Into the Wild

This past weekend, I took a Wilderness First Aid class from the American Red Cross. It was a full two days of instruction and an eclectic mix of humans signed up for it. There were three scout leaders including myself. The two BSA leaders were the life of the party; they were like a vaudevillian act -- a regular Abbot & Costello. There were two girls who were in college and taking this class to work as wilderness or river guides this summer. There was one gal who works full time at a local summer camp and is also an American Red Cross instructor; and another who was the first aider for those historical reenactments -- think Civil War and stuff like that. The guy who was my partner much of the time was a motorcycle enthusiast who last year logged over 6,500 miles over the summer who plans on visiting his daughter who works in Africa. Our instructor is a long time firefighter, now a full time instructor for the Red Cross. He intends to get into Nursing School. He was on a waiting list last year so his hopes for admission are good this year.

Whenever I take an American Red Cross class, I try too keep it on the down low that I have my BSN. The minute the instructors catch wind of that, they teach differently. The other members of the class start to ask me questions and sometimes they defer to me. So unless they ask directly, I don't say anything. When the class is asked a question in general, I wait to answer unless everybody is stumped. Invariably, I'll say something that outs me. Usually some knee jerk medical or anatomical term that outs me -- like who in everyday speak says, "distal to the injury?" Apparently, me. This time it was in conversation with another student when we were talking about telegraphing how scared you are to the patient. That you should never let them see how freaked out you are. And I said, "ah yes, the nurse face." I didn't tell the story of the patient who had untreated breast cancer who was in her final stages and had never let anybody see her chest save her doctor. After building a trusting relationship with her, the nurse who was relieving me of her care and I were allowed to see her chest. Both of us maintained our best nurse faces when she lowered her gown, but when we left the room we both were shaken. I'm sure if the guy from "Lie to Me," saw us, he'd have seen the micro expressions of horror and helplessness we certainly were feeling when we saw the tumors that covered 60% of her chest, but we kept our faces still and passive.

I made it almost through the entire first day without being outed. At first, when the instructor asked me, I tried to be evasive and said that I had some training. But when he asked me directly, "are you a nurse?" I said that I was but hadn't practiced in 15 years. The second day the instructor started asking me questions directly. The other students started asking me questions too. And this is why I try to keep that stuff on the down low.

Because here's the thing, I suppose when it comes to sussing out what might be wrong, how the body would react to what kind of trauma, what kind of illness might be at play, I do have an advantage. But as far as:  we are in the middle of nowhere, there is snow on the ground and more snow coming, and we're about 2 hours away from help so what should we do -- I'm not so good.

Some of the stories these guys shared were really interesting but almost all of them ended in some kind of fatality. Scary stuff happens. Worse that all the stories were real.

I suppose there is something inside of a person that makes them raise their hand when asked, "will you help?" And these folks were all of that ilk. Maybe it is because they have witnessed some scary stuff in their time in nature. But maybe that's the point. Discontent to live with the helplessness of ignorance, they seek out ways to be helpers. I think it is telling that at one point during the class, all the men's cell phones went off in an alarming way. They all sounded like Emergency Alert sirens. Turns out it was an Amber Alert. They all had them on their phones.

Yup, helpers.

I had a lot of fun pretending to be sick and broken. When one of the BSA guys came over to help me and put his hands on me before identifying himself, I screamed, "Who are you?! Don't touch me?! Why are you touching me?!" Heh. It was fun.

Also amusing was how insistent our instructor was about my male partner not doing a sternal examination on me. He must have said it 3 or 4 times. And then when it was my turn to do my male partner's exam, the instructor came over to tell me that it would be perfectly okay to examine my partner's sternum. I get it. Boobs. It was funny.

All in all, I enjoyed our class. I told everybody there that we'll do a reunion in 2 years with our same classmates because it was such a fun group dynamic.

LIFE85 mini reunion

Initially, I was calling it, "Hey, Melanie and I are going for drinks. Wanna join us?" But no, I had to label it as a reunion and that was, well, awkward. Especially because only 3 of us made it.

For those of you not in the know, when I was 15 years old my high school Sacred Hearts Academy asked me to go on a retreat for student leaders. There was a mix of us -- the athletes, the student officers, the best students, and the ones they hoped against hope would become nuns and priests. I kind of think I was in the last category for them. I'm not really sure why they asked me to go. Most kids applied for their rising senior summer, not their rising junior summer. That had been my intention. But my best friend got in for our rising junior summer and I thought it might be fun to share that experience with her so I applied against my initial plan.

Looking back, it was a transformative camp. It's called, "Living In Faith Experience," and has been given by the Marianist order for years. There was an intimacy and vulnerability that we allowed ourselves -- so different from the usual high school experience of just trying to fit in. I suppose kids who went to summer camps could have similar experiences.

Anyway, this thing that should have been kept as, "Drinks with Mel & me," was in itself a transformative experience. The retreat happened in the bay area and a few of the people that were important to me then still live there. Ernesto was my "journey partner," my dyad buddy -- that's retreat speak for the person you got to process things one on one with. We found each other on Classmates years ago and exchanged emails -- caught up on each other's lives. It was so wonderful to renew that friendship. Melanie was a friend who became closer even after the retreat. She was a prolific writer of letters; I think I got one every week or two. She and Ernesto even came to meet me at the airport when I flew through on my way to Seattle from Hawaii during college. Both of them visited me in Hawaii after graduation. Jolyn was a fellow delegate from Sacred Hearts. Like with Mel, after the retreat she became an even closer friend. She was so nurturing; I remember her scolding me for using my teeth to bite stray thread off of my shirt because it would damage my teeth. Greg was a delegate from Ernesto's school. I was madly infatuated with Greg and on a moonlit night in the middle of a field at the camp, he gave me my first kiss. *le sigh*

So when I got a hold of Melanie and we decided to go out for drinks when I was in town last week, she thought it would be a hoot to invite  our fellow LIFErs. And I did. All except Greg.

I will freely admit that the fifteen year old girl inside of me was terrified to see him again. Not because I hold any residual attraction for him, but because I was so sloppily infatuated with him as a teen. I didn't know how I'd react. I hadn't had  a proper conversation with him I think ever; not a single conversation that was unclouded by a terrifying and confusing hormonal storm.

But last week, I decided not to be the jerk who would exclude one person from the invitation list. I invited him. And he said he could make it.

Crap.

I did the thing that any irrational middle aged woman would do -- I got physical therapy on my sprained ankle so I could wear the high heeled shoes that make my legs look longer and more shapely. I brought 3 different outfits so I would have options. I brought both the curling iron and the hair straightener because of obvious reasons. I went so far as to bring liquid eyeliner. Liquid. Eyeliner. I get points for that.

He offered to be our designated driver so Melanie parked at my brother's house and got to spend time with me and my family before Greg arrived. She helped me choose the right outfit and watched as I franticly freshened up my makeup. Parking is a hassle at my brother's so when Greg texted that he had arrived, Mel and I went outside to meet him. It is the modern day equivalent of honking the horn in front of a girl's house.

Conversation was surprisingly easy and comfortable.

Well, except for one thing.  I was asked when I was going back to Hawaii next. I told them it was next month. The usual murmurs of, "oh, how lucky..." and "wish I could go to Hawaii," followed. I told them that it was for my uncle's funeral. Said that my father and my uncles had conspired to ruin the two most joyous holidays in our faith -- Christmas and Easter. Then Greg, now a firefighter, talked about the bombing in Boston & the fertilizer plant fire at West Texas. He talked about his work in peer support for PTSD for first responders. That he's emboldened his faith in part because of what he's had to see in the line of duty.

Seriously, I had to stop Greg at that point. Because if we continued talking about such sad things, I was certain that I was going to start sobbing and be deep in my cups later. Drinking for solace versus drinking for celebration is an entirely different thing. The former is usually accomplished by high octane rot gut because why would you need to taste it?

I thought maybe I would tell a funny light hearted story. Talk about how my husband thinks I'm a cat person trapped in a dog owner's body. I love my dog to the point of madness. I have hundreds of pictures of my dog on my phone -- this despite having human offspring.

Then Melanie said, "You're going to feel like sh*t if I tell you this, but... I had to put my dog down today. I begged my dog to die naturally, but it didn't happen."

Crap.

But at that point, it was actually pretty funny.

I was surprised with the ease we spoke to each other. And it wasn't the booze (which was AMAZING -- Bar Agricole, seriously go check it out). I think it was LIFE. Something like that leaves an indelible mark on your psyche. We caught up on each others lives, talked about our families & kids, even our faith. We steered clear of politics on Greg's request but I'm pretty sure we all were fairly liberal, at least that's what I'd like to think. I hate it when I have friends who are wrong about their politics, and by wrong I mean don't agree with me. I didn't revert to fifteen year old me and that was a relief. But I did allow myself to care about these people again and acknowledge that our shared experience was an important part of the people we are today.

Maybe next time I'm in town, I'm thinking 2015, I'll throw another, "Drinks with Mel & me."

I'm never calling anything a mini-reunion again.