and we erased the board after. So…let them have their handball and Adele lyrics, was what I said.

After forcing a girl to get out of a small cupboard, stopping the boys from whipping tennis balls at each other’s groins, and telling one girl that the wealth of school supplies and books she was “just going to take home for the weekend” should stay behind until she asked her teacher, it was a few minutes until class change and I felt I had to gather up the troops before more senior officers arrived to see my shameful class management. Meghan was going to come and teach my guys something mathy, and I was going to her class to teach reading comprehension. Since they were all pretty worn out from all the playing, cupboard un-wedging and attempted-theft, I got them in their seats and asked them for advice on what I needed to know about Iqaluit and the North.

I got some advice on bug spray in the spring/summer, warm jackets, to avoid boys who collect spiders and throw them at girls (can I just get an AMEN to not being in grade school anymore!), I finally got a nice, juicy contemporary legend. I had already been told that polar bears have not really been in the city limits for yonks, and that hunters usually had to go out a fair distance to find them. When we had been in the library for the reading, I noticed a polar bear (in bear-skin-rug form) on display (no one could stand on him, etc.). So, I was told by the grade 5’s that I had to really, really watch out for polar bears!

Me: But I heard from my friends that there haven’t been any polar bears in the city limits for a loooong time.

Them: Ooh no! You know the bear skin in the library? That was a bear that was harassing the kindergarten graduation last year, and they had to shoot it to save the kids!

Me: Really? The kindergarten graduation? 

Them: Oh yes, it was scary!

I honestly don’t think they were pulling my leg, but very much believed that this story was true. And I’m certain that the story has been “on the go” for a while, and will continue on in some fashion. Or that there are other stories about how that polar bear skin got in the library. I love it. Contemporary legend in action.

Thankfully the kids were mostly calm (and tired out) by the time Meghan got there, and so I went and introduced myself to a WHOLE new group of crazy grade 5’s, had no control of them or their reading comprehension exercise for an hour, and then finally got to go home.

I. Have. Never. Been. More. Tired. Or. Defeated.

Teaching kids = Not my bag.

Thankfully, I had my new government job to go to on Monday. I’m mostly just helping out where I can, and doing odd jobs and reports. I’m not going to say it’s the best job I ever had, as I do NOT think I’m cut out to be a full time government office worker, but I did survive my first week ok. It’s going to take a lot to get used to good, old 8:30 to 5 Mon-Fri again. As a grad student there were times I had three jobs, papers due, readings to be done, grading, etc, and felt as though I was working 24 hours a day! But sitting in an office for 8.5 hours in front of a computer makes me TIRED!! As stink! It’s also weird to examine government responsibility to community, particularly the indigenous folks here, from the inside. I’m sure there will be a lot of strange but interesting things to think about, which will help pass the time. The folks are nice, I’m on the same floor as Lynn, and I’m starting to get in the groove, which is all very reassuring. I feel strongly that the more work I have to do, the more the days will pass quickly, so I’m hoping for more work as the days go on. If I have to read more manuals on Population Health initiatives or the Health and Social Services business plan, I may scrape my eyeballs out and pin them on my cubicle wall and call it a day.

Though there is still sticker shock a plenty, I also discovered the Ventures! The other major grocery store, it’s a cool compact building with a Source store on an upper floor on one side, a general “stuff” store with tons of Northern books for sale and a video rental place on an upper floor on the other side, and then groceries and kitchen goods on the main floor below. They also pipe freaking crazy music out the front of the building and I am totally fascinated by this! It’s the 7/11 (or other corner store) version of classical music to keep the teens away. This keeps people from hanging out, begging, being crazy, being a teenager, etc. outside the store, and I’ve heard crazy fiddle music, Bollywood, classical, show tunes, and Kevin said he heard the Metric Song (youngsters or Americans, here’s a video of some children singing it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FaRXCZpHXk)

I am also obsessed with the frozen breakwater, and will post pictures as soon as I get them. The ocean is frozen along the shoreline, and as the pack ice forms (with the tides and waves packing it in along the shore) it rises up chunks and rocks and weirdness, and it’s the coolest thing ever. It looks like some weird land formations from a fantasy novel, and the fact that it gets so cold the salty ocean is frozen just amazes me. I am going to try and take a series of pics as it melts.

               ~I am an internet picture theif...but this is a great shot of Iqaluit with the frozen ocean pack ice. I love it!~

So, yes, so far so good. I’m sometimes a little lonely—not for company, per say, as I kind of like my space, as my poor friends know and deal with constantly—but perhaps for cheap food, more springy spring and familiarity. But that’s only a tiny part of me, and I’m mostly feeling rather chuffed at being here, and looking forward to explore more of the tiny town, and also (and I know this sounds like crazy talk) to get working hard on thesis stuff. I’m hoping I’ll get lots of work to help pass the time at the GN. I am not looking forward to the forthcoming bugs, but I am to the forthcoming arctic hare sightings (despite being told they would attack me…thank you Kevin!) (PS: telling me that did cement that we will be great friends though….), and going to the little movie theatre, and hanging out with good pals.

Viva la North!

Now, to go eat an 80$ yogurt.