Why I Wonder if I am Cut Out For This

I was putting off writing about him as every time he crossed my mind, my eyes would involuntarily well up and that lump in my throat would appear.

Now as I sit to write the kilometers are stretching out between us and it has been days since I held his tiny hand in mine. Or rather that he spun his misshapen fingers around mine, holding my index in his soft grasp. I could feel the tiny nodules that marred every joint on his underdeveloped body. I was afraid of putting too much pressure anywhere that would invoke pain. I handled his body like he were made of blown glass. Unlike his mother who dragged him in to my office, her arms encircled under his armpits, the rest of his body hanging awkwardly as she walked forward. Her body banged into him with every step.

He wasn't diagnosed with the congenital disease known as Farber's Syndrome until he was three years old, which was long past his life expectancy. Born to a mother who was 14 and looked like an emaciated 12 year old. It felt perverse imagining Paulassie's conception. Her expression shifted from vacant stare to passively disinterested. She was there, but not really. I wondered about fetal alcohol effects when I spoke to her. So instead I addressed Paulassie's grandmother, who seemed to be not only the primary care giver, but also the only wage earner in a house that supported six people.

His disease was essentially autoimmune, like asthma or arthritis. So few cases documented even the massive search engines online turned up only vague references to the disorder or obscure articles in foreign medical journals. Their bodies bent on destroying their own tissues so efficiently that the children rarely lived past 6 months. Their swallowing mechanisms were faulty resulting in many pneumonia's due to aspiration, their eyes were affected by severe astigmatism which made vision nearly impossible, and their joints would be covered in painful nodules which deformed them beyond function. Their larynx also suffered degeneration which caused these babies to have a distinctive hoarseness. The part that I wished I didn't know, was that when these children died and their brains were autopsied it showed that most had entirely normal brains. Thus many live with cognitive functioning that remains untouched. They are tiny creatures trapped inside a ramshackle body, minds intact.

And so there he was in my office that day. His eyes moving back and forth so quickly that it was obvious that he could not be focusing on anything, any attempt to do so was futile. He had a cough that shook his entire body but he lacked the ability to expel the phlegm which rattled his chest with each breath. He seemed listless but alert. A vulnerable little being on the stretcher. I examined him and shuddered at the sound produced by his lungs, causing me to reflexively clear my own throat.

At first it seemed to me to be a routine examination of a handicapped child who had a nasty lower respiratory tract infection. I spoke with his Grandmother about the importance of thickened fluids, his antibiotic regimen, antipyretics, etc. It was the end of the day and I was anxious to take my long overdue lunch break. What more could I do? I didn't know anything about this disorder except what was outlined in his care plan. I was hoping this visit was almost over. His Grandmother remained still. It became evident that she was not ready to leave.

Then she mentioned their last trip to the Sick Kids hospital to see a specialist, it became clear to me that there was a bigger question in front of us.

At age 4, Paulassie had long outlived other children suffering the same disease. At some point there would be a mark of deterioration, a place where the medical care would shift from multi faceted to palliative. But we didn't know when the point was going to be.
He had been ill for several weeks now, the last course of antibiotics seemed to only marginally improve his health. Yes, it could be viral, but it could be worse than that.

As his Grandmother spoke of their trip South, she told me she would never return Paulassie to a specialist again. "He never treated us like we were people, he never shut the door to his office when he looked at Paulassie, he started doing something on his computer and ignored us." By the end of her remarks she was crying. She was a proud Inuit woman, one of the leaders in this community. A respected Elder. She supported her children, husband, and handicapped grandson. I couldn't help but wonder what the eyes of the specialist saw when he looked at her, or her grandson. Perhaps he thought she didn't understand the situation, that she was simple. How could he explain to her the complicated nature of Paulassie's disease, the likely outcomes? So why bother? Her English wasn't impeccable but I was sure his Inuktitut would have been pathetic.

Maybe it was he that didn't understand. That when you raise a child that is in pain, deformed, and requiring care 24h a day you understand the situation on levels than can never be expressed in any language. Dissected by any specialty. You understand that your own heart aches with such heaviness you dare not even hint at it's weight, for if you did you would surely buckle under the burden.

And so it was there in my gray office, as the snow swirled outside and the wind howled, she asked me without saying a word--was this the beginning of the end? And without making a sound I replied--I don't know.

Paulassie smiled and stroked my finger with his own. He twisted his face toward the voice of his Grandmother while we spoke. I looked down at this sweet natured little being who knew not what was spoken, and what was being left unsaid.

Now the tears simply rolled down her face as she tried to convey her fears and her love for Paulassie. Struggling for words she dropped her hands in defeat,

"he is my heart".

Perhaps all that I learned that day has yet to be revealed to me. What I carry now is an attempt at understanding where people are 'coming from' when we see them out of context in Big Hospitals. Here to see The Specialist. For some it is a journey of 1000km, a language barrier, and a claustrophobic city full of strangers. Unfortunately we can never know where people are truly 'coming from'. Yet I think it is something to consider. Sometimes we can't know that when skimming over a respiratory illness in a small child, we may be holding someone's heart so delicately in our hands.

Another Day on Call in the Arctic

I miss working. I can't believe I just wrote that. It's true though. Feeling nostalgic today I was reading through my journal from last fall when I was working in a remote Inuit community in the Western Arctic. It makes me antsy to get back into the trenches. A year is a long time to be away. Here it is:

I actually was part of saving a man's life today.
Cut my finger trying to eat a muffin.
And watched some bad Canadian television.

It was so interesting to see the events of the day unfold in a dream-like sequence...I felt like I was watching it all from behind glass, yet so in it I could barely raise my head above the smell of benzoin. The benzoin was being used as a tacky assistant, since the EKG stickers were sliding off the patient as fast as we toweled him and applied them. The cold sweat seemed to travel down his body like a clear oil slick, removing all our feeble attempts at securing I.V's and electrodes to get a heart tracing. The benzoin's sap-like consistency anchored our only diagnostic tool.

A garbage bag curtain hid the unfolding ice storm as inside we swirled around our most diaphoretic, nauseated, hypotensive, peripherally shut down patient.

I had been assessing a young man's knee when Jane burst into my office. She can get a bit dramatic near the end of her stints so I wasn't fazed at first. "Uhh...I think I've got an M.I in my office." M.I is medspeak for myocardial infarction, a.k.a 'heart attack', a.k.a 'a jammer'. I asked my patient to hold tight. I love cardiac stuff. It's a throwback to my old ER stomping ground that was in the heart (pun intended) of the silver tsunami which is the West Coast. Cardiac emergencies are interesting, challenging, emergent. Emergent is a nice change from the doldrums of most ER care which revolves around abdominal pain, back pain, flus, colds, headaches, lacerations, psyche, and the odd trauma.

I happily left the twisted knee and went into the trauma room. There, slumped on the stretcher was a very distressed Inuit man. He was clutching the center of his chest with one arm and failing around, grasping at air with the other. He was moaning loudly and the sweat was literally flying off him. His tan skin had somehow managed to take on a ghastly gray/green tinge and I could immediately see that we were in for the long haul with this chap.

No cardiac monitors, defibrillators, no I.V pumps. I was used to these constraints in settlements but cardiac problems are so rare that normally I don't notice it. I wheeled the EKG machine to the bedside as our only means of 'cardiac monitoring' . He was in v-tach. This was glaringly obvious the second I fired on the EKG with help from Jane, who was starting I.V's and trying desperately to have the leads stick to his chest which was as slippery as the frozen ground outside.

A heart beating 240 times a minute is more like a fluttering wing than a pumping muscle. When this happens oxygenated blood does not get to the right places. Where the blood is not perfusing the starved cells begin to die. One place that doesn't get the supply it needs is the heart in these situations. And in these cases, minutes mean muscle.

It was bad. Maybe a pressure palpable at around 65 systolic. I was scared and excited and intrigued all at the same time. I was loving it.

I hate to admit to the morbid love of real emergency situations but really it is such a charge.
At one point I remember looking at him, curled in the fetal position with his sweaty hair plastered to his face, a shiny gray, and thinking to myself, "he is going to crash. He is going to crash and we have no electricity to do anything. He is going to crash. Are we going to tube him? Is he maintaining an airway?"

He was gulping for air despite the 10L NRB mask on and the nasal prongs at 4L. Gulping! And we couldn't get an o2 sat because his fingertips were giving up no information. The sat monitor could not read how much oxygen his red blood cells were carrying around...his capillary blood had packed up and moved north.

More north than we were.

I called the doctor at the hospital which was an hour away by plane (the only way in and out of the community). As usual the security guard/answering service put me on hold for a horrifyingly long time. By this time Lawrence, our only other nurse, had taken over the duty of watching the EKG machines 2x2 inch screen for any changes while Jane worked continuously to dry off and re-tape the electrodes as they slipped off.

I hung up the phone and called the emergency line again, this time telling the security guard that I needed the MD on call toute suite. A harried doc came on the line and I apologized for raising the alarm but told him he needed to initiate a medevac for an extremely unstable cardiac patient and I needed some orders for the impending code that was going to happen. He asked me to fax the EKG and get amiodarone into the patient as soon as possible, well, as soon as he got the EKG and could confirm my v-tach diagnosis. To take care about the administration and set the pump to make sure he got the right dose. Pump! I laughed. "No pumps around here bud, I'll be giving that drug in a syringe drop by drop over 10 minutes once the loading dose is in!"


Our secretary was with the patients wife in the coffee room, trying to keep her calm so I was fiddling around with the ridiculous fax machine while trying to draw up the amiodarone and double check the dosing at the same time. Jane and Lawrence had their hands full still trying to get a basic set of vitals on the guy. Finally the janitor walked by and I managed to snag him into sorting out the fax.

In a few long minutes the doc called back and told me he'd initiated the medevac and had received the EKG. I thanked him and hung up the phone.

The loading dose of the drug went in and I shook my head at the set up we were dealing with. An impending blizzard outside, no way to properly monitor the patient, and no way to deal with him if he coded. I felt like my hands had been tied behind my back while the crisis crescendoed.

I held the 60cc syringe in my hand while watching the clock (the only real technology in the room) and dribbled in the maintenance dose.

Then lo he suddenly said--'the pain is gone'. He let go of his chest and turned his head to me in surprise.

The dregs of the amiodarone were still going in by my hand. I ran to the other side of the stretcher and happily informed him, indeed the pain was gone because he was in a sinus rhythm. I must have thought, thank God or someone.

I know that then I must have exhaled completely for the first time since seeing him floating in his own juices on that emerg stretcher from the 1950's.

The time had warped. Despite the freezing rain and the blowing snow, the fog and the ceiling the plane landed and he was scooped (infuriatingly slowly!!!) by the paramedic and med student.

And off they flew, 6h after he'd driven himself to us.

Suddenly realizing that it had been too long since I'd had a chance to pee, eat, or drink water, I endeavored to change that. In the process of trying to quickly saw in half one of my 4 day old muffins the chopping knife slipped and gashed my left index finger.

That was annoying. It started bleeding and bleeding, I thought--there is no way i am getting sutures today...so I applied pressure, steristrips and a bandage. And was still annoyed. And will continue to be as the deep cut on my right index finger from climbing has only been freed from bandaids for 24h. Ugh. Oh well, I realize how pathetic a cut finger is compared to a jelly heart.

But I thank him and bless him. He gave us a rare satisfaction. The feeling that we actually did something really important that day. We worked as a team and even with our limited resources we actually saved a life. We didn't just look in throats and ears and give out septra for U.T.I's all day.

It also made me thankful that I had spent those hellish nights in the viper pit in my old emerg department. That's what all those countless cardiac cases were preparing me for.

I do hope he does well, was such a nice, funny, man. He joked with me about wanting to eat berries and that he was getting ready to 'run out' and pick some before the medivac crew arrived.

The wind is rattling my windows still and the power just went out. Thankfully he got out before the storm really hit.


My next patient of the evening:

Pommer the Pommeranian

We got the call that there was a lady with a dog who had a broken leg. Apparently she had called the RCMP first but they directed her to the health center. I was on call so agreed to see the pooch. We're not really supposed to treat animals but as the nearest vet is 4h away by plane we usually bend the rules and help out if we can.

Pommer was a rust colored fur-ball of a puppy. An adorable 4 month old who had apparently been 'dropped' by the chubby, flat affected, 8 year old---er---since when did dogs break their legs from being dropped 3 feet above the ground?

Anyway, the dog seemed settled enough in the mothers arms but with even the slightest movement the yelps of pain elicited were so ear and heart piercing that we could hardly bear it. Our attempts at x-ray had been traumatizing for everyone involved. Thus the decision was made to try and medicate and splint the poor creature.

So I called Dr. P in Whitehorse, a vet who gives over-the-phone advice and he talked me through how to create a muzzle out of kling gauze (so as to not get bitten) and how to landmark for an intramuscular injection of demerol. And so the splint was made with the bendable metal we fashion finger splints, gauze, and kling. Did you know that dogs have radius' and ulnas? I had to laugh at the learning curve of the evening.

Let's hope the rest of the night is quiet. Uh-oh. I wrote the "Q" word. I wonder if the same jinx happens when you write it as when you utter it...

Ice bergs are salty?

Ice bergs are salty?
Originally uploaded by albinoblackbear.

A year ago tomorrow I took this photo in Pond Inlet. Lovely Jenny here is discovering that what we thought was ice berg ice was in fact frozen sea water. Not such a tasty addition to our bevvys. Whoops...

Dodgy Boat

Dodgy Boat
Originally uploaded by albinoblackbear.

I just finished a book about tuberculosis and it's far reaching ramifications on the Inuit people and culture. The book was mostly set in Rankin Inlet, where I spent this last July, and some aspects of the story were so familiar it gave me goosebumps.

It has me looking though my northern photos from this summer, thinking about my last trip up to Baffin Island at the end of August.

Such a huge part of my life in the past two years has essentially been living, or coming and going, from the North. I think sometimes I can't speak of it because it is such a foreign and misunderstood part of myself that I don't know where to begin. Tonight though I will fall asleep thinking of what I will say next about it, and hope I do it justice.

When DO You Leave A Party if the Sun Doesn't Go Down?

Allo from somewhere in the Arctic Circle.

So you're at a bonfire below the 60th parallel, the sun will go down and the guitars will come out. You never need to look at your watch because a subconscious little voice will tell you that when the streaks of sun come stealing across the horizon it's time to put down the travel mug of booze and take yourself home.

Ahhh the Sun. Or 'God's Flashlight' as I like to call it. It firmly taps on the window of your consciousness and asks "Have you been drinking tonight ma'am?" At which point the bedraggled version of "Me and Bobby McGee" stops and the realization that you've been partying too long hits. Followed by the realizations that your eyes are burning from smoke, your guitar playing is really really bad, and you've been drinking from a cup that contains cigarette butts. A brief moment of clarity in an otherwise foggy evening.

But what happens when you're in a place where the sun never goes down, the whiskey never stops flowing, and you never realise how bad your guitar playing truly is?

You are punished the next day when you are on call.

You are punished by a phone ringing--pulling you out of your unconsciousness. Punished as you remember you are on call, and therefore, you have to answer it. You are punished by the pus filled festering wound of a patient that you must clean with bleary eyes and the steady hand of Nick Cage before the tequila in Leaving Las Vegas. And all of this on an empty stomach...well maybe you're happy that it is on an empty stomach...

But then you discover that, actually, you are happy about a lot of things!

You are happy about the fact that you never disclosed any details about your sex life, you didn't end up in the hot tub with all the RCMPs, and you avoided stumbling home down main street (by getting a ride home with the 2 addictions counsellors, mind you).

And what, if anything, did you learn from your foibles?

When it is the night before you have to be on call, and you go to a BBQ in the Arctic:

-Always forget your bathing suit in another province or territory.
-Never accept scotch from an officer, even if he isn't in uniform.
-Never agree to stay for 'just one more' song off the Dance Mix '92 cd.
-Never forget your watch.
-And always remember that you have to be on call the next day. And that that means the next 24h straight. With a potential for no time for food/showers/peeing/teeth brushing/deodorant applying/sleeping...

Sadly I cannot post photos to accompany this tale of woe (or woah) because I swore and oath as I left the gathering
"I will not post these on my blog"
"I will not post these on my blog"
"I will not post these on my blog"
just before my final
"You don't KNOW ME!"
outburst of the night.

What Have You Been Up To?

Okay. There is an ever growing list of things that need to be done here in the mountain hideaway before I head back up to the arctic circle. Boring things like writing petitions to close down the in-town burner, unpacking, sorting...exciting things like learning how to knock walls out and put new windows in, painting, drywalling, walnut tree watching, reading, sipping coffee at the modern with my new boyfriend who is wayyyyyy to young for me (Tobin--he's three months old but so cute). And yet, I am continually drawn to the on-line crack cocaine hit of "F*$ebo@K", the voyeuristic junior-high like addiction to a computerized social network which feeds my passing interest in what people that I rarely communicate with are doing.
And so, my point...yes j'arrive! I have had numerous "what are you up to these days" from folks who I haven't seen or heard from in 10, 15, 20 years.

And I have to chuckle at the simplified post with which I respond, condensing the past 10 years of my life into a 11 line snapshot.

So here it is, from now on I will refer these inquiries to my blog. And thus freeing up time to pursue the aforementioned activities. I genuinely enjoy the contact, it is just getting old answering the same question over and over and over again.

The last 10 years in a nutshell by Albinoblackbear (it's like a one woman Hamlet).

Finished high school, lived in Jasper. Moved to Edmonton. Went to GMCC, took courses. Travelled and volunteered around South-East Asia mostly Hans Solo--including India, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Malaysia, Thailand, Singapore. Came back, did a semester in French in Pointe D'Eglise, Nouvelle Ecosse. Enrolled in BSc Program in Nursing. My dad died suddenly. Graduated. Started a band, The George Bushes. We rocked. Played music festivals including North Country Fair and other venues around AB. Made a great album, still get good radio play across Canada. Band broke up, moved to V, worked in ER's there.

Stared masters courses in Yellowknife and then working up north. Have spent the last two years mostly working in the arctic-with a short sojourn to New Zealand for biking/hiking trip, then on to W where I worked first as a ER nurse in the clinic there, then became manager for W and P ER. Learned how to telemark and ride cross country (and still the learning curve continues!) Missed the north. Went back to contract work in Nunavut and NWT.

Moved to Revy. Met John Simms (aka my fellow homeowner and partner in crime). It was a setup, orchestrated by mutual friend Ann Marie. Traveled to Morocco with John in Dec for climbing trip. Spent remaining winter on Baffin Island, then central arctic. Went back to school at U of A this summer to continue working on pre req's for MD school, plan to write MCAT next summer (fingers crossed).

Became an auntie for the 5th time last night! My brother Russ and wife Karla have added to our families brood their first baby, Gionna.

Currently am loving life large. Cooking all kinds of goodies, playing mandolin, drinking tasty wine, riding, climbing, putzing around the house (sometimes all of those things in one day). Missing some friends and family that are too far away from our mountain town but am so smitten with our little casa which affords mountain views from every window and several lilac bushes. So I just continue harassing folks to come visit and hope some of my offers get taken up.

Whew! All done. Got to get on the cinnamon buns and corn bread, and lentil soup...and...and...

Main St. Cambridge Bay, NU

Main Street in Cambridge Bay. As you can see Royal Bank and Co-Op buildings to the left and Government Offices to the right. Damn you deceiving blue sky!

Though the Weather Outside Is Cold

I just love things like the one hour parking sign at the airport or the stop sign in the middle of the tundra.
My photo album from Cambridge Bay is fairly slim as most days the temperature allowed my fingertips to be exposed for less than 30 sec before the effects of the cold made it impossible to take photos. Not to mention the camera's function is slightly delayed at -40...go figure.

Ester is Unconvinced

Small small small small world. Elks Hall, Cambridge Bay, Nunavut.
After a few tasty sips of box red wine Lenny (right) meets military man (centre) and joins our table. We discover he knows my brother Shandy from the Airborne Regiment and proves his former membership with the Airborne coin (shown in photo).
Esther--my lawyer friend--is unconvinced (as pictured to left). Believing his claims of military work in Arctic sovereignty to be a ploy to get to our table, she stands strong behind her belief despite displays of several pieces of military i.d.
No matter what, we were again shown that quirky, interesting folks with wild tales of adventure and misadventure are hiding in all sorts of places in this crazy world...and sometimes they'll know your brother...better yet, sometimes they'll buy a couple of rounds of beer.

The Mentees First Stitch

The Mentees First Stich
Originally uploaded by albinoblackbear.

We were lucky enough to have a patient who agreed to let Kayla and Sandy try their hand at suturing--on his head. A great guy who actually fell asleep during the procedure, giving credit to their gentle, expert touch. No he didn't fall asleep because he was unconscious.
Actually outcome was good. And they obviously were enjoying themselves.

You Know You Are In the Arctic When...

So picture Saskatchewan. Now go straight up, through Nunavut. Over all the rocks and trees and tundra. Over the caribou, lichen, streams, and ravens. Drop off the top of Canada's mainland, cross the frigid waters that will turn you to ice in minutes, then stiffly climb onto the shores of Victoria Island. There you are. In Cambridge Bay.

Imagine a flat, white, landscape. Depending on the day that white will be cut in half on the horizon with blue-bird sky that surrounds you 180 degrees or with a matching shade of blowing white which makes you feel like you are in one of those snow globes someone is shaking vigorously.

Welcome to the North.

It has been cold up here. Not just "oh I think I'll wear a coat today" cold but more like "oh, I think I have to bring my blowdryer and an extension cord to work today so I can de-ice my lock when I get home" cold.

My walk to work is approximately 5 mins (or 1.5 Lucinda Williams songs I've discovered). And in that time all kinds of fun and interesting things can happen to you when it is -50 with the windchill.

Things like: -your face freezing to the inside of your coat from the moisture in your breath. As if you licked the entire front of your face then stuck it to the side of a metal door.
-your eyelashes freezing shut
-a trail of snotcicles (icicles made of snot) clinging to your upper lip
-a pain, burning, immobility of movement in the fingers which leads you to believe that your fingers are actually freezing. It is not just an expression any more.
-your earphone cord seizing up to a taught, brittle, wire instead of the normally flexible plastic handing loosely by your side.
-tendrils of hair coated by breath moisture turning into wisps of ice hair framing your face, which then melts and plasters to your forehead imediately after stepping indoors.

It's fun. It's something different all the time. Today it is only -37 with the windchill so people are outside snow kiting in the bay to celebrate the chinook like change in weather.

Got to love those hearty northeners, hey?

Pond et al

The mountains see the sun before the town. We wait still for 2 days before it crests above the horizon for us.

Jenny and I pick up where we left off in Iqaluit nearly two years ago.

And Apphia, a continued quest to find me a hunter so I'll stay in Pond!

Lap(top) Dance

Ahhh, my shiny mac. How I love you so. How I missed you while ticking away at dial up drudgery for the past few weeks. How I longed to plug my photos onto my websites and check my email without having to make tea while my inbox opened.

So today is Feb 10 and I am in Ottawa for a few hours before getting on my version of a red eye (the 0700h flight to Kelowna).

Pond Inlet was grand. Cold and grand.

The chubby thighs of wee babes that I immunized 18 months ago are now running up and down the health centre, clad only in diapers and slippers. For now a few pics with more details to follow.

Jenny, dear Jenny. Self described as the "crazy lady with two toned hair and clothes that don't fit" was again a great source of energy and laughter during my trip. In the north friendships are made fast and full on, the distance of time and miles doing little to dilute the original concentration. Thank you Jen for the Zin and for, as usual, teaching me many things about patience and patients.

Apphia (my Inuit surrogate mother) cooked an amazing caribou feast on my last day. One of the elders had donated it to the health centre. Earlier that day, the womens auxillary and town elders were in the health centre to bless the building and all the staff. A touching and much needed gesture from the community that let all of us know our efforts were not in vain.

A busy time over the last few weeks there have left most of the staff tired and fighting various bugs. Most days someone was home nursing a strep throat, gastritis, or another all nighter at the clinic. Dr. DeMaio had her hands full helping us with medivacs during the day while watching her ever growin list of referrals grow to over 100. Flo (the nurse in charge) as ever remained even keeled with her dry wit to keep us chuckling even on the bad days...."as good as can be expected, under the circumstances" right Flo??

For now, a pillow. 5 am comes early. Later more photos and yarns from north of 70.

Rankin Adventures

Snow snakes are seen across the parking lot in Rankin Inlet, its -49 degrees. My hair was still a bit damp from my morning shower which froze imediately in a snarl of icy knots. I instinctively went to cover my ears with my hands, ice cold already they felt like two foreign objetcs stuck to the side of my head. Every follicle of hair on my legs was raised in the most pathetic attempt to increase warmth under my pant legs. Cold. Tried to go to my happy place, put myself above the cold, transcend the cold. HA! Useless.

Note the time 2am in Ottawa, again, having spent 8h on a plane and 9h in an airport to end up back at your original location. Frustrated would have been an understatement.

How I Got Here and other pathetic travel anecdotes

Let me preface this blog with a disclaimer regarding my cortex being well marinated in a tasty little Italian Barolo (wine, not person).

So let's answer the question "how are you?" with an abbreviated itinerary from the last couple of days...

Wed, Nov 24th 1445h---leave for K-Town by car (not a bad drive, though nearly killed by several logging trucks whist refilling windshield washer fluid on shoulder of highway)

Thurs Nov 25th 0615h---wake up call drills my brain to get ready to catch 0830h flight, see heavy fog, hit snooze button. Wake up seven minutes later and spend the next six hours in my hotel drinking hot water through the coffee maker and refreshing the aircanada screen every 17 minutes while my flight continually gets pushed later. Then cancelled. Then a new one for 1300h.

1200h--while pushing 126lbs of luggage up the ramp outside, my cooler full of southern nibblies falls, spilts open, and my cans of tuna, baby spinach leaves, and soy milk hit the tarmack at high velocity. Nice.

1225h--Air Crapada Check In Hags hassle me for being late (for the flight that is again delayed over an hour), apparently air canada can be 5h late but you can't be 5 mins late. Go figure.

1235h--cans of salvaged tuna confiscated by airport security for being "a liquid". John labels me "the Tunabomber".

Friday Nov 25th 0005h Arrive Ottawa airport.

0130h Check in guy at Southways Inn notes bedragled traveller, puts me in room with a jacuzzi because "I need it". He is the first nice thing that has happened today (except for the two cans of tuna that I bought and consumed for dinner on the 4h flight from Calgary to Ottawa.

Friday Nov 25 0730h wake up call #2 blasts me out of slumber.

1030h--get on delayed flight to Iqaluit.

1400h--arrive in Rankin Inlet. Thats right. Rankin Inlet. "hurricaine winds" in Iqaluit cause us to make a diversion to Rankin. It is -49 degrees c and I learn for the first time what being in the frozen equivalent of hell must feel like.

1900h board plane to return to Ottawa as Iqaluit not improving.

2000h deplane as right engine starter not "starting".

2200h start to ration protein bar bites as it looks like Rankin Airport will be my home for the night. Call dibbs on 1ft by 6ft patch of carpet behind luggage carosel as mine. Note ratio of 100 travellers to 2 pay phones while waiting in line for the third time to make calls south.

2205h approached by fellow strandee "did you see the sandwich that lady was eating? it looked really good, I think there was salmon in it!" I point out she has clearly been in airports too long if that is what she is checking out.

2210h engine starts, we plane again. Ears freeze despite hat and mitts in 4 mins outside getting on plane.

0130h arrive Ottawa Airport...it's like deja vu all over again. Get dropped off at Shell terminal as could not go through security in Rankin, and therefore, not secure.

0230h bags arrive from other terminal

0300h open suitcase in hotel to discover my "greens plus" powder has exploded all over my clothing...hotel room now looks like spore experiment gone wrong

0730h wake up call #3 clangs me back to consciousness

0830h told by airport folks flight might be diverted due to storm, I seriously consider quitting my job.

1500h arrive in hotel room in Iqaluit.

and that....is how I got this far.

Only two days, one stop over, and 2 airports left before I get to Pond Inlet.