Life is returning to normal. Yay! Although, I’m not quite sure what normal is any more.
My pneumonia is no more. It took two peanut butter shots, enough fluids to sink a battleship, umpteen days of nothing but rest, and a small—OK, a big—miracle. But when I went in Sunday morning (we got a call at 9 AM asking why the blazes I hadn’t come in for my daily recheck yet), I was pronounced pneumonia free! I was now just really sick! Yay! Life is looking up!
So on to other things. Alakanuk is trying its hardest to blow away. No kidding. We’ve been having crazy winds here for two days now — about 50 miles per hour, with gusts up to 70. This might not be a big deal in most cities or towns or desolate places, but here, where buildings are up on stilts, it is. A big deal. It makes houses shake. By the time this is over, we may end up in Oz.
And why are buildings on stilts? Because the Yukon River floods every year. When an Arctic Circle of snow melts around the same time the rain hits, the results can be quite impressive. It even washes all the garbage into the ocean. The garbage dump is cleared out of a lot of stuff, and so is the town. Most people here look at that as being a good thing. Seriously. I’m sure the fishes really appreciate it. But what these people don’t think of is that all the villages up river are “cleaned out” the same way. Yup. It stinks being at the bottom of the trash (and crap) flow. That is why we boil and filter water here.
So—we have now officially entered rabies season. You’ve heard of cold and flu season? Apparently, there is rabies season too. Strange that it coincides with lack of sun. I wonder if it could have anything to do with deficient vitamin D? Anyway—turns out that a crazed fox raced out of the trees and attacked a landing bush plane. Tried to chew the tires right off of the thing. Of course, it had about as much success as a Chihuahua attacking a speeding Buick. But the pilot had enough sense to stay in the plane. No cargo is worth risking rabies for. Now the fox hunt is on. So far, no luck. Either the poor thing has died, moved to warmer climates, or got blown away to Oz.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Pneumonia Strikes
So I have come up with the #1 rule of living in the Bush: DON’T GET SICK! Simple as that.
Turns out I have pneumonia. Joy. So far, I haven’t found the humor in it—-but I’m still looking.
They gave me a peanut butter shot—-some A-bomb of antibiotics. It hurt like crazy. In fact, before he gave me the shot, he asked me if I have ever fainted. He said the shot is so painful it sometimes makes people faint. Now there’s a comment to instill confidence. The aide is a really nice guy—-name of Paul.
Paul phoned the doctor on call (in Bethel), and they wanted to fly me out to the hospital tonight, but there were no more flights tonight. So they gave me the peanut butter shot, put me on antibiotics, and let me go home until morning with strict instructions to drink lots of fluids. If I haven’t improved drastically, they will fly me out in the morning. I am hoping for a miraculous recovery so that I don’t have to leave Taco. (But just in case, we’ve made arrangements for him to stay with another couple until we get back. I would go by myself, but last time I went to a hospital by myself, I almost died because of shoddy care--literally. So we don’t want to make that mistake again.)
My biggest gripe about all this (other than being so sick and possibly having to leave Taco while I fly in to the hospital) is that I can’t go the Potlatch tonight. I feel like the only kid in town to miss out on the local hoedown. It stinks. And I wanted to be there for my friend Stephanie. She puts so much work into these things.
So meanwhile, I have a super sore butt (that shot was a killer—although I am proud to announce that I did NOT faint); I feel like I’m breathing through a straw; I ache from head to toe; my head feels like it’s split open; I have a horrific cough. And there is a rabid fox in town.
I know there is some humor in here somewhere. I just need to find it.
Turns out I have pneumonia. Joy. So far, I haven’t found the humor in it—-but I’m still looking.
They gave me a peanut butter shot—-some A-bomb of antibiotics. It hurt like crazy. In fact, before he gave me the shot, he asked me if I have ever fainted. He said the shot is so painful it sometimes makes people faint. Now there’s a comment to instill confidence. The aide is a really nice guy—-name of Paul.
Paul phoned the doctor on call (in Bethel), and they wanted to fly me out to the hospital tonight, but there were no more flights tonight. So they gave me the peanut butter shot, put me on antibiotics, and let me go home until morning with strict instructions to drink lots of fluids. If I haven’t improved drastically, they will fly me out in the morning. I am hoping for a miraculous recovery so that I don’t have to leave Taco. (But just in case, we’ve made arrangements for him to stay with another couple until we get back. I would go by myself, but last time I went to a hospital by myself, I almost died because of shoddy care--literally. So we don’t want to make that mistake again.)
My biggest gripe about all this (other than being so sick and possibly having to leave Taco while I fly in to the hospital) is that I can’t go the Potlatch tonight. I feel like the only kid in town to miss out on the local hoedown. It stinks. And I wanted to be there for my friend Stephanie. She puts so much work into these things.
So meanwhile, I have a super sore butt (that shot was a killer—although I am proud to announce that I did NOT faint); I feel like I’m breathing through a straw; I ache from head to toe; my head feels like it’s split open; I have a horrific cough. And there is a rabid fox in town.
I know there is some humor in here somewhere. I just need to find it.
We've Survived--So Far
First of all, let me get this out of the way: I AM SICK!!! I feel like I have the world’s worst cold and sound like I have the world’s worst cough. I ache from head to toe; have no voice; am freezing cold; and basically miserable. There. Now that’s out of the way, I’ll get down to business.
Taco and I are now up in the bush with Keri. Tanner stayed in Idaho to finish the school year because…actually, I will explain that in the next blog. (If I go into it now, this thing could go on forever.)
Our trip here was crazy! We flew on three flights and were in five airports by the time we got to Anchorage. I will never understand why a trip that has you going south when you want to go north, and takes three planes when it could have taken one, is so much cheaper than a direct flight! Doesn’t make much sense to me. Maybe that’s why there is failing airlines.
Anyway, we started in Salt Lake City, then on to Denver, into Phoenix, and then stopped in Seattle. The Seattle stop was unscheduled; we had to refuel because of strong headwinds. We couldn’t make it all the way to Anchorage—and generally speaking, a frigid ocean isn’t the best landing spot for a jetliner. We finally made Anchorage at about 2:30 AM—4:30 Utah (and our bodies’) time. We were exhausted!
Since I am too cheap to pay a hundred bucks for a hotel just for three hours worth of sleep, we camped out at the terminal. The Anchorage terminals are different than most—the benches don’t have arms; they are made to sleep on. And that is what we did; or at least, that is what Taco did. I just sat there.
When the ticket desk finally opened for the bush planes, I discovered a problem with our tickets—we didn’t have any. Turns out that although I had bought one, we weren’t on their list. For the past three days, they had been unable to fly into the village because of weather, so there was a backlog of people wanting to take the flight.
We tried standby, but it became obvious that the plane was going to be full, so we got a hotel—which, by the way, was DISGUSTING! But the real annoyance about the hotel part is that it came highly recommended by none other than my husband. The smell in the first room about made me sick, so I asked for a different room. That one wasn’t a heck of a lot better. It was so gross, that I was hesitant to take a shower without wearing some kind of protective footwear. When I asked Keri what on earth he could have possibly liked about the place, it turns out he liked it because they fed him breakfast. Sure doesn’t take much to impress the man.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep yet because we had too much to do. The girl at the bush desk was awful. And she was going to charge us $300 for excess baggage. The bush planes don’t allow as many pieces of luggage as regular airlines do—although, with eight trips in and out, this was the first time someone was going to actually enforce it. Great. So Taco and I took a taxi to WalMart to buy some great big totes. Then we walked across the street to buy groceries, and took a cab back to the yucky hotel. We packed the totes with one bag each (those small suitcases with rollers), plus a lot of other clothes. We got rid of two bags and a bunch of other stuff, totaling 70 pounds each, so that we had more room in our suitcases for the groceries. Then we took the totes to a 24 hour post office (yes—there is a post office open 24/7 near the Anchorage airport—that’s the nature of the bush). It cost us $20 to ship each of the really big packages weighing 70 pounds.
Since we hadn’t eaten all day, we hit a buffet, and then went back to the yucky hotel, and SLEPT.
The real problem began the next morning when we realize that we’d miscalculated. Could it be the effect of running for three days on hardly any sleep? We had WAY more stuff than we could fit into the suitcases—both size and weight. So we took the bags of powdered milk (I’d bought two big cans of powdered milk, and then put them in freezer bags to transport them) and a bag of icing sugar, and duct taped them to my torso. We had Taco tuck in his undershirt, and we dropped about ten oranges down his shirt and two big bags of dehydrated sliced potatoes. He was not impressed. The oranges made him itch and the potatoes were scratchy—which if you think about it, is the perfect combination. The potatoes scratch the itches caused by the oranges. Anyway, I felt like a health food terrorist. Good thing there is no security check to get on the bush planes, or we never would have made it through.
Anyway, we finally got to the village. Yay! But by that time, I had thrown my back out, what with all the hauling luggage and stuff. So I spent the next three days alternating between pain meds and muscle relaxant—both of which knock me out. When the pain finally subsided, I awoke to discover that I was horribly sick. I have been absolutely miserable for over a week now. And worthless. So far, I am wondering when this trip is going to start being fun. And I’m sure Keri is wondering why the heck he wanted me out here in the first place.
Taco and I are now up in the bush with Keri. Tanner stayed in Idaho to finish the school year because…actually, I will explain that in the next blog. (If I go into it now, this thing could go on forever.)
Our trip here was crazy! We flew on three flights and were in five airports by the time we got to Anchorage. I will never understand why a trip that has you going south when you want to go north, and takes three planes when it could have taken one, is so much cheaper than a direct flight! Doesn’t make much sense to me. Maybe that’s why there is failing airlines.
Anyway, we started in Salt Lake City, then on to Denver, into Phoenix, and then stopped in Seattle. The Seattle stop was unscheduled; we had to refuel because of strong headwinds. We couldn’t make it all the way to Anchorage—and generally speaking, a frigid ocean isn’t the best landing spot for a jetliner. We finally made Anchorage at about 2:30 AM—4:30 Utah (and our bodies’) time. We were exhausted!
Since I am too cheap to pay a hundred bucks for a hotel just for three hours worth of sleep, we camped out at the terminal. The Anchorage terminals are different than most—the benches don’t have arms; they are made to sleep on. And that is what we did; or at least, that is what Taco did. I just sat there.
When the ticket desk finally opened for the bush planes, I discovered a problem with our tickets—we didn’t have any. Turns out that although I had bought one, we weren’t on their list. For the past three days, they had been unable to fly into the village because of weather, so there was a backlog of people wanting to take the flight.
We tried standby, but it became obvious that the plane was going to be full, so we got a hotel—which, by the way, was DISGUSTING! But the real annoyance about the hotel part is that it came highly recommended by none other than my husband. The smell in the first room about made me sick, so I asked for a different room. That one wasn’t a heck of a lot better. It was so gross, that I was hesitant to take a shower without wearing some kind of protective footwear. When I asked Keri what on earth he could have possibly liked about the place, it turns out he liked it because they fed him breakfast. Sure doesn’t take much to impress the man.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep yet because we had too much to do. The girl at the bush desk was awful. And she was going to charge us $300 for excess baggage. The bush planes don’t allow as many pieces of luggage as regular airlines do—although, with eight trips in and out, this was the first time someone was going to actually enforce it. Great. So Taco and I took a taxi to WalMart to buy some great big totes. Then we walked across the street to buy groceries, and took a cab back to the yucky hotel. We packed the totes with one bag each (those small suitcases with rollers), plus a lot of other clothes. We got rid of two bags and a bunch of other stuff, totaling 70 pounds each, so that we had more room in our suitcases for the groceries. Then we took the totes to a 24 hour post office (yes—there is a post office open 24/7 near the Anchorage airport—that’s the nature of the bush). It cost us $20 to ship each of the really big packages weighing 70 pounds.
Since we hadn’t eaten all day, we hit a buffet, and then went back to the yucky hotel, and SLEPT.
The real problem began the next morning when we realize that we’d miscalculated. Could it be the effect of running for three days on hardly any sleep? We had WAY more stuff than we could fit into the suitcases—both size and weight. So we took the bags of powdered milk (I’d bought two big cans of powdered milk, and then put them in freezer bags to transport them) and a bag of icing sugar, and duct taped them to my torso. We had Taco tuck in his undershirt, and we dropped about ten oranges down his shirt and two big bags of dehydrated sliced potatoes. He was not impressed. The oranges made him itch and the potatoes were scratchy—which if you think about it, is the perfect combination. The potatoes scratch the itches caused by the oranges. Anyway, I felt like a health food terrorist. Good thing there is no security check to get on the bush planes, or we never would have made it through.
Anyway, we finally got to the village. Yay! But by that time, I had thrown my back out, what with all the hauling luggage and stuff. So I spent the next three days alternating between pain meds and muscle relaxant—both of which knock me out. When the pain finally subsided, I awoke to discover that I was horribly sick. I have been absolutely miserable for over a week now. And worthless. So far, I am wondering when this trip is going to start being fun. And I’m sure Keri is wondering why the heck he wanted me out here in the first place.
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