I flew out and back Bering Air
My clothes in layers I’d wear
I come and I go
In the ice and the snow
And a bag of dry fish I did share
Synopsis: I’m a Family Practitioner from Sioux City, Iowa. In 2010 I danced back from the brink of burnout, and honoring a 1 year non-compete clause, travelled and worked out-of-the-way places in Alaska, Nebraska, Iowa, and New Zealand. After three years working with a Community Health Center, I am back having adventures in temporary positions until they have an Electronic Medical Record (EMR) I can get along with. Right now I’m on temporary detail to Brevig Mission from the hospital in Nome, Alaska.
I don’t sleep well the day before I travel, without regard to mode of transport. I rose early and showered and packed and ate.
Then I napped, for the best sleep I got all night. By 8:00AM I logged on to the computer.
I worked a steady pace through the morning. At noon the staff left for lunch. I stayed by myself and ate trek mix while I read a Jonathan Kellerman novel (I write better than he does, but he has the genre formula nailed down).
With but one afternoon patient scheduled, I had time to finish documentation. The Bering Air agent, who had showed up during a house call to check me yesterday, came in. The plane would be a little late, he said, flying from Nome to Wales first. He needed my weight. I offered to get on the scale (declined), and gave my best honest estimate. But he also needed weights on pharmacy and lab air freight.
Things had finished when the staff asked me to add in another patient. I looked at the clock. Plenty of time before the 4:00 departure. Sure, I said.
And I said that for the next three patients as well. I luxuriated in unhurried patient care. And each time I entered the data into the computer in a timely fashion.
I told the staff what a great time I’d had. They told me to come back in summer for prettier scenery. I looked out at the snow-covered hills and the frozen Bering Sea, and wondered how things could ever get prettier. They assured me they would. And they talked about how Brevig never sleeps in the summer, how the place bustles with activity. And about the fishing.
I said that I would have like to have tried dry fish.
The staffers looked at me in dismay. I should have spoken before, they said. And I saw how my shyness, from not wanting to impose on my hosts, appeared as standoffish. And all that announced at 3:50PM.
A Community Health Aid (CHA) bundled up faster than I could imagine, and jumped on her ATV.
It takes me a good deal longer to get on my arctic-grade bib overalls than the CHA’s near instantaneous preparation. As I mounted the ATV behind a diminutive staffer, we saw the plane coming in from the northwest.
The CHA on the ATV passed us on the hard-pack snow of the village street, and the staffer in front of me took the bag of dry fish from her without slowing, as casually as if it happened every day and as smooth as the railroad used to pick up sacks of mail. Approaching the airport, we saw the only truck in town, a 4WD club cab pickup.
I needn’t have worried about keeping the plane waiting. We pulled up before the pilot, working on his documentation, killed the engines.
Wearing my arctic layers let me confine my baggage to 1 day pack. I sat as instructed just behind the passenger in the co-pilot’s seat.
After a 5-minute flight to Teller we deplaned one passenger who had flown from Nome through Wales and Brevig to get home.
Ice melting into puddles astounded me when we arrived in Nome with a temp 20 degrees higher than Brevig when we left.
Contrast remains the essence of meaning, even when just barely above the melting point.