Posted on 10/14/2010 11:29:02 AM PDT by 60Gunner
After more than eight years of employment at a busy hospital in the Seattle area, I felt it was time for a change. I had considered travel nursing in the past, but either the timing was not right or the opportunity was not there. I wanted to learn different approaches to emergency nursing and see new sights. And I wanted to make more money doing it. My household was knee-deep in debt and the extra money made by traveling was going to help us reach solvency. Once we got to that point, I would look for a permanent job again.
Once I made my decision, it was simply a matter of choosing an agency and waiting for the job to come to me.
And waiting… and waiting.
I finally got a call from an agency about an immediate opening at a hospital serving a large Native American population in Arizona. The hospital, I was told, had a “Level 2” trauma designation and saw a lot of “interesting” cases since it was the only “major” hospital in the region. I was told that the hospital was brand-new, was “state of the art,” and was very “traveler-friendly.” And, of course, I would be making more money. The only hitch was that the start date was less than two weeks out, and I was still employed at my permanent hospital. I would have to quit with less than two weeks’ notice, which meant I would forfeit about 800 dollars in vacation pay.
I took a leap of faith, accepted the offer, and gave my notice.
Two days after I finished my final shift (topped off with a goodbye party that genuinely moved me to tears), I packed up my faithful Ford Mustang named Baby-San and drove down to northeast Arizona- wondering all the while if I was embarking on a new adventure or making one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I had traveled around the world years before when I was a merchant seaman, and was no stranger to traveling light. But never before had I laid so much on the line. There were no permanent nursing jobs to come back to in Seattle. I was seriously stepping out in faith that I had made the right decision (this after much prayer). But as I drove through Washington, Oregon, California, and Arizona, a biblical proverb kept pecking at my mind like a bird on the windowpane:
“There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end leads only to death…”
…Which, needless to say, had a rather dampening effect on any excitement I might have otherwise entertained.
Three days after leaving the crisp, green scenery of the Northwest, I arrived at my housing on the Indian Reservation. The scenery was impressive, with rock formations jutting from the ground as if the Almighty had simply planted them there like 200-foot-tall brick-red croquet spikes. At 7,000 feet above sea level, the air was clear and sharp. But that’s as far as my positive impression went.
Garbage was strewn everywhere. Weather-beaten junk cars dotted the landscape. It was understandable for a high-desert location to be dusty and grungy; But this place was just filthy. The houses were dilapidated, and the trailer homes were in a far worse condition. Scruffy and emaciated stray dogs wandered everywhere. The grotesquely bloated carcass of a cow that had been dead for at least a couple of days lay on the side of the road in the middle of town, its legs rigidly jutting parallel to the ground. (If the inhabitants claim to be "grooms of the earth," it was a wonder they were not incarcerated for spousal abuse.) The living environment appeared as unwholesome as any third-world country that I have ever visited. And the first thought that came to my head was one of dismay: “My tax dollars are paying for people to live like this!?”
(Ironically, the first sign I saw when I pulled into town said “Paid for by the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.” Well, holy crap. At least now I know a little more clearly the extent to which I was robbed.)
After driving down another ten miles of crappy road paid for by us unwitting victims, I picked up my house keys and garage door opener from the housing manager and drove along the rows of identical, stuccoed, red aluminum-roofed houses to the cracker box that bore my number. If it was not for the occasional parked car or moving van, I would have guessed the community was abandoned. Not a soul was in sight. I pulled into my driveway, opened the garage door, and began hauling my stuff upstairs to my room.
In the hallway, I ran into one of my housemates. I introduced myself informally. He, in turn, replied that his name was DOCTOR so-and-so. He ignored my cordially outstretched hand.
Well, screw you and the magic carpet you rode in on, doc, I thought as I dragged my gear into my room and unpacked. As I stepped out of the room, I ran into my other housemate. Taking the chance, I offered my hand and introduced myself. My new friend eagerly shook my hand, introduced himself as Jack, and began to tell me about some of the nicer points of the area. He was a genuinely nice fellow (with whom I remain in contact). I asked him if there was any place nearby where I could pick up some bedding and other sundries- and maybe have a beer, too.
“Oh, there’s a Wal-Mart that’s about forty miles away from here.”
“How about a place where I can watch some baseball and have a beer?”
“You’ll have to go about forty miles for that, too. This is a ‘dry’ reservation. No alcohol is allowed. (My friend declared this between sips of scotch and water.) If you get caught bringing alcohol onto the res, the cops will confiscate it and give you a ticket.”
“Well, at least now I know why there are so many drunken driving fatalities around here.”
“Oh, it’s worse on the reservation. The natives still bring alcohol in, even though it’s illegal. The cops just give the natives a wink and let them pass. Hell, they’ll probably be partying with them after work. You’ll see a lot of alcohol-related stuff in the ER.”
“Peachy,” I responded with a weary roll of the eyes.
Jack changed the subject: “But if you like exploring and sightseeing, there’s a ton of stuff here. You have Monument Valley, Grand Canyon, Mesa Verde- all kinds of stuff.”
My mind filled with images of John Wayne riding among the monoliths. “I would love to see Monument Valley. Is it close?”
“Well, it’s about four hours away on a bunch of back roads that might not suit your Mustang. Come to think of it, there isn’t a lot around here that your car would tolerate, because the roads are pretty bad.”
So much for John Wayne and monoliths.
“I guess I’ll stick to what I can get to, then. Is there anything close that I could get to in my car?”
“No, not really…” Jack answered with his eyes averted.
“Jack, just tell me straight. I’m in the middle of frigging nowhere for three months, huh?”
Jack pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “That sums it up.”
“Got any more scotch?”
In five years you’ll remember the good things and this will become fodder for some good war stories. The desert is a great place to go target shooting and you might invest in a cheap dirt bike or 4x4 to do some sightseeing. Maybe make friends with someone who already has a 4x4 and visit some ghost towns or do some metal detecting.
I would appreciate being added to your ping list. Your stories are fascinating.
Thanks
Is that the Apache up at White mountains?
That’s central Arizona, and the garden of Eden compared to the place the author is talking about, which I believe is between Kayenta and Red Mesa. Been through there many times, and seen the hospital. It’s definitely isolated, just can’t remember the exact location.
Ironic I am. Elitist I am not.
Please put me on your ping list. Look forward to your description of the state-of-the-art medical facility you were promised.
You obviously enjoy red-meat challenges and you may be able to make an improvement to the local “frozen-in-time” culture; albeit one where generations of well-meaning individuals such as yourself have had little or no success.
It may be much like the ME, where a contained tribal structure offering a limited world view makes obsolete customs and practices, reinforced by the older generation, difficult or impossible to break.
As usual, your first challenge may be to adapt and survive.
Good luck!
Careful, FRiend. I used to talk that way about New Mexico, and worse. (like, if they were going to give the world an enema, Clovis is where they would stick it...)
Especially after I got to Shaw AFB, SC, and a coworker who was born and raised there. Then we spent 7 months in sunny Saudi Arabia, for Desert Shield & Desert Storm.
I had to go and apologize to him, as I'd just had my world pretty-well redefined.
A few years after THAT little desert adventure, I got stationed in Oklahoma, then retired and remained here. Yes, it's kinda flat, especially relative to Colorado or portions of California. Not quite so much as Eastern New Mexico. Small-town friendly, unlike Clovis, and big-city conveniences, especially in the central part, near the OKC metro. I grew up near Los Angeles, and remember when that area was small-town friendly. Hasn't been like that for over 30 years, was in fact dying out before I left in 1973.
These days, I'm an adoptive Okie.
About four weeks ago my wife and I drove from Tuba City to Window Rock on 264. Gorgeous drive, but there is a lot of litter in certain places. If anyone is wondering what people could do on Indian land, they could start picking up all the trash that is strewn about.
Did you spend any time at Window Rock?
Man, you got taken for one heck of a ride, I reckon.
Chalk it up to experience...not many of us will ever have that one, not even those who’ve spent time in some third world countries.
Perils of Pauline,
I’m sitting on the edge of my chair waiting for the next installment.
You got a book in there dude.. keep up the fine prose.
Agreed. If I was going to an Indian reservation I would at least know something about Indians. i.e. that alcohol is taboo because the cannot break down the enzymes in booze or something like that.
If this person was going there as a nurse - they would at least do a little research about the patients. I do not want to sound like a lib but some of those reservations that American Indians were stuck on are hell on earth. Some tribes are loaded with gambling and but most are incredibly poor.
My sister was a traveler for about 15 years. Just started a permanent job and is delighted.
We missed you Gunner. Good one.
I’m glad to see a new post from you, as I was thinking about you and wondering how you were 2 days ago!
As usual, you have us in the palm of your hand. Can’t wait for the next installment.
Blessings,
G
I had a seasonal job at scotty’s castle n the ‘quiet end’ on death valley.
A loaf of bread or even a candy bar was sixty miles one way. Groceries and walmart were 175 miles onw way.
This was just before sat and cable in the area. The only radio station was KNX traffic out of LA.
I loved the solitude. Truely fresh air.
I would drive about 30 miles down the highway. Hide my car behind some boulders, and go for a run. Freaks the tourists to see a jogger in the middle of death vally with earbuds and a smile.
Time to make lemonade
Fascinating! I can’t wait to learn what happens next!
It has been a while. Thank you again for sharing your tales with us. You have a gift of description.
Makes me realise I don’t wanna be THAT far from civilization...
Welcome back 60Gunner; it’s great to read your stuff, again!
When are you going to publish a book of your Emergency Room stories? I want a signed copy!
Thanks for the ping. I love reading your stories - had wondered a few times what happened to you.
Yay! Glad to see you post again-it’s been too long since the last one!
Missed you, 60Gunner!!!
Happy for you that you made such a life changing decision.
After 20 years of a safe, but very challenging career in a large corporation, where I rose to the executive ranks, I chose to bail in my early forties to an unsafe career in a small, local company.
I think it saved my life. I had to work harder, but I could see my contribution to the bottom line. And somehow, I wasn’t so stressed out all the time. I turned in my big office, my staff of over 50, and a big deal title for being in charge of my own work, with a merit pay scale.
So, I fully appreciate what you did. That was 14 years ago—I never looked back. I made sure I was in good shape financially and took the plunge.
Sure made life interesting for awhile.
Now, like all of your excellent writing, I see an element of foreshadowing. You remain in contact with Jack, which means you have moved on from there.
And I wonder if I detect a confrontation will occur with Dr. Smarty Pants, wherein he winds up looking like the cow with the parallel legs, but still breathing.
Anyway, good to see you back, and I can’t wait for the next installment. Don’t make us wait so long!!
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