Hiking: my drug of choice --- Side Effects: euphoria --- Off Label Use: euphoria

It comes in a little green pill and no need to worry about aspiration because it's not swallowed, it's absorbed. I had a few days off in a row, midweek. Not having the best luck in finding a hiking partner, I decided to set out on my own, yes alone --- out there in the great outdoors of Alaska. Seems easy to follow a trail, right? Well, early in the season there are still humungous piles of deep snow making the trail a tad difficult to find. I made a mini video diary while I was on the trail.

Bedside Poet

Not long ago, I returned to a patient's room to find him sitting on the side of his bed holding a small note, a gift, for me. As he handed it over he said, "I wrote you a poem." Be still my beating heart, a poem.

I suppose earlier in our getting to know one another we happened upon the fact that I had studied poetry in a former life. I'm sure that somehow these little facts about my former life were swindled out of me because I generally don't relinquish such deeply hidden tokens easily. Don't get me wrong; I am proud of my poetry reading (and writing) past. So proud, in fact, that I am careful not to breech that carefully constructed tide-wall to appear prideful. Sometimes, however, I wish I had been afforded the opportunity in my younger years to answer without hesitation or remorse the question, "so what do you do?"

While taking a long walk with a friend and her three huskies today, I stumbled up one side of a mossy bank and she the other in order to avoid a giant mud puddle that had become the entire width of the trail. From the high banks of each side we paused to reflect upon how nice it is to have a career that is, without question, respected. When people ask me what I do today, I reply without hesitation, "I am a nurse." End of story. No "what do you do with that?" or "but what do you want to be when you really grow up?" Nope. None of that. I simply say what I am and it is either the end of the story or a catapult into some medical diatribe about old aunt Ethel who I never knew and hardly care to hear about at the moment.

My friend and I clambered back down the banks to the trail, agreeing that we were lots of things before we were nurses, but somehow those things never amounted to the good old American show stopper when asked the common American question, "what do you do." I was happy to hear that this wasn't bothersome only to me for all those years; like a short-lived two-person support group inviting a "hello my name is Steffanie and I am a former roustabout" and in turn the group in unison, "hello Steffanie" it felt as if my friend and I leaped into the final step of rehab in that moment.

The poem, written on a small white sheet of paper, was given some serious thought, words scratched out and tiny new additions suggesting multiple revisions. Sometimes I hold back a tear when I am at work, or later in the quiet of the night. As I glanced at that tiny note, penned words in black ink, a few short lines relinquished to me, a stranger, a nurse, a poet at the bedside I didn't hold back a tear. I held back the floodwaters of the Mississippi River and kindly smiled, offered a heartfelt "thank you" and slipped the tiny paper into the pocket of my scrubs.

Later, while I was emptying out my scrub pockets, dumping piles of alcohol swabs into my locker, I came upon the poem. Like a solid gold leaflet, I folded it in half and half again, the tiniest gift wrap imaginable, and tucked it into the safety of my folder.

We are a success when we make a real human connection, an emotional connection to another. In effect, our careers, our writing, our song, our faces, our handshake, our art, it all tells the same story, the story of being human; of being a real, emotional, connected human.

Paying it forward: here is a poem I wrote more than a few years ago (in my younger years)...

L E E C H

In a Chequamegon Forest bog,

leeches wait amid methane, muck

& remains for bodies,

flesh and blood,

to trace their new existence

on the skin of others. I canoed there

only once, too often immobile

in tall grasses, reeds,

pond lilies, everything green.

That afternoon, I discovered

a small body & mine

cohabitating. I stood,

almost naked,

by the car window

& watched the reflection

of a round dark spot

on the reflection of my body,

disbelieving either ever

existed alone, imagining

symbiosis. For nearly three weeks

I touched my thigh

where the leech had been; when naked

I searched out mirrors to follow

the imprint of where the leech had been,

of where I thought it had been.

Today, I stand above a rotten log;

a leech reaches out to me. Its body

smooth dark & slick, stretches

from the rotten log upward, toward me

as if in greeting. Maybe

it smells my scent: human

& full of blood.

Old Nurse Heaven

I've only been a nurse, officially, since February 4, 2010. One month later, I'm completing my first week, yep that's right one week, of work. That doesn't really mean I am actually working as a nurse... yet.

This week was all about orientation: to the hospital, the career, the devices and a whole plethora of other items I am remiss to remember on a Friday evening. So far so good, but by most people's estimation I'm not in a position to make judgement so hastily... or am I?

The week has been long. Not in hours really, but long in brain food. In fact, mine is stuffed. To offset the top-heaviness, a few nursing buds and I visited a Mexican food place after work (ha after work seems like such a novel concept) and toasted giant tubs of Mexican fried ice cream after tacos and enchiladas, beans and rice... full.

At some point during orientation one of our instructors, an RN with what some might call a cush job in the education department, made a little joke. My nursing school bud next to me and I roared with laughter while the rest of the room sat professionally awaiting instruction. The joke pivoted upon the fulcrum of "cush" jobs, like the one our instructor now holds, is where RN's go when they are sent to old nurse heaven... I guess that means I'm still firmly planted on planet earth... in young nurse reality!

Before nursing school began I promised myself to remember that day when I walked to my tiny side-slot mailbox fastened to the worn out siding of my duplex apartment and found an acceptance letter for a fairly competitive program here in Fairbanks. The letter was big, too big for the mailbox so as I drove up I saw the manilla folder spilling out the top and even though I wasn't expecting to be accepted into the program (rumor had it no one got in on their first try), I recall thinking that would be it, the letter of a lifetime, the letter to change my lifeline... it was.

I didn't heed my own advice, however. When times got tough, I did not always rise to the occasion during nursing school by remembering how I felt that day holding that acceptance letter. Sadly and humbly I admit that I did not always remember my jubilation standing there on my sidewalk nearly in tears thinking the path of my life is forever changed... forever.

I will never be the person I was before holding that note, just as I will never be the person I was before holding this meagre (and embarrassingly understated in appearance) RN license. I am the same person, of course but today after work (how novel, work) when I whizzed past a small-statured Alaska native woman in the main hallway of the hospital and heard, "I'm lost."

I immediately lost my stride, turned and asked, "are you lost?"

Her vision clearly going, she looked off into the distance and said precisely, "yes."

"Where are you headed?" slipping up and interjecting a little of my old Wisconsin dialect.

She didn't seem to notice, "the cafeteria," her response.

We were told in training this week that policy is to walk persons to their destination instead of giving directions. In my previous workplace, we held strongly to what I now see as useful but funny practices, like believing words like employee and tourist to be four letter words, instead choosing guest and coworker. I understand in principle how this works to squash subversive thoughts and feelings, yet still, at times, it makes me laugh. And still some of my favorite people are those I started knowing by calling coworker and in a local poll I'd say 90% of all the people I know by name in Fairbanks were at one time my coworkers. So when I asked myself, while walking my new friend to the cafeteria, if it matters... yes, it does.

I was proud to repay the favor because, you see, when I was very new to the hospital I too was lost. I must have looked the part because not long after entering the main hallway a kind blue scrubbed human asked if I needed help. Sure did, was looking for cardiac rehab where I would spend one clinical day. This nameless, now faceless, soul walked me to the front door and wished me well as I waved goodbye. Did it matter way back then (over 2 years ago)?... Sure did.

A long time ago, while visiting the northern cities of the Baja Peninsula, my traveling companion advised me not to smile so much and in particular not to look men in the eye. Shocked and a bit dismayed I decided he was probably more knowledgeable about the culture being Mexican himself and silently agreed to accept his advice. Returning to Alaska, still nine years later, I haven't shut the drawer on that memory. Each time I smile, even send off a little hello, toward a stranger I am thankful for this little token we might call our local culture. We are friendly in Alaska... even at the hospital.

There are many, many things to know in order to save lives. Let us not forget the many things we do that do not save lives but instead... make days.

Even though I've failed myself before on this one, I am determined to remember what it feels like to be a new nurse walking the halls of a hospital still a touch foreign to me, proudly displaying a badge that reads... STEFFANIE RN.

That way when I am on my way to old nurse heaven I can not be sidetracked by discouragement. Difficult days will come and go just as they always have in my life, but today is not one of them, neither was yesterday, or the day before... in six months the story might change but this week never will.

1970 Ford Pickup

Awake In The Rusty Red Ford

The gray metallic bed turns

rust in the humid heat of summer.

Below the hinge of the passenger

side door, a hole promises safety to newborn

mice, insignificant, asleep in August warmth.

One slam of the heavy door shakes their slumber.

We drive away; diesel and mildew

take us to Canada.

Thanks is more than a word; it's a hat...

Thank you...

Rebecca, Beth, Jackie (and friends), Anne, Dean, Christina, Heidi, Kari, Christian, Natalie, Emily, LT, Chartreuse & Sheri, Derin, Amy, Alex, Darcy, Michael, Jen, Mary, John, Andre, Elise...

for buying a hat, which helped pay for my state board exam in nursing.

I took the exam on February 4.

It went well,

meaning: I passed...

meaning: I am a nurse.

End of story.

Well, no.

It's just the beginning.

10 years, really?

I often ask myself, "where has all my time gone?" 

1999

moved to Fairbanks Alaska to begin a masters program in creative writing

2000

switched my focus from creative nonfiction to poetry 

got a summer job as a tour guide in Alaska's Arctic 

crossed the Arctic Circle for the first time

2001

dry cabin living --- got it down finally but never got over the slop bucket

Amy and Aaron came to visit from Nashville, TN

summer: guide

2002

graduated with an MFA in creative writing - poetry focus

considered nursing, looked into the program, decided against applying 

summer: guide, swam in the Arctic Ocean for the first time

winter: doll maker, attempt at my own business --- attempt failed

2003

agreed to be a dog handler for the Yukon Quest (the most out-of-character event of my life) Amy came to visit in the winter from Nashville, TN

summer: guide

winter: drove to WI with my dog, continued the drive to TN to visit Amy and then to FL to visit my brother (this marks the last time I've seen him to date)

2004

early winter: drove back to Alaska with my dog, it was very cold

summer: guide, met Doug and fell in love for he first time

winter: sewer and got paid for it

2005

summer: guide

met Rebecca, who was also a guide, and she changed my life forever by teaching me the importance of exercise and getting me over my fear of the gym

winter: sewer still being paid

2006

began taking prerequisite courses for nursing

trained for the equinox

summer: guide

ran the equinox

winter: HR (whatever that means?)

2007

turned 30, death ski 2007 happened

moved out of a dry cabins and into an apartment with running water (first time I lived without an outhouse and slop bucket since moving to AK in 1999) my extended camping trip --- over

summer: guide, flew to Barrow

Rebecca turned 30, hiked Chena Dome, lost a few toenails

Mom came to visit for a week in July, awesome

continued taking prerequisite courses for nursing

accepted into a fairly competitive nursing program, to my surprise

2008

began the clinical program in nursing (January)

Emily came to visit by working for the summer in Coldfoot, Alaska

summer: guide (after 9 summers of guiding, this was to be my last)

First solo hike in the Brooks Range

2009

summer: not a guide!!! lived in Coldfoot and worked at the Arctic Interagency Visitor Center in order to hike in the Brooks Range

finishing my last semester of nursing school (coming in November!)

I no longer wonder if I will ever leave Alaska, but I am constantly surprised to think it's been ten solid years. If anyone would have told me all this was going to happen, I would have punched them in disbelief. 

From this reflection I have learned...

a) I like it when family and friends come to visit

b) family and friends do not travel to Alaska often

c) it is true, what they say... 

we only get one chance; I am mostly happy for mine

d) Being a true Wisconsonite at heart, I feel like I deserve an anniversary gift, HI maybe?

favorite season, second favorite tree

Summer Birch

Fall Birch

Only a moment longer:

approaching winds vibrate leaves 

in a belly rubbing samba

toward their winter graves