Pilots, Polar Bears, Police, and Patients: Adventures of a Young Nurse in Canada’s North

What I hope will be a funny compassionate read.

It is not only personal emotions that can be exaggerated in the north, but in general the good and the bad. What is good, is very, very good. It is easy to find the beauty in the place and its people. What is bad, can be very bad. Either you develop aversions or compassion–sometimes a mix of both. What is important is to recognize, reflect on, and take action.

I learned a lot about myself through my time in the north and the first ten years of launching my career and my life. I learned by stretching myself and taking risks, even if it meant discomfort, fear, or not knowing what on earth I was doing–and there was plenty of that! The one thing I knew with certainty–I had to feed my enthusiastic, adventuresome spirit to be fully me.

One of the things I didn’t know too much about was polar bears!

Excerpt:

…Finally, something snapped in me and I realized I needed to abandon the truck and walk back while I could still see a glimpse of the light rapidly fading through the storm. I’ve been watching it consistently with quick glances in the rearview mirror since I drove away.

It was the only light around, other than my headlights and there is nothingness beyond them. I mean nothing. I’ve never seen such darkness.

I glance out the passenger window and then the driver’s side window. Nothing. Nada. Not even a reflection of my headlights are visible except when I look straight ahead. It was blacker than black.

I wasn’t that concerned. He said it wasn’t that far. Only a few miles straight ahead from the airport. The hotelier left his old one ton suburban style truck with a long box for me at the airport. When we spoke on the phone the week before we had a great chat. Because I had worked in the north he assumed I knew my way around…and not just in the community I would be living in, but my way around in general. He said as much to me, that I must be resourceful. He actually said, “Oh, you’ll be fine. You’re capable, able to figure things out, and drive a truck.”

And, I was all of those things. I felt completely comfortable knowing he would leave his keys with the gate agent. I would have no problem getting myself to the hotel when my plane landed at 5 AM that April morning.

It was easy to agree to that on the phone, before I landed, before I knew there would be a blizzard, before I knew there were no street lights, before I knew what April brings in Churchill.

I kept glancing back toward the airport. As long as I could see the light on the terminal building I knew where I was. I was driving very slowly, creeping actually. I couldn’t see the road. I was following the powerlines since I left the airport. The further along I crept, the dimmer the light in the rear view became. The more ferocious the storm seemed. I was dizzy looking ahead as all I could see was swirling snow in the beam of my headlights. Not only was I in a blizzard, but it was also freezing out. I had my medical services issued snow pants and skidoo boots meant for 30 below with me, but I wasn’t wearing them thinking I was going right to the hotel. I was thankful I was wearing my parka because it was -42C. I started wondering where I stashed my mittens, scarf, and hat. I thought I could struggle into my pants and boots in the cab if I had to.

I refocused on the road. You know those blizzards where it doesn’t feel like you are moving? This was that. The snow was whipping around and drifting, but not yet too hard packed. I could tell some drifts were more than half way up my tires by the way the front of the truck pushed through the snow. The drive was smooth enough, but not entirely. I realized I didn’t know if it was a paved or dirt road I was on. I had no idea how wide or narrow the road was. I started to wonder whether or not I was even on the road!

The truck was the biggest I had ever driven and I wasn’t concerned with getting through the snow, but I had no idea where in hell I was headed. As soon as I realized that and how far away I was from the airport, I stopped. I figured my best bet was to leave the truck and walk back. I was thankful my suitcases were in the back seat. I managed to find the dome light and turn it on. I left the truck running to try to keep the heat up while I wiggled my way into my snow pants and boots. If I changed my mind after I dressed and decided to forge on at least the truck would still be running.

I struggled into my clothes and managed to squeeze my feet into the stiff new boots. I put my city boots into my suitcase. I put on my mitts and hat. I turned off the truck, pressed all the locks down wondering why as there was not a soul around. I opened the door and slid down into the storm. The airport looked little more than a half a mile away. I began walking, surprised at the size of the drifts I was plowing through and in a few cases climbing over. I was amazed at the blackness of the morning. Nothing, not even a horizon line in the distance was visible, but I hardly knew where to look. I didn’t have myself oriented at all other than where the airport was.

I trekked forward as fast as I could muster. I could tell it was freezing but I was warm enough. Everything except my eyes was covered and the hood of my parka only allowed be to see straight ahead without turning my whole body. It was also so silent. I heard nothing except the squeaky as my boots pushed snow down with every step. It was meditative once I got my rhythm. I could go faster when the snow wasn’t as deep. I was constantly looking down at my steps and up at the light–my beacon. I couldn’t focus only on my footing as I kept veering to the left. If I only looked at the light I stumbled every time I hit a drift…