Can you walk?

I’m in the van in a parking area at this super rad hotel/campground/experience(?!) in Marfa, West Texas. I’m sitting in the passenger seat that’s spun around to face the rest of the van. The door’s open and it’s chilly and really dark out. The stars should put on quite a show out here. Henley is up on my bed, wearing an old red bandana, trying to keep his eyes open to stare at me, as he loves to do. I have a local beer and a bag of Tate’s cookies next to me and a candle is burning. A pretty perfect Andrew Bird song is playing. I was just in the middle of some school work for the nutrition program I’m in, when the feeling of joy and pride and gratitude overwhelmed me.

I did it. This is what I wanted. And I have it. I’m doing the damn thing! I’m traveling the country in a camper van I dreamed about for so long and managing to make a living doing it WHILST I work towards more dreams of working in nutrition and wellness, being my own boss with my own schedule, and working remotely so I can travel, live wherever I want, and hang out with Henley all day. 

(I know doing homework in a van in the desert in Texas isn’t a lot of people’s dream, but it’s MINE.)

So there’s a couple things you can do:

1. Thank your lucky stars for what you have and what you’re doing and where you are. This isn’t a brand new stage of life that I just reached today that made me so grateful. It’s just that I stopped to think about it. Even if you think you don’t have everything you want (there will always be more that we want), think about what you DO have, the GOOD parts. Do you have a job? Someone that loves you? Food and shelter? Can you freakin’ walk? You have SOMETHING to be grateful for and to cherish. And chances are, you didn’t just fall into this situation, good or bad, and your decisions and actions helped you get here. So take pride in that and keep up the good work.

2. If you’re thinking of the negatives, take responsibility for those too. If you don’t like what you’re doing or where you are or who you’re with, CHANGE IT. It might be hard and painful to make changes, but it’s less painful than living a life you don’t love and looking back with regret. I recently read Gwyneth Paltrow say, “We’re here one time. One life. How can we really milk the shit out of this?” GP’s questionable health claims aside, this quote has stuck with me. 

Do whatever the F makes you happy and let’s milk the shit out of this!

It's just a f*cking adventure.

After what was supposed to be a thirteen week assignment, I finally hung up my stethoscope in Colorado after eleven months. That assignment was so good to me. That state is incredible, the hospital and staff are great, and Henley and I spent the last seven months with an amazing human roommate and a very cute/squishy/slobbery/dependent dog roommate. I was both sad to leave and excited to go — How lucky am I?

This new assignment I am very happy about! Alaska was at the top of my to-go list when I started travel nursing. I tried last summer, but didn’t find an assignment I liked. But I found The One for this summer! Not only is it in Anchorage, where I decided was the only place I wanted to take a job, but it’s an infusion center! AN INFUSION CENTER! For twelve blissful weeks I will not be a bedside nurse. 

People go to scheduled appointments at an infusion center often for outpatient chemotherapy, antibiotics, blood, iron, and immunotherapy to name a few. There are so many things about working in an infusion center that is so much better for me than working on the floor. The list is so long I won’t even get into it. But one other cool thing I’ll mention is that this medical center is just for Alaska Natives. It’ll be so different and interesting. I have a few books I’ve been digging into to learn about this culture to better serve them. 

And a long, sad story they have. Of course, Alaska covers a huge area and all of the people did not have the exact same experiences. However, it is my understanding that I can generally say that ever since white men (at first, Russian explorers, but then European traders, whalers, and missionaries) started coming over in the mid 1700s, the lives of Alaska Natives has been turned upside down. The white men brought diseases that the Natives had no immunity to. Around sixty percent of Native people were erased. In addition, the missionaries would not let the Natives live their own way. Although the Natives believed in harmony among the land, sea, and all beings there, the white men didn’t understand their ways and considered them “backward savages." The Native survivors of the epidemics, traumatized, were forced to follow the white missionaries. The Natives were made to believe that their old beliefs were evil and that they should be ashamed of them. They were not allowed to speak their languages or to speak of their old ways. They were forced into Christian church and to discard their old spirituality, dance, ceremonies, and traditions. Even their names were taken away and they were given white names. The survivors stopped speaking of their history to their children. These children grew up and had children who never knew anything of their people’s past. The missionaries created a people who would not speak of their hurt and pain and that is probably the worst thing they did. A few generations later and we still have a population with no coping mechanisms which has led to all of the diseases the Alaska Natives face today: depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, and the consequences of these: homelessness, unemployment, violent acts, criminal behavior, and the chronic diseases born from stress and poor lifestyle factors.* Needless to say, not every Alaska Native is suffering, but this tragedy affected enough. It is a part of our country's history that most Americans are unaware of so the story should be told.

Anyway…

It’s been a month now since moving into the van. I’ve been writing here and there, often after waking up on the beach somewhere, sipping on coffee, like I am now. Here is that log, a random selection of days living in a sixty-five square foot tin can on wheels and exploring this extraordinary state.

Day 1

We woke early and packed the last few things in the van. This is it. I’ve moved into a van. It’s official. 

We stopped at a dog park in Casper, Wyoming. I just gave Henley a bath last night, but he forgot this and ran straight to the giant puddle/small pond in the middle of the park and lied down, a few feet away from a dog taking a poop in said puddle pond. Now I’ve toweled Henley off and I’m left with a wet towel and a still-wet dog. In a van home. Where do I put this wet towel?? It’s these little annoyances that I’ve started to pick up on already. Some of them I imagine I’ll learn to control and resolve. Some will just stay as the inconveniences of living in a van. 

We drove on to Bozeman and then to Missoula, Montana where I am sleeping — where else — but a Walmart parking lot. There are about fifteen other RVs and vans here. I’ve never minded sleeping in lots like this or at highway rest stops on road trips. With others doing the same, it feels safe and kind of cozy.

Day 3

Today was a day of epic views and so many bears! I drove from Calgary, through Banff National Park and Jasper National Park, and then through hours of just trees until we stopped for the night in the largest town in any direction for hours, Grande Prairie. 

I take back what I said about not minding sleeping in lots like Walmart and rest stops. There’s two different vibes you can experience in a place like this. The more frequent is that we’re like-minded people, all doing this funny thing, we’re not going to bother one another, this is a quiet and safe place. The other vibe that I’ve experienced only a couple times now is when people are living in their vehicle in that lot long-term. We are no longer like-minded and we’re not doing the same thing and it is no longer a safe place. You can imagine the population that would live in a Walmart parking lot in a town in the middle of the woods. Until this point, I actually thought white trash was special to the States and never imagined it in Canada, a place Americans secretly admire and envy.

Day 4

We got to Liard Hot Springs in Yukon in the early evening and set up camp. One of the great things about the van is that when you go “camping,” you don’t have to set up anything or take it down. And it doesn’t matter that it’s raining. It’s nice and cozy inside and you don’t have to do any of that tent crap outside. I walked to the hot springs. It felt wonderful, but had a hot ground-water smell. Wish I brought some aromatherapy. In the water, I sat on a bench around the edge of the pool. The water came up to the middle of my chest. Once I got warm, I brought my feet up to the bench so my knees were out of the water. I stretched my arms out, resting on my knees, palms up. A cold rain hit my face and arms. It was perfect with the warm springs on the rest of my body. I got my fill and left once the other people there bothered me enough. It wasn’t crowded at all, but enough people to bother me. Wouldn’t it be nice to be alone in a hot spring? There were two MAGA hats at the pool’s edge and I was inspecting everyone, judging, trying to see who they belonged to. There were a few kids playing too loudly. An older woman entered the pool and sat on the bench about five feet away from me, too close for the size of the area, and made soft, gentle sex noises the entire time she was in the warm water. It was time to get back home. The door’s open, I see the nice wilderness, feel the cold breeze, but am quite cozy inside. Henley’s on a long cord attached to the van so he can come and go as he pleases. Right now he’s on his bed in the van chewing on a bone. I’m sipping on canned pinot noir. The fairy lights are on and a lavender candle is lit. I’m very content. Not just with right now, but with my life. I had risky decisions to make, but it feels like I made the right choices.

Day 5

I drove all day through trees, beautiful mountains out my windows. So many grizzlies! I had never seen bears before this drive and by the end of the day, I had lost count of how many I had seen thus far. Once when I went up to northern Maine for a weekend, I had the goal to see both a bear and moose. I didn’t see either. I kind of thought this trip was going to be like that. I know those animals are here, but I probably won’t see them. I was wrong! I can pretty much turn around now and call it a success.

Day 7

I’ve made it to Anchorage. That contentedness I felt before — it comes and goes. I often think instead “What the eff am I doing?” Vanlife in the city has done that to me. But, it’s still worth it! No regrets. I’ll get used to this and get a system down but get out of town whenever I can.

Day 13

Yesterday, I got out of work at 5:30, picked up Henley from day care, and drove an hour and a half to Hope, Alaska on the other side of Turnagain Arm — a waterway off of the Gulf of Alaska that reaches up to Anchorage. We came straight to a cafe in this historic town. It sits on a corner of land where a river meets the Turnagain Arm. I sat in a small, wood-filled, dark bar with locals. I drank an Alaskan lager and ordered a grilled halibut sandwich. I could see out the old four-pane window that there were places to park in a gravel lot. There were two small RVs and a pickup truck with a small towed camper. I asked the sweet bartender about it and she said it would cost me ten dollars to sleep in my vehicle. I added that to my bill and moved the van over there. Even though I’m still in the van I sleep in every night, it’s so nice being out here as opposed to Anchorage. Vanlife in the city isn’t great. I always feel like I’m sneaking around and just trying to park legally but still quietly and not attracting any attention. It’s been fine and still worth being up here and not paying rent, but I look forward to leaving every day off and weekend. Henley is on the cord attached to the van and can do what he wants. I leave the doors open. I can cook, which hasn’t been fun to do in the city. I feel freedom and contentedness again.

This morning we woke and opened one of the back doors and the sliding door. I made coffee in the French press and crawled back in bed. I let Henley come up and snuggle. The sun is warm but there’s a constant cool breeze. I can hear the river. Between me and the river there’s tall grass then mudflats. There’s mountains on two other sides of me, bright green reaching up to dark gray-brown rock with snow. I’m reading a memoir about Alaska — John McPhee’s Coming into the Country. I’ll make eggs in the cast iron soon. As soon as I can get out of bed. It’s eleven a.m. now. I’m just so comfy here, it’s been hard to make the move. We’ll drive to the end of the Arm today and go to Whittier and take a hike. Eventually, I’ll head back to Anchorage, go to the gym tonight, and go back to work tomorrow. Then I have the weekend off to get back to this feeling. 

Day 15

Repeat to self:  It’s just a fucking adventure. 

This is my new mantra. It reminds me that the discomfort is temporary, it’s not a big deal, stop being a baby.

Day 22

Last week I drove down to another coastal town, Seward. Now, I’m in Homer for a long weekend, the fishing town at the end of the Kenai Peninsula. I’ve always loved moseying around boat docks and now I get to do it regularly. I’m trying to immerse myself as much as possible in the fishing culture without actually having to fish.

Day 29

Today I’m driving the Denali Highway, a 134 mile mostly dirt road that ends near Denali National Park on the west end. There are only a few establishments on the road, but I’ve stopped at one when I saw its sign claiming they had pie. Blue and white checked vinyl tablecloths. Powdered creamer and red translucent plastic cups on the table. Mismatched mugs. Mine has an Asian nature scene on it with a panda. Thin, cheap silverware. The kind you used in the elementary school cafeteria. Hospital-grade coffee. VFW hall chairs. I can hear bacon sizzling on the grill. The food is unsurprising, which is comforting. It’s hard for me to stop at places like this. I don’t like dining indoors at a table alone — I’d rather be outside and with Henley. I’d like to get coffee to go but this isn’t Starbucks. Places like this are special and deserve to be sat in and appreciated for what they are. 

Day 30

My favorite part about traveling is pulling over whenever you feel compelled to do so. You see a beautiful lake in the distance and then you see a dirt road and you hope it goes there. You cross a bridge and think the water beneath looks good for swimming. A dirt road in the desert that goes seemingly nowhere. My best days on the road have been because I pulled over when I felt the draw. Because of that intuitive draw, today I dove into a river with icy-cold clear waters then later stood at the edge of a lake at the bottom of mountains and thought it was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places I have ever been. I sat in the scent of sun block and bug spray and did nothing but watch Henley swim and admire our Earth.   

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The world is my backyard now and I am grateful for this freedom and life every day. 

*Yunyaraq: The Way of the Human Being by Harold Napoleon

van remodel

As you probably already know, I made a huge leap and purchased a camper van in January. It was already built out but I did a lot of work to it to make it mine. Here I'll tell you about the van, what I've done to him, and some before, during, and after pictures. 

Building something out was kind of always a dream, but I had to be realistic. There's a lot I'm just not capable of doing or I wasn't comfortable trying to do or didn't have any of the equipment to do. It would have been too hard, stressful, expensive, and time consuming. I also didn't want to buy a shell and send it off to one of the many companies that do the whole custom build for you. That just wasn't in my budget. I decided to buy something used and already built out. Through a mutual friend, I was hooked up with a 2006 Freightliner Sprinter in Jackson Hole. I bought a one-way ticket, flew through a snow storm, and drove the baby home. I call him Morrison, Van Morrison.

The previous owner had done a really good job with all the basics I wanted in a van. He's insulated, has a solar panel on the roof, two auxiliary batteries in the back, is all wired up, a roof vent fan, a big window in the sliding door, built in bed, shelving, bench with storage, a pull-out table to use at the bench, closet area, kitchen counter, and kitchen storage.

The van walls were covered in gray upholstery. This was the highest priority thing I wanted to change. I really wanted white walls. I like a clean, minimalist look anyway, but it is especially what I want if I'm going to live in a van. I told myself this might be the only thing I change. I think I was subconsciously trying to not overwhelm myself. But once I got going on this first project, more and more and more things came up and it turned into a full remodel. I tore down all of the upholstery and installed blue pine tongue and groove walls. I decided not to paint it so I had the natural element of the wood and didn't have too much white, as I painted the ceiling and all of the built-ins white. There were a few areas that were too small or hidden where I didn't bother to put the pine planks, such as behind shelving, so I used a spray adhesive to attach very thin balsa wood planks. It gave the same look of the planked walls without taking up space or the effort to install.

There isn't a ninety degree angle where the walls meet the ceiling so I wasn't sure how to make the two meet neatly. I'm pretty inept at this carpentry stuff so I had to get very creative. I bought flimsy plastic placemats at Walmart, painted them ceiling white, and cut them into strips that could tuck behind the top pine plank and lie on the ceiling, glued down with liquid nails. They curved and filled the gap just how I wanted.

I installed a shelf over the end of the bed for books and things. This shelf and the kitchen shelf got a one inch by one inch plank across so things don't fall off. I've learned that things on the shelf can actually leap over this, but it helps a little.

At the head and foot of the bed, the insulation in the walls is not there to allow for several more inches of bed length. When I got the van, however, this area looked unfinished and you could see the insulation in the wall. This was quite the trick to finish, as the edges were curved. I used the same ingenuity I used for the ceiling/wall gap. I used the placemats again to curve around the edges and give a much cleaner, finished look.

For the kitchen, I really wanted a butcher block countertop and luckily, found a piece on Craigslist in Denver for a reasonable price (way lower than if I had to buy it new) right when I was looking for it. I had my super helpful friend with all the tools cut this to size for me and also cut out a hole for a sink. The van didn't have a sink before I got my hands on it, so I needed to set up the plumbing too. My super helpful friend saved me again here. I stained the countertop in walnut. I sewed a curtain using a lightweight Ikea throw blanket to cover the water tanks/plumbing and drawers under the kitchen counter. I bought adhesive tiles online for the backsplash in the kitchen and I installed vinyl plank flooring in dark walnut.

The van came with a stove top and refrigerator, both run with propane. This required two vents in the side of the van which are unsightly and the top vent is where I would have liked to install another window. I got rid of the fridge and stove top in order to be able to get rid of the vents and propane tank and allow for more counter space. I ended up deciding to wait on the window so the vents are still there but at least it's ready if I want a window later. I got a top-of-the-line mobile fridge/freezer and for cooking I'm using my parents' two-burner Coleman stove from the 70’s that they mailed to me, as well as a new one-burner butane stove for quick things because it lights instantly. I also bought an Omnia stove top oven from a Swedish company. It looks like a bundt pan. The idea is that you can bake in it on the stove top. I built a shelf over the fridge, under the kitchen counter, to store the stoves.

The van came with a small inverter where I can plug in electronic devices, powered by the auxiliary batteries. I upgraded to a bigger inverter to be able to run more powerful things, like a hair dryer and blender.

Having it all listed here, it doesn't look like that big of a deal. But let me tell you!... To me, EVERYTHING was hard. Nothing was easy. Or fun. This was so out of my wheelhouse and I didn't even touch the really hard stuff. I never knew what I was doing, I was constantly making it up as I went along, doing it over and over because it kept not working, and it was exhausting work. But I DID IT. And I don't regret any of it, but I'm so happy it's over!

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I always wanted the van to be able to be lived in. I always said "Well I might try it for a little while and I'll just get an apartment if it's not great." But really I was defending myself. I didn't want to sound crazy that I wanted to live in a van. But maybe it was okay if I was just going to try it for a little while? That might be fun. Now that it's getting closer and definitely happening, I'm not shying away from stating Yup, I'm moving into a van soon and am going to live in it for three plus months. Of course, there always are other fall back options, but I don't intend to use them. Maybe it’ll be hard. Maybe it’ll be inconvenient. Maybe I’ll sound crazy. Maybe it’ll be awkward when my new coworkers ask me where I’m living. Maybe I’ll save a ton of money by not paying rent. Maybe I’ll get mega-fit from going to the gym so much to shower. Maybe it’ll be a really cool experience that I’ll cherish and want to continue to do. Guess we’ll find out!

T-minus thirty hours until I start full-time vanlife!

*** So much love and gratitude for Caity, Krissy, & Darin for making this possible. ***

A Note to Oneself on Patience and Self-Love

I’m a terrible travel nurse. I’m not traveling! After leaving my permanent job in Denver, I did a three month stint in San Francisco then came to Longmont, Colorado for my second assignment. I have extended my contract here three times. I really like it here — the hospital, the staff, the patients, the mountains and hiking, knowing people in Denver, and now having new friends by staying in one place for more than three months. Traveling to a new place is so scary because you really don’t know what you’re walking into. It could be terrible and you’re stuck there for three months. Every assignment I start I risk that. That is what I signed up for. I am brave and proud of myself to do that. But I’m not stupid. Why leave something so good and risk my happiness (and at times, sanity) just to travel like I’m “supposed” to? I am staying because of comfort, yes. I’m staying because I don’t want to end up somewhere horrible and be unhappy for three months when I could be happy here. I’m now staying here until the end of May. But then I’m really leaving! Probably. I’m a terrible travel nurse.

I lived in Longmont near the hospital for the first three months. My rent was stupid high and I would not have stayed here unless I could get paid a lot more or get my rent a lot lower. I may be staying for comfort but I wasn’t going to sacrifice pay for it. A wonderful nurse I work with offered I come live with her for a fraction of what I was paying in Longmont. I've been living in Westminster, a suburb of Denver, since October. It’s a bit of a commute to work but worth every minute of that drive. Henley’s super comfortable having another body to lie on top of and I love having her around too. There’s a list of benefits of living here (her new Rottweiler rescue at the top of it!) and now it’ll be even harder to leave. 

I’m still evaluating my life and career and what I want to do. This is the first time in years that I’m not actively doing something to move forward or at least have plans on how to move forward. It’s a bit scary, like I’m wasting time. But I just don’t know yet. If a future plan involves me going to grad school, I need to be very sure about it. I am not signing up for that shit without being completely confident and excited about the end result. 

In my free time while not working towards a future career, I’ve been hiking with Henley and doing yoga almost every day off. I’ve gone to yoga classes sporadically for years, but this is the first time I have an unlimited membership at a studio. Yoga, for me, is part work out and part meditation. I guess I could say the same for hiking. Whether it’s deep breathing on the mat or walking alone in the mountains, it resets and relaxes me.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more anxious. (My previous anxiety level was zero so my new higher level is still low on the anxiety scale.) There’s many variables involved, but it’s probably due to my increasing age and therefore nervousness about getting my shit together, and/or the uncertainty and impermanence of my current work and lifestyle. Regardless of the reason, methods that bring calmness have become more valued. I use mala beads to have a tangible object to find calmness. Essentially, they’ve become a comfort blanket. Also, I’ve found saying mantras to myself are very effective. Whereas with the mala beads I think to myself “Are you really feeling comfort with these? That’s kinda silly,” with mantras there’s no question they make me feel better instantly. Negative thoughts that are eating at me are turned off the second I start internally saying my mantra of choice.

I’ve been learning about human emotions that I need to be more intentional about. Vulnerability and bravery, specifically. Why don’t we learn about this in school? Oh right, there wasn’t time after covering the pythagorean theorem. Priorities! I guess I knew I had to work on these things before, but now they have been defined and identified and makes working on them possible. Writing here on this public platform is great vulnerability practice for me.

I’ve written myself a reminder to go back and reference when I need to know what I’m doing is okay, it’s right for me, for right now, to not worry so much about the future, to accept and enjoy the here and now.

Try repeating a mantra to yourself next time you feel stuck in negative self-talk. These are some of my go-to’s, but I suggest you make them highly personalized for what you need in that moment.

Courage over comfort.

Give me the courage to show up and let myself be seen.

Be kind to yourself and be patient.

Where I am right now is exactly where I need to be.

Today is my bitch.

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If you’re interested in learning about vulnerability and its importance in your life, watch Dr. Brené Brown’s TED Talk “The Power of Vulnerability” and read any and all of her books.

Why I’m Quitting Nursing, an essay

Okay, I’m not quitting today because I need to get a paycheck on Friday and the next Friday and the next until I make alternative plans. But if I were able to quit whenever I wanted, this day would have been the day.

Let me set the scene. 

I had one patient with paranoid schizophrenia. He brought himself to the emergency department with a very infected hand. He needed wound care and IV antibiotics. He was admitted and the psychiatrist who was consulted in the ED placed him on a hold, meaning we legally had to keep him in the hospital and not let him leave because he is a danger to himself and/or others, cannot care for himself, is not aware of his mental incapacity, and unable to make safe decisions (i.e. would leave the hospital when he should stay for care). He was delusional and afraid of getting raped, getting his organs harvested, his money being stolen, and snakes coming out of his hand. As his agitation increased, he started getting dressed to leave. I called security but made them stay outside the room. Uniformed men storming in would only make the situation worse. When he actually tried leaving and fighting me and the people trying to keep him to stay, I couldn’t protect him any longer. Three security officers took him down while he screamed and fought and I stood there in tears because all his nightmares were coming true and my heart broke for him.   

Across the hall, I had another patient: homeless like the other one, could not walk, could barely speak comprehensibly, was incontinent and wearing a diaper but did care if it was soiled, didn’t know the date or which hospital he was in, screamed when he wanted things, and was combative. All of that aside, we weren’t really providing him any more medical care, so he had to be discharged. The social worker got him a taxi voucher and donated sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt, and sneakers. She arranged to have his medication delivered to the hospital, but the patient wouldn’t wait for it. I printed his discharge instructions, but there was no way he would listen to that. He wasn’t going to take any medication anyway, so that section could be scrapped. He put his shirt on over a bloody arm from ripping his own IV out. I helped him put sweatpants on over a diaper that smelled like urine that he wouldn’t let me change. I stuck his papers that he would never look at in his pocket with the taxi voucher he wouldn’t use. I called transport who wheeled him downstairs and out the front door to the streets.

Of course, I had three other patients: one who needed pain medication every two hours, one I needed to discharge, and a new admission.

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Let me explain why I got into nursing. A couple things happened before I was even considering the field, but I believe played large roles: the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami and Hurricane Katrina. Both of these disasters left me feeling powerless and so sorry that I couldn’t help. I was in high school without much of a savings account and no skills to offer up. I was useless. I didn’t care about the penny drive we had at school. I wanted to get on a plane and help with my hands, save lives, pull people out of waters, press a baby against my chest, wrap a tourniquet around a bleeding leg, and gently pour clean water into needy mouths.

Later, I was in my freshman year of business school because owning my own shop was the only thing I could think of wanting to do with my life when I rethought things. I actually have no memory of what made me realize it, but I decided pulling people out of flooded streets and pressing babies against my chest would be what I do with my life. I wanted to heal people. People who truly needed it. Those who lived in places who had no access to medical care or even education on health, those who could not help that their health rapidly deteriorated within hours or days due to a natural disaster, those who never had a chance to begin with, these would be my patients. They needed me. I could help them. They would appreciate me. Healing others would be my career and life’s work. I would be a nurse.

Sounds freakin’ glorious, doesn’t it?!

God, I loved this idea so much. Disaster relief and working in developing countries is what made me realize nursing is what I wanted to do, but I knew I’d probably work a regular nursing job too, at least to start. It was a real career, a good career. I’ve written so many essays on nursing — for scholarships, for school applications — and I used to tear up writing words like the ones I just wrote. I was passionate. I guess it’s what got me through three more years of school studying public health, four and a half years of working as a nurse assistant, and two and a half years of nursing school. I knew it would be worth it.

Spoiler alert: IT WASN’T.

Or maybe it was, I don’t know! 

I still care about disaster relief and health in developing countries. I believe that if I’m working with people that haven’t eaten themselves or drugged themselves to the chronic mess they are currently in, if the patients participate and cooperate in their care, and if the patients respect and appreciate me, I would hate my career a lot less. *When I say appreciate me, I just mean I don’t want to be verbally and physically abused at work. (Dream big!) This kind of nursing is still something I want to do in the future. After I moved out of my parents house and I was able to get my own dog, I had to decide between puppy and working abroad. You know the choice I made and I’ve never regretted that. I also wanted to work in med-surg in a hospital to gain experience and not immediately head to Africa so I had years to kill anyway, with puppy in tow. 

Working in America among the obese, diabetic, hypertensive patients that either do not know how to take care of themselves or do not care to take care of themselves is not where my heart lies. I truly feel for those who care but do not have the knowledge. I would love to help a person who cares, but just didn’t know. They want to change, they need my help to change, I can heal them! However, only a small portion of the patients I see (inpatient, medical-surgical units) fall into this category — the willing and wanting to change. Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if they didn’t have to experience years of poor health, get admitted to the hospital for a temporary fix, and then continue the rest of their years in poor health?

Chronic diseases (obesity, diabetes, heart disease, cancer, etc.) are the leading cause of death and disability in the United States. They are often referred to as “nutrition-related chronic diseases” and are preventable. We grew up on the USDA’s food pyramid, on Mom cooking what she thought was a “balanced” meal with the ever-so-holy glass of milk to wash it down. Our nutrition was, and to this day is, based on a little science and a whole lot of politics and big-money corporations. Tyson, Hood, Conagra, they own our food and nutrition knowledge. Advertising taught us, school health class taught us, Mom and Dad taught us, exactly what they wanted us to believe. We need the beef they sell to get enough protein to be healthy. We need the milk they sell for strong bones. The nutrition education children receive in schools is not based solely on science, which nutrition is, but on the U.S. government’s dietary guidelines. And we know the U.S. government is completely fucked. 

This isn’t a conspiracy theory; this is fact: The dietary guidelines are issued by the U.S. Departments of Agriculture (USDA) and Health and Human Services (HHS). Good-intentioned health and nutrition scientists and experts on the Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee base their recommendations on years of scientific research. The USDA is in charge of strengthening (read: making more money for) America’s food and agriculture industries. You know who the USDA’s primary stakeholders are? The big food producers, of meat and dairy especially. So there’s old, fat, white guys that have major stake in certain foods we eat, sitting on the boards of some of the biggest food production companies, who also sit on the board for writing the dietary guidelines. They don’t like when nutrition experts report that the food they produce may negatively influence health, and I promise you they don’t sit by and let that information reach the public. Before these recommendations can get in the final report, data gets manipulated and recommendations get changed by the USDA and HHS. 

This information should make you very, very angry.

The patients I talked about to start all of this aren’t your basic chronic diesease-ridden patients, although they had some of those too. In addition, they had mental health and social issues. Our country is not taking care of these people well, but that’s a whole different story. I can’t even start to think about how to fix this, but I know I don’t want to be so closely involved, watching the fire burn. I talked about those two patients because this day at work was really the last straw on the camel’s back. I couldn’t stop thinking WHAT AM I DOING HERE? WHY AM I HERE? WHAT IS THE POINT? I’m not helping anyone. Anyone can get yelled at by a schizophrenic. Anyone can discharge someone to the street. Anyone can educate why you’re giving twenty units of insulin lispro to a patient who will never change their diet. Anyone can do wound care on an abscess caused by shooting meth under the skin and I promise that patient will be back soon. Anyone can throw hypertension medication at someone instead of educating on lifestyle changes that would decrease their blood pressure. Anyone can throw opioids at someone who you know is addicted because of our doctors and our system. Why do I have to do it? If I don’t come back, anyone can take my place. 

After witnessing the general health, or lack there of, in most of my patients, I’ve taken away two main points: 1. We need to be raising kids better from the very start with health education and also, coping skills and other mental health education, and 2. my passion in health lies in wellness and prevention, not in putting bandaids on bullet holes as the patient walks out to another gun fight. 

I have been thinking long and hard about how I will have a career in this, but I don’t have the answer yet. Are you familiar with the downstream/upstream story; the primary prevention analogy? We (health care) are so busy trying to save drowning people in the river, that we never look upstream to see why they’re falling in. I currently work downstream. It’s exhausting and not rewarding to pull people out of the river just for them to go back upstream and fall in again. I want to work upstream. I want to make a difference there. It is not lost on me that a great career would be having a hand in changing the system, but that’s not what I want to do at work every day. That day with those patients, I just wanted to leave and not come back. I wasn’t inspired to create change; I wanted to get the hell out of there. That’s not a noble action, but it is how I feel in this situation. I do want to help, but in a different way. 

I have lots of ideas involving health, wellness, nutrition, and education, but not one plan yet that will get me my dream job. For now, I have decided to (try to) be content where I am right now. For so long I was always actively working towards the next thing or at least had near-future plans to actively work towards the next thing. For the first time in years, I am going to sit still and be present here. I am so happy to be travel nursing now, as I won’t want to travel forever. I will use this time to gain health care experience and knowledge of the diseases I want to be able to prevent and to also focus on more personal goals.

So, stay tuned for career updates. In the meantime, take a walk and eat your goddamn vegetables. 

——————

Those patients were at my assignment in San Francisco, where I frequently reconsidered my career path. I am now in Longmont, Colorado where I have not cried at work once! The hospital and staff are lovely and I don’t hate my job every day. Henley and I have been hiking on most days off and I have friends in Denver that I love being near again. The sunsets over the mountains don’t suck either! A good assignment doesn’t change my outlook on nursing as a whole, but rest assured, we are happy here. 

Gypsy Nurse

In February, I finally fulfilled my two-year contract at my hospital in Denver and also the necessary two years experience of nursing before one can travel nurse. I wasted no time and left a couple weeks later. 

In case you are unfamiliar with travel nursing: I work with an agency who sets me up with jobs and is who gives me benefits and health insurance. I tell my recruiter where I want to go and other criteria I may have. The more flexible I am, the more jobs I will find. Then she e-mails me available jobs as they come up — tells me the hospital, shift, pay, etc. The assignments are usually 13 weeks long. The hourly pay is low but the rest of the pay comes in an untaxed stipend. Travelers typically make more than double than the regular staff nurse, which is why travel nursing is so appealing. There are lots of disadvantages to travel nursing too and moving every few months is certainly not for every one, but it’s pretty perfect for me. 

I was hoping to travel with my friend Molly, who I worked with in Denver, to southern California, but we ended up finding ourselves in San Francisco. At first, I wasn’t even considering living with strangers. I would either live with Molly or alone. But after searching and searching, alternative options were the only options in my price range. Half the reason I’m traveling is to save money so I didn’t want to spend so much of it on rent. There was a couple weeks between me and Molly’s job offers, plus our hospitals are quite far apart, so we ended up living separately, both renting a room in a house. We’ll get to that later…

Packing. Moving. Kind of daunting. But kind of what my dreams are made of. When I’m anxious about something, looking forward to it, especially when it involves preparing and organizing, I really have a hard time sleeping and lie there thinking about getting ready for it. There’s no better example than packing to move. I love keeping minimal things and moving is the best time to narrow your belongings down. Each piece has to deserve to go to the next place with you.

I have a large cargo box on top of my car. I thought I’d have no problem fitting everything I needed to live with indefinitely in there and the hatchback. (I do have some things at mom & dad’s that I want to keep for the future but don’t need to travel around with.) I really thought I was going to kill this packing lightly, living with less, living out of my car thing, but I was actually packed to the brim. There’s several things I brought, like kitchen stuff and bedding, that I’ll only need if I get an unfurnished apartment somewhere, which may never happen, so I think I will get rid of a few of these things. But another reason I brought a lot of kitchen stuff is what if I stay in a mostly-stocked kitchen but they don’t have a blender? Am I just supposed to not drink a smoothie for thirteen weeks? Or not steam my veggies if they don’t have a bamboo steamer? Or not spiralize my zucchini? I’m not an animal.

So, we packed, said goodbye to Denver, and headed west. We camped in the Mojave Desert, which has to be one of the coolest terrains to me. The next day we explored Joshua Tree (same terrain) then headed to San Diego. We met Molly there and stayed with her parents for a couple of weeks. We both really wanted to stay in southern California. It was hard leaving.

San Francisco. Maybe if I wasn’t a nurse and it wasn’t my job to take care of the city’s crazy people (did you know crazy people are hospitalized WAY more than normal people?), I would see far less of this demographic and SF would be more appealing. But alas, this is my job and this city is CHOCK FULL of crazies. The homeless problem is out of control and homeless/drugs/alcohol make up a majority of my patients. They’re a rough crowd and not my favorite to take care of. Also, I work FIVE days a week so it just feels constant. Besides that, the city is pretty great. Except for where I live. 

These first six weeks I’ve been staying in Bayview-Hunter’s Point. I knew going into it the neighborhood was a little “ghetto” but I was okay with a little less gentrification. It wasn’t until I got there that I learned the neighborhood is gang-ridden and truly unsafe. Day 1 I checked my lease to see when the hell I could get out of there. Day 2 Molly and I found an apartment together, but it wasn’t ready yet and we had both already paid for a month’s rent anyway and didn’t want to waste that. The first week I tried a few times to take Henley on walks, with my fist holding an open knife in my pocket. I gave up on that and found a nice park a 10 minute drive away and a wonderful beach a 20 minute drive away. Six weeks of dealing with the owner of the house visiting every day (who doesn’t live there and I thought I wouldn’t see), her outdoor cat that got surgery and became an indoor cat, stepping over a crackhead on my front steps most nights, asking for money after I just came home from dealing with trying to take care of people like him (with zero cooperation or appreciation), and even heard a round of gun shots and a young man’s last moans. (Sorry, Mom & Dad. Waited ’til I got out of there alive to tell ya that, though!)

But today… today is MOVING DAY and I couldn’t be happier. I’m sitting at a coffee shop with Henley with a few hours to kill before I can go to the new place. He’s sitting underneath the legs of a woman at the table next to me, wearing her long dress like a nun’s hat. It’s a beautiful day! I’ve been dreaming about going to a florist today and carrying brown paper-wrapped flowers up to our new apartment. It’s the simple things, like fresh flowers and no murders, that make a house a home.