Touchdown in Vienna, Austria! 30 Aug. 2016, 72*F mostly sunny, and I have no idea about the humidity factor. I am assuming it is dryer than Tennessee because my hair is not frizzy or curly yet. They have sleeping couches in this airport, and there are complete strangers sacked out together on these couches. Our flight was long, and we have all been traveling since 0600 yesterday morning. One doctor/surgeon, two veteran nurses, three medics, an interpreter, and a random guy (who does wilderness survival) whose name is Dave. I don't know yet what he is going to do over here because he is not medical and he still has a flip phone that he got at Walmart before he came. 'I can't get bogged down with technology,' he told me when I asked him why he still had a flip phone. We will see how he eventually fits into the puzzle.
     We are now sitting around at the airport. I am a little tired to write, so I don't know what else to say. I am as dry as the weather outside. So I will say that I have made it safely so far. Our flight to Thessoloniki leaves soon. Cheers!!!

JFK - Madrid: First leg of my trip

     I boarded the plane at JFK in New York to Madrid, found my seat, tucked my luggage into the compartment, sat down and began reading a book that I had brought. I get a tap on my shoulder, and I look up to see the frightened face of a middle-aged lady who asked me in Spanish if this was her seat. I look at her ticket and indeed she was supposed to sit to my left. She was short, and could not put her luggage in the overhead compartment, so I put it up there, and got everything situated. I sat down and watched her struggle for a few minutes trying to buckle her seatbelt backwards, and then I asked if I could assist her. After I buckled it and handed her her blanket and pillow, she burst into tears and began sobbing into a crumpled napkin that was so old and used that it was ripping into pieces as she attempted to blow her nose and blot her eyes. I handed her my bandanna and she covered her face while bursting into a fresh bout of sobs that were more intense than the first round. I put a hand on her shoulder and patted it gently. Suddenly, she turned to me and began speaking wildly in Spanish while still continuing to sob. From what I could gather from the pieces that I could understand, I found out that she was 56 years old and is originally from Ecuador but now lives in Italy. This tip was to drop off her daughter (her only child) at a university in New York, and they were both crying , she said. Also, this trip to New York is also her second time on a plane in her life. The only other plane was when she flew one-way to Italy from Ecuador. She blew her nose again into the bandanna and sat there with her tear-streaked face, looking at me earnestly. I felt as though she were asking me for some sort of answer to her situation, but I had none. All I could do what begin asking her questions to about her daughter and asking her to tell me stories (which I barely understood, but did the best I could to respond appropriately). Eventually she calmed, but had intermittent tearful bursts for the next six hours. I made sure she ate, but she hated the food so she nibbled at the disgusting food, and then I finally got her to doze off twice during the flight. I also had to track down one of the flight attendants to ask for a glass of water so she could take her blood pressure pill. The flight attendants were NOT in any sort of hurry to do anything. They brought food and drinks, and then you did not see them again until the next time you ate. At which time they would scowl at you if you still had your plate or cup from the last meal, as if it were your fault that they did not come around to collect the trash. It was actually quite humorous, and I laughed every time they came around and I watched their disgusted faces float down the isle, and the looks they gave their compadres across the way in the other isle, who responded with a similar expression. I feel that it distracted my companion, too, because she would look at me over her glasses and roll her eyes at their 'disgust'. If I were to fly Iberia again, I would do it only because I found it humorous. The service was as I described above, and the food left a lot to be desired. The only tasty thing was the whipped cream on the apple pie, which was thick and heavy as the consistency of icing on a cake.
      Once we landed, and exited the plane, I was looking to see where my next gate was when I felt a gentle little tug on my sleeve. I looked over to see my flight companion, Patricia, standing there, holding out her boarding pass for her next flight, looking completely lost and asking me where to go next. I  assisted her up 8-10 escalators, through several hallways, and then on and off the train, and then up 5 more escalators to the hallway where she could then find her way. Madrid airport is incredibly confusing. We landed in 4S and had to get to 4 somehow. As I walked towards my terminal, I saw 88-90 on my right, and 95-96 straight ahead. I needed 92. Oh! I found it hiding at the far left of the wide open space in a little nook that no one would ever look at. And, well, there were no seats at my gate...so we all had to sit on the floor or stand. It was really interesting. I wish that I had pictures, but I did not want to take one of my accidental travel companion while she was crying, and I was exhausted by the time I arrived at gate 92. I sat down and thought of nothing.  
      I am unsure if our pilot in the small plane from Madrid to Malaga was drunk or a newbe (I am going with New) because it was one of those flights where if anyone was reading at take-off, 10 minutes into the flight all books were replaced into their bags, and all headphones taken out of ears, and most people were trying to look calm and collected while clutching the armrests of their seats, and the flight attendants sat in their seats and buckled their harnesses. When the wheels hit the runway in Malaga, a loud cheer arose and everyone clapped and whooped and you could feel all of the tension leave with the skid-marks we left on the runway as we fishtailed to a stop, and then coolly proceeded to our appropriate gate as if nothing had happened. The pilot is usually at the door as you exit the plane, to thank you for riding with them. This time there was no sign of the pilot. Only a flight attendant.

       So, I am now in Granada!

EMS Beginnings

I hear a gentle guitar strum and Eddie Vedder's deep raspy voice softly singing, 'It won't be the last...won't be the first. To find my way to where the sky meets the earth. It's all right and all wrong, for me it begins at the end of the road. We come and go...' and I realize it is my phone alarm waking me up. Time to go to work again. It is dark outside though it is only 1800. Winter can be so cruel sometimes: working nights is difficult enough, but not allowing me to even see the sun is sometimes so disheartening. I jerk myself out of bed, into cold ambient air, scuttle down the ladder to the floor and stick my feet into my slippers...except....gosh darn it, I forgot to put my slippers beside my ladder again. Oh well, Life goes on! I reach up on my bed and grab my sweater and pull it on and shiver my way out into the hallway and into the kitchen to make some food. I have an hour before I leave, so I get dressed, and have just enough time to stuff my food into some containers before I trot out the door and drive away onto dark streets to the station.
    At work, we always have to check off the truck first thing. The worst feeling in the world is when you respond to a call and realize you've forgotten to restock monitor paper, and this is a cardiac call! Or the shift before you used all of the IV supplies and you respond to a multiple GSW or a dehydration call. Or you forgot to change the main Oxygen tank out and you respond to a respiratory distress call. You are supposed to be a medical professional, and that means you have to make every effort to ensure that you have everything on that truck that you may need in order to respond to whatever is thrown at you. We are called Emergency Medical Technicians, and so we respond to all emergencies - not simply medical ones, but any true emergency has the potential to have medical issues. So we respond to emergencies with potential medical issues as well.
     The ambulance is parked outside, so we get the keys, and I grab my narc-box and sign it out on the sign-out sheet, grab our coats, and head out to the truck. He starts the engine and turns up some music, while I hop into the back and turn on the lights and the heater. He checks the main Oxygen tank and all of the outside compartments on his way to the back of the ambulance, and we commence the laborious process of counting every single item on the truck and logging it. After we check off the truck, we contact dispatch,

Brooks: '23 to dispatch...'

Dispatch: 'Go ahead 23.'

Brooks: '6823, Brooks and Maurice, ALS, truck SIX-ZERO-ONE, till ZERO-EIGHT HUNDRED. Starting milage THREE-FOUR-SEVEN-FIVE-SIX-SIX. THREE-FOUR-SEVEN-FIVE-SIX-SIX. In service.'

Dispatch: 'Affirmative 23. I have you in service.'

Then we wait....we wait for the next call. 'I am hungry.'  I say, 'Are you hungry, Brooks?' 'I am not hungry, but I'm not opposed to going to get something for you.' He responds. 'Let's go get some food before we get a call.' I say, and we drive to wherever a good place to eat happens to be open. We also have to choose somewhere that does not take a very long while to get the food...just in case we get a call and have to leave the food before we get it. This has happened more times than I would like to count, so fast-food joints are usually the best go-to spots...unfortunately. Unless you want to call ahead. But then you inevitably get a call on your way there and your food is cold by the time you actually get it, and it is not worth the money you pay for it. Also, options are limited when one works 2000-0800. In the morning, if we are on the West Side of Nashville, we will stop at Breuger's Bagels and get some bagels for breakfast.

     We finally return to the station after a series of ALS calls. ALS means that I have tech'd all of the calls while my partner Brooks has driven us in the ambulance. I finish my last report, and we each fall onto our beds in exhaustion, and are just about to fall to sleep when the tones go off again! Another call, '23...' [beep]......'23...' dispatch rings in. 'This is 23.' we respond. '23, we have a call...' and the rest is a little jumbled as we halfway listen, paying attention for important words like, 'Respiratory distress' or 'GI Bleed' or 'PD is on scene' while walking out to the ambulance to check in route and give them our miles. 'That's affirmative. I have you enroute 0215.' The general misconception from television productions is that all emergency personnel RUN when we get calls. Well, we hurry, but we never run...for several reasons. 1) We need to conserve as much energy as possible. We never know exactly what the call is, so we need to have as much energy as we possibly can by the time we reach the patient. 2) If we run, we risk the chance of injuring ourselves on the way to the vehicle, and this would do no one any good. If I sprain my ankle, how am I going to help the patient? I am not. So we do not  RUN. We hurry, but do not run. You can always tell 'The New Guy' because they RUN to the ambulance! and are sitting there looking anxious as we mount into the vehicle.  My partner and I usually get a big chuckle out of seeing them run, and then seeing their baffled faces sitting in the ambulance. I usually let them run for the first few calls and see if they notice that my partner and I are not running. Maybe they will ask why? If not, and they continue to run, I will eventually say something like, 'Slow down there, big guy. You only have so much energy to expend. Might want to save that for the patient and let the ambulance get us there quickly, ok?' They usually nod their heads in an, 'Oh! But they always run on TV...' kind of confused look. Nope, we don't run.

It is 0945 and we finally pull into the ambulance bay at work to find Alex and Beegee (our relief crew) standing there waiting for us. I get out of the ambulance, handing the narc keys off to Alex (the medic) and give him report of my night. Brooks gives Beegee a report of what we used on our shift, and we go to finish paperwork while they check off the truck and get into service. The day is musty, but musty means it will be a good day for sleeping, and I won't be tempted to stay up and do things around the house, or take a walk through the woods. Musty means that I will go home and sleep until I hear Eddie Vedder's voice softly wake me up again that night at 1800. Then I will start the whole process over again. Of course there are days when I need to stay up, and those days make it so difficult to be alive. I have found that the only way to survive days like that are to think about everything I can but sleep, and to munch on as much food as I can. Munch, meaning not big meals. Big meals will make me more tired. Coffee is good, but you have to have had a substantial meal in order for it to have an effect on you by this point. Otherwise you begin to shake and are exhausted beyond comprehension because you are using your last energy resource reserves to metabolize the caffeine. Water. Water is the best resource you will ever have. Drink LOTS of water ALL OF THE TIME. If you are dehydrated, again, your body will use more energy than usual by trying to fill your vascular system with fluids, draining your other areas (intracellular and interstitial) and your muscles and lungs and brain will not have enough fluid to metabolize the resources for energy production. Plus, you might get a UTI because your urine is so concentrated, and UTIs are hateful. Drink water. The days that I need to stay up, I admit that I can feel frustrated at more than I would usually get frustrated at, and things seem magnified beyond their normal state. I do not have as much control over my faculties. When you work nights, sometimes there is no other option but to resist sleep and force yourself to stay awake in order to do things that need to be done during 'normal people hours.' I am such a morning person, and I am such a day-time person, that working nights really does have major affects on me. But I can do it as long as I remember that it is not forever. It is only for a short time, and then I will be somewhere else. Having a good partner is the ONLY thing that keeps me here, working nights rather than days. Having a good partner who respects me and works well with me makes ALL of the difference in the World. Kudos to Ed Brooks for working nights with me. There are times when he is a jerk, but that comes when you spend 12+ hrs in a confined space with the same person 60+ hrs q/wk. You deal with it then and there and move on. You have a sense of humor. You yell it out, talk it out, stop the ambulance after a call and duke it out! Whatever helps. Just get it out...fix it. Otherwise, you are going to drive yourself crazy and hate your life. Not everyone follows this policy, and they are miserable. I find it difficult to follow in my personal life. But at work, I have absolutely NO problem confronting something that I think is unjust, unfair, or something that flat out offends me.

     At the county service, things are so different. I have more down-time to do things...like sleep, for instance. Wonderful thing, Sleep. Sometimes I forget what it is or what it feels like. The first time I watched 'The Lord Of the Rings: Return Of the King' and I heard Frodo say, 'Grass....I have forgotten what it feels like.' I scoffed because I could not relate. How can someone forget what grass feels like? Well, I will tell you that I have had this realization so many times....but mostly about sleep. What does it really feel like to sleep? Sometimes I 'forget' because I have spent so long forcing myself to 'forget' and to focus everything I have on 'staying awake'. This was mostly while I was in medic school, but it still happens every now and again. I am thankful to have gone through medic school, but I wouldn't go back through it if you paid me. Thank God that I am now on the other side. I love the county service...it is such a familial environment, and if we respond to a 'bad' call, we usually have time to recoup before the next call. You have time to actually cook food, and if you get called away while cooking, then there is always someone else there to finish the cooking until you return. Unless it is a really messy call, of course (like a cardiac arrest, or a structure fire that takes hours to contain.) I hope to soon have a full-time position at a county service, and drop to part-time at Lifeguard..or just quit all together.

      There are SO many paths that I could take at this point, and I know that there will always be more than I can have at any one time. I want to get my Search and Rescue, I want to do tracking, I want to work at a full-time 911 county service, I want to work all over the world in remote places and help people who have no other help, I want to fly, jump out of the plane and hike to my destination! I want to teach, I want to be a flight medic! I want to live on a small houseboat or a cabin in the woods and have time to do my own things! Like carpentry, or gardening....or, cooking meals. Ha! What is it like to have free-time? That is another thing that I have forgotten about. Frodo, you silly Hobbit! Tolkien, You must have known what it was to forget such basic things....things that ordinary people take for granted. When I have 'free-time' now, it is usually spent doing either everything that I have to catch-up on, or I spend it doing mindless nothings because I am too exhausted to do anything but sit.

     So, that is the end. We will see what happens.

MAZUNGU, MODDUGAVE

     My mind has been twirling around my most recent adventure outside of the United States. This evening, I had the pleasure of reminiscing with one of my travel companions from my Uganda excursion, Maddie Harris, and my memories rushed back. Back to my first encounter with Uganda.

Our Luggage - Medical Supplies

    We arrived late at night...I believe it was roughly around midnight or close to 1am. We had been traveling a long while, and none of us were really sure of the time. One or two of our duffle bags full of medical supplies had not made it with the rest, so Amy and Charlotte stayed in the airport at customer service to fill out paperwork so that we could eventually get the luggage if it were ever to surface. In the tussle of trying to gather our luggage was a group of 4 military men who also had military duffle bags, and we had a time trying to distinguish our luggage from theirs. Some of theirs were these huge black rugged boxes filled with who knows what, but were obviously too large to fit into the scanner, so they had to be rummaged through by hand. The rest of us, Chip, David and Maddie, Sarah Cloud, Jeanne 'Jja Jja Jee Jee' Crawford, and myself loaded up the rest of the luggage on carts and began our journey towards the outside door, but were preceded by the military men. It was no bother to any of us, and Jja Jja Jee Jee, being in her 70's and quite the motherly type, gave them all hugs and whispered in their ears ,'You make it back safely, you hear!' with a motherly smile, and a tear in her eye. 'Your mother is not here to tell you that, so I am your mother for now.' They all allowed her to hug them, and without a word, gathered their luggage and began piling it to take inventory. A rough looking security guard with an A-K 47 and a gargantuan black dog on alert silently strode by, a menacing pair. The sleepy security guard at the front door waking up just in time for them to pass, and then drifting back to sleep, his A-K 47 draped across his lap, barrette tipped to the side, and his boots polished so that the lights reflected off of them. Thus was our introduction to Uganda.

David Ssesublime and Me

Landed in Entebbe, Uganda!

      We silently shuffled outside and tried to keep our luggage close, as random men kept coming up to us, trying to take our luggage and asking where we needed to go. A warm smiling face greeted us...and introduced herself. After that, we had several smiling faces, and hugs all around, shaking of hands, and I have no idea who was there and who was not. I am assuming that Big Sam was there. I knew no one before I went, and I did not meet my travel team until the day of our flight. All of a sudden my luggage was taken, and David Ssesublime bounced over to me, hugged me and said, 'Welcome Deanna!' I looked at him with some confusion, 'I am sorry, but I do not remember meeting you.' 'That is because we have not yet met!' he smiled back, and we had a laugh. David Ssesublime was our team leader and the original organizer of this entire trip! Our luggage was packed into two vehicles: a bus and a very large van. Everyone of my team shuffled into the van. I do not blame them. Most of them had never been out of the country, and here we were in Uganda, of all places. It could be disorienting for some, and I can see why they all wanted to stick together. I purposefully hopped onto the bus where all of the Ugandan people were, and made myself at home. I found that some of them spoke english and I peppered them with questions, which they were all more than happy to answer. Suddenly I was awake and full of life...and very thirsty. In the night, with the uninhibited blast of stars overhead, our vehicles left the airport and began the long bumpy journey down the road to Apricot Guest House where we would spend the night. In my bus, we talked and laughed and had a wonderful time. David Ssesublime pointed out landmarks that he said I would have to remember to look for during the daylight hours, and we went over some of the itinerary for the next few days. I could see the weary look in his eyes, but he was genuinely happy to see us. He and I were to become good friends on this trip.
      Apricot Guest House was amazingly beautiful, and the beds, being almost rock hard, suited me just fine. I shared a room with Sarah Cloud that first night, and we opened the windows for a wonderful cool breeze filtering into the room. Our beds were covered in mosquito netting - a God Send! - and everything was arranged just so perfectly and simply. The showers, well, the water was freezing cold, but I did not mind too much. I had experienced worse, and I did not expect to have warm water anyway. So, goosebumps and all, I took a shower, and then plopped into bed for a few hours sleep. The next morning would begin an entirely new chapter, and I was so eager to see what Uganda was like. I slept like a bump on a log the entire night.

     When I returned to the states, I was asked if I felt that I could have stayed a while longer. I thought about it, but it did not take much time for me to realize that, yes, I would be completely fine staying there for one year, even. I would have loved to have learn the language a little, and I would have liked to have worked with the people more. I felt that even in just the short amount of time that we were there, we were making such an impact. Medical education on the importance of hygiene, and introducing new ideas of health and wellness. The looks in these young female faces when they heard that they did not have to stay home from school because of their menstruation, but that they could continue to come to school and learn despite that, and were given washable pads for it. Or giving each family one electric solar light so that they would not have to brave the toxic fumes and risk the fire hazard of the glassless oil lamps. These simple things that mean so much. I was humbled by the lady who manned the restrooms at the school, because she stayed up one evening and made a broom for me - with my name woven in the handle. My heart was touched so deeply. I do not feel in any way that it was one-sided learning experience, though. Those people taught me so much. The wonder of being genuinely happy in mud huts.

My Interpreters! Brian and Sarah 'Mzungu'

When I went to make medical calls, they welcomed me into their mud houses with pride and offered me food that they could not really afford to offer. One house that I visited, an older man approached me and my friend/interpreter Brian and scoffed at us and said, 'Why is it that, if we come to your country, we are expected to learn the language, but when YOU come HERE to our country, you need HIM to interpret?!' I breathed a deep sigh, because the only good answer that I had was that I did not have ample time to prepare. This gentleman and I spoke for several minutes, and I apologized for the discrepancy between the two situations. My explanation that I had not time to learn his language, and that there was not a lot of learning literature on Lugandan, finally convinced him. By the end of our chat, he gave me a huge hug, grasped my hand in both of his, and welcomed me into his home. When I left that house, he walked me to the edge of the property and the beginning of our trail back to the school, and he thanked me for coming.

     I left those people, and I returned to the United States. I am grateful for the opportunity to have gone, and even more so for the opportunity to have learned and seen what I did. I love the fact that I can feel 'at home' pretty much wherever I go in this world, and that some times are rough, but I am made for such things. Sometimes the heart desires things that are beyond the body's capability to fulfill. Growing up I always wanted to be either a Navy Seal or a Ranger. That could not be, for obvious reasons. But my heart yearns for these types of trips, and hopefully I will be able to find longer trips in the future. I have no idea what the future holds, but I am excited to see it! One of my friends once said, 'I cannot just pass by a door that is opened to me. I HAVE to at least walk through and see what is inside.' And I feel the same way. So, with that said, I hope more of these 'doors' are swung open for me, and that more opportunities stroll into my life.

Peace be the journey.

Left - Right: Chip Higgins, Maddie and David Harris, David Ssesublime, Charlotte Owens, Sarah Cloud

Some of the kids at the Raise the Roof Academy

Raise the Roof Academy buildings

Ugandan roads

children in the village of Bwasandeku, Uganda

Fred's family and house (Fred is holding his little sister)

Fred's pantry

'Welcome to Raise De Roof-u!'

Back in Nashville

     I had a  difficult night last night. My body has been cooking a respiratory virus and last night it began its 'life'. I will not go into descriptives (everyone has had a cold before), but I headed it off at the pass. I netti-potted my nose, did a salt-water gurgle to take care of the sore throat, and went back to bed. This morning, the throat is not as bad (it helps to brush teeth and rinse the tonsils with salt-water), and my head is not as cloudy. In fact, I woke up this morning ready to take on the PLANET! I have not wakened in the morning with this feeling in quite a while. I call it 'The New Frontiers Wake-Up Feeling' because I felt it almost every day that I woke up while at New Frontiers. A strong feeling, a happy/joyful/energized feeling. I used to get it when I awoke in The Birdhouse, while driving the trash down to the dump in the old gray Chevy pickup truck (dodging random chickens, cats, dogs, and other animals that decided to cross the old country roads), waking up in the cave and making those wonderful horrid pancakes in the dark with only a gas lantern as our light, when I awoke and knew that I had a full day starting with packing all of the canoes onto the wrack and hooking the canoe trailer to the truck and filling it with gas. I remember clean-up days where we would all take the entire day and clean campus, top to bottom. Just my luck back then, I grabbed a bucket and it had a hole in it. When I filled it with water, there were no buckets left, and instead of waiting for another bucket to be free, I just filled my leaky bucket with soapy water and ran to wherever it was that I needed to clean and tried to clean as fast as I could before all the soap and water ran out! The good thing about this method is that I never had to dump out the dirty water. As I walked past Lori Nellist on my way back to the hose, I heard her singing, 'There's a hole in your bucket, dear Dee-ee, dear Dee-ee! There's a hole in your bucket, dear Dee-ee, a hole!' I looked up at her, and we both laughed hard...I had to go back and fill my bucket again. I loved seeing that infectious and rare smile on her face so much...it warmed my heart to its core, and I could not help but laugh with her.
     I remember shaving my head for the first time, I remember my first time belaying, scrubbing mildew out of the bathrooms, stubbing my big toe on a rock while walking barefoot at night and the pain of losing my entire nail at once. I remember my calloused hands and feet, sitting on the long porch of Victory Hall and playing my guitar while a storm brewed in the sky. Laying by a crackling fire in my sleeping bag and hearing Johnny and his long gray beard tell ancient stories while carving a Jee-Haw Whimmy Diddle, and learning things to eat and what not to eat to avoid getting ticks and chiggers (chicks and tiggers, as they are sometimes called). Standing on the top of the Giant Swing and looking down into the valley, hearing the wild cats roar and the owls hooting at night, the night I was sleeping in my bunk with the door open and a deer came clomping into the room and its antlers were so close to my face while I lay stark still in my bunk! All of the midnight missions we took those kids on and encouraged them to go beyond what they 'thought' they could do.
    So this morning, as memories flicker through my head and heart, and I feel this strong sense of energy and beauty and hope and joy and strength and love, and so many other things that I cannot describe, I feel the need to write as I have not in over 13 months...nay, perhaps a few years even. I am reminded of the words of Patti Griffin, 'You know it's a mad mission, under difficult conditions. Not everybody makes it to the loving-cup! It's a mad mission, but I've got the ambition. Mad mad mission....Sign Me UP!' That is how I feel right now, and more. I know it will not last forever (and I would not want it to), but it is nice to be reminded of it now and again. So many days we all walk around in our trail of tears, but that is not how we were meant to live - I am convinced of it.
     I am not the most articulate person, but I live to be real, and I like to write truth. This is my first attempt at writing and articulating my thoughts and heart in a very long while, so bear with me please, as everything rushes to my head at once and my hands struggle to type it all out while trying to make sense of it all. The brain works so much faster than my hands and mouth can work, and I get all jumbled as the words tumble out. It is like any language that I encounter....I can usually begin to understand the language in my head way before I can actually begin to start remembering the words to respond with.
     'I wish that you could see me when I'm flying through my dreams! The way I laugh there way up high! The way I look when I fly, the way I live! The way I FLYYYYY!'

Live life....love on......

Whispering is the Adventure

An interesting thing is happening. My voice, which is not very large or intrusive to begin with, has left me completely, and I cannot speak beyond a whisper. I struggle with pushing air out through my vocal chords as I usually do, but alas nothing comes out except a whisper. I can bellow my lungs with air, and rapidly and forcefully blow it out! But my vocal chords have locked themselves in an ice casing, and are unaffected by the urgings of my breath, and it appears that they mean to remain so. There is no pain accompanied with this. It is as if my voice has run away for a time. It is funny to be in the same room as Anne, in our tiny little house, and I have to move in close proximity (mostly within around 3-5 feet) so that she can hear me whisper, 'What kind of eggs would you like?'. Or, if she wants to have a conversation with me, she must hunt me down wherever I am in the house. It is a bit like playing Marco-Polo - she will keep repeating the question, as she searches for me, until she hears my whispered response. I remember playing that in the pool with my sisters and friends growing up - one of us who was 'it' would close their eyes and search around the pool with their arms outstretched trying to tag everyone else in the pool while the other people swam away. The only trouble with this game, is that even though you yell MARCO! you cannot always hear if there is a POLO out there. In my case, Anne unfortunately has to blindly wander around the house until she finds me, unless I go to her.

      One thing that I am finding is that I can express myself whenever I want! The 'catch' is (and I am not quite sure yet whether it is a 'catch' or not...I am still living inside of it and exploring this phenomenon) that even if I do express myself, I am not guaranteed to be heard or understood. Sometimes, I am not even noticed. All in all, I am not quite sure how to feel about this. I am not bothered by the inconvenience of it yet, and I find it to be a little freeing because I now do not have to talk. Even with my normal vocal range, I at least have people constantly bending an ear towards me saying, 'Huh? What did you say?' But now I have nothing. In my interactions today, I got into the elevator and said nothing, though I formed the words. That is how all of my interactions have been today, and it feels a little surreal - almost like when you are watching a film and you speak to the characters and they cannot hear you. Those who have interacted with me today and have heard my whisper do not expect me to talk. It is refreshing. But others who do not know me, and expect me to be able to talk like any normal person (because that is what people do) seem to shoot me frustrated looks or look at me like I am the rudest of all human beings on the planet.

     I have found a higher appreciation for listening to and paying attention to the things around me again, since I cannot fill the void with my own voice. Also, I cannot argue, so disagreements are not 'settled' using words, but by other means. Someone makes a statement, and if I do not agree with it, I cannot object to it immediately except by frowning and shaking my head, or biting my lips as I stare intently at them in a disgruntled way. It makes me stop and think about how I can express my point of view...and what exactly is my point of view? While I am at it, why do I disagree with the statement? So, my summation is this: in order to express something without words, you need to know the root of it inside of you, so that you can then interpret it into an entirely different language, sans voice, and convey your ideas. It is like trying to express 'loud noise' in a photograph. The next step is trying to then express why you like or dislike loud noise - again, in a photograph.

     This experience is reminding me of when I was a very little girl and had nothing to say so I barely spoke at all.

     I am back in the states. Yesterday, I had been back for 3 days and I found myself looking at Team Rubicon's site for their next mission; I am ready to go back out again. 12 days in Mexico was just enough to wet my whistle...at least, that is how I feel. I arrived back in the states and ate at Chili's with the group. BIG mistake. I should have eaten some exotic foods with Mick. Herein lies the mistake: Apparently our GI systems get so used to the foods/oils/etc. of other countries (especially 3rd-World ones) that when we return, many people have difficulty re-adjusting to American diets. I was sick for 2 full days, and barely able to stand for more than 5 minutes together. My muscles were so weak that my very bones felt heavy. I could hear the contents of my stomach sloshing around as I walked or turned over on the couch to reposition myself. I was not digesting anything - it was just going straight through. I did not really have any pain, and I had little to no energy. Imodium helped a little, but it was the powerade, the chicken noodle soup, and the gentle encouragement that my mom, dad, and Christa gave me to 'let myself rest', that really helped me recover quickly. Next time I have a small plan for easing into this diet, and I will know to give myself a few days.
      We began our trip at the Nashville Airport. Mick gathered everyone together and set his tone for the whole trip. Mick: 'I have these 2 tickets, but how do I know where to go to get on my flight? Do you guys know?' he asked the group in pretend wonderment and confusion. They all looked at him quite blankly. Most of them had never even been on a plane before, and had only dropped loved-ones off or picked them up at the airport. 'Well,' Mick said finally, 'First I can look on my ticket and see the flight number. Then, do you see those large screens up on the wall that keep flashing and changing? Ok, well, I can look at those and see that I am departing FROM Nashville, and then check the flight number, and it tells me what time the plane will take off and what gate I need to be at to board the flight.' He would go through this type of routine every time we were clustered together and had to go anywhere. As we walked down the streets of Juxtlahuaca, he would stop at street corners and tell everyone to look around and he'd point out certain land-marks or street signs. This was so that people would be aware of where they were, and also possibly find their way if they got lost from the group. He would also ask someone new to lead us to the restaurant where we ate breakfast every morning.
     Day One: Go to the church 'Gracias Abundante', and the group stayed there and helped out with tearing down fences and putting up new ones in their place. Our little clinical group gathered all the supplies that we would need to do clinics for the rest of the week in the 'pharmacy'. The next day, the clinic group loaded into the suburban and drove to a little place at the top of a mountain called Pena Prieta (it means Dark Knoll), and held clinic for the people who lived there. I was so nervous, but my small team assured me there was nothing to be nervous about. I picked up the job of being 'Pharmacy tech' really quickly, and was able to splint fractures and clean and dress wounds as they came up. It is ingrained in me not to take pictures of patients, so I did not take pictures of them until later in the week. We ate a late lunch - at around 3pm - and came down the mountain at around 7pm. A long day, but it set the speed and routine for the clinical group for the rest of the trip: we were always the 1st ones on site, last to eat lunch, and the last to get back to town. Many times the group waited on us to arrive before we walked straight to dinner. The hardest thing was at the end of the day when we had to send people away. How do you tell someone who's been waiting for hours to see you that the clinic is closed?

    

I saw such beauty around me all of the time. How do these people survive? How do they live? What kinds of things do they think about? I wonder how they are so stoic in facial expression, but still love such vivid colors?

Looking in their eyes, I cannot tell. They do not smile much, unless we smile first. Many of them do not even know how old they are. This woman could be anywhere from 60-100 years old, and she does not even know where she fits in that line. They do not know what the average lifespan is here. They are the people of the clouds...ageless, nameless, but not forgotten.

           Here are some of the pictures that I like most:

                        A Triki chair. They are a tiny people. A view from my perch at the pharmacy table.  

 Again, a view from my pharmacy table. These 3 hombres had already been seen, but their wives and children were waiting. The white hats were popular with mountain people.

                                     The mountain roads. We are in the back of a cattle truck.

 This shot was taken at one of the clinics - San Martin Duraznos (Saint Martin Peaches). She sat there and stared at me for several hours, then she turned and looked outside. I LOVE this shot.

 This is the canyon that we visited. We did not have to pay and I have no idea what it was called. But it translated to 'Muddy River Canyon' or something close to that. It was beautiful.

Poor little Eeyore. Their saddles were made of wood and so all of the hair on their backs was rubbed off. All of the animals were shy and skittish, but they were so hungry for affection that they perked up when we brushed their fur with our hands.

     We visited, in order: Pena Prieta, Juxtlahuaca, Yucuyi, Rio De Hielo,  Oaxaca City, Puebla, and Mexico City.      

Cheers to Mexico