Contemplating My Navel

by Annie Anderson

Two different Christmas experiences

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Your version of the Christmas holidays will be vastly different than mine. Guaranteed. Maybe we have known each other for years, maybe even our whole lives. Maybe we knew each other from high school, or when we both worked at Perkins together through college. Maybe we’ve never even met. But it will still be totally different, trust me.

You might pick the kids up from school on the last day before Christmas holidays start and spend it making gingerbread houses, watching movies and drinking hot chocolate.

I will go to work that same day and the first call I go on might be for a 15-yr. old boy who has overdosed on fentanyl the very first time he tried it. No one will ever know why he chose that day to try a drug he had heard so many times was so dangerous. The Narcan kit the police carry wasn’t enough to bring him back from his overdose, and mine isn’t either. I’m the one who gets to tell his older brother who just got home from basketball practice that I did everything I could, but his brother might never be the same again. I don’t even get a chance to even see his parents before we take him to the hospital.

The next day, you might take kids sledding and then go for a special holiday donut afterwards. Maybe there’s some last-minute shopping, family coming by for eggnog, and stories about Christmases years gone by while Grandma and Grandpa cuddle the kids.

That day I will be called to a collision caused by an impaired driver. I will spend fifteen minutes listening to my innocent patient scream as I wait for the firefighters to pry them from the mangled car. I have to take them out with a collar on their neck, and strapped onto a spine board and explain to them that there was nothing we could do for their friend who is left in the seat beside them, because there…just…. wasn’t…anything…. anyone…. could….do. I don’t know this at the time, but the image of that victim, holding a wrapped Christmas present adorned with a metallic blue bow on their lap, will haunt me forever.

After cleaning up from that call, I might be off to respond to a 10-year-old girl who has been accidentally burned by hot soup after her Mom bumped into her. The skin on her neck and shoulder will be peeling from her body as I try and get pain medication into her as fast as I can before she goes into shock. Blisters start to form and pop under my gloves as I carry her to my waiting stretcher. The scars will likely be deep on these burns.

Your Christmas day will start with Santa presents and waffles, and cousins coming over to play. The smells of turkey and stuffing will fill the house by the afternoon and toys will be played with and the fireplace will crackle with life. It will be warm and cozy, like a perfect scene from a Christmas card.

My Christmas Day will have a turkey too. First though, I will have eaten a squished granola bar I kept in my pocket for the past four hours on the way to my first call of the night. I get to go to someone’s house in my ambulance, where their turkey is on the table, the gravy and stuffing are sitting next to the mashed potatoes, and the only thing out of place is the fact that the carrots are all over the floor.

When Grandpa fell to the ground as he was bringing them to the table they spilled everywhere. With Grandma sobbing at my side, the grandkids watching from the background, and his daughter pleading with me to please, please save him, I start CPR while my partner attaches the cardiac monitor and gets an IV started. More sirens are in the background as another crew has been sent to help us try and get Grandpa back after having a massive heart attack.

We are both in the same place, and we have both have had two totally different holiday experiences.

Please, when the busy days of the holiday season are upon us all, give the first responders in your life, or see at the grocery store a little extra compassion… a little extra forgiveness and grace for the times they are short with you, or seem withdrawn. Not everyone gets to see the good side of Christmas. While any one of these scenarios is devastating for a single family, we are there for every single one of them – especially over Christmas and New Years – and they can also be devastating to the first responders who attend them. Delivering the news that shatters a family forever breaks a little bit of our hearts too. The sobs of the living and wails of grief are things not easily – if ever – forgotten.

So, if we come home, and just want to sit quietly in the corner and watch the kids play with their new toys, or snuggle with them just a bit longer before bedtime, please know that we probably need that. If you see us out and about in the community and if we look a little tired, please remember we have seen a different, darker side of Christmas this year than you have.

If you are a first responder of any kind that is struggling, I encourage you to talk to someone. Know you are not alone and there are people who care more than you know. Call a friend or co-worker or your local peer support team member. If you are concerned about someone you know, reach out to them and let them know you care. Take care of yourself and those around you so we can all get through this together.

Food for thought and the ripple effect

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Food for thought and the ripple effect.

Do you ever think about what is behind the scenes with the food that you eat, or the things you get to experience? I mean, to the subatomic particle type level of how it got to be in front of you at that moment?

Take a simple apple for example. If there was an apple sitting on the table in front of you, how much do you take for granted that you just get to simply eat that apple? Aside from all the aspects of being able to afford that apple, and the simplicity of there being an apple at your disposal to just go and buy. What, or more specifically who, do you need to thank for getting that apple to your table? Let’s work it backwards.

Did you buy the apple, or did your spouse or parent? They, or you made the trip to the store, after working enough time at a job they may or may not have enjoyed doing, to earn the money to buy it. They/you got up some morning, when you may or may not have had enough sleep the night before to feel cheerful about getting up when you did. You waited the two weeks after the payroll person processed your pay stub to get the money and then went to the store.

If you drove to the store, you needed the gas in the vehicle to get you there, and the person to deliver the gas to the pump; And the refinery person to even prepare the fuel to be ready for the delivery guy; and the rigger to drill for the gas etc…

There was a company somewhere that produced the shopping carts and baskets used in the store that you used to put your groceries in to bring to the till, and all those associated positions with the manufacturing of these carts and baskets.

The cashier who sold you the apple had to deal with the politics of their job enough to want to show up at their checkout that day, and then process your transaction.

The clerk who stocks the produce section had to unload the truck filled with fruit and put it out on display. The truck that delivered the fruit to that store employed someone who drove the fruit from the warehouse or maybe even airport to that store. Maybe that delivery driver is freshly back from being off on disability with a broken ankle and on that particular morning was still a bit tender, but he came back to work early anyway. The thought of staying home with a boss who thought they were milking the injury to get out of work was something they were tired of having to deal with.

Don’t forget the delivery driver from the farm who brought the crates of apple boxes in to the distribution warehouse. The night before his son was up all night sick from his infected tonsils..again. 11th infection in 18 months and his wife was working night shift so it was up to him to administer the Tylenol and Auralgam drops. He was so tired driving this load to work he almost didn’t see the kid on the bicycle before it was too late. Thankfully though, he did.

We then make our way down this chain to the farmer who grew the apples. His dad before him had the orchard, like his grandpa did before him. The expectation of carrying on the family business landed on his shoulders after his older brother was killed by a drunk driver 9 years ago. He didn’t have the heart to tell his dad he wanted to be a writer and live in New York wearing tweed coats with leather elbow patches in a loft in Soho. The closet thing he came to doing that was making up stories for his girls that he jotted down on napkins from the diner gas station in Violet Grove, where he stopped to pick up milk on his way home and had the occasional slice of pie.

This proverbial apple sitting in front of you now was even influenced by the farm maintenance man who noticed the back row of trees weren’t as big as the others. Once he fixed the tap and the water was flowing where it should, the apple trees caught up with the others nicely and thus this apple was created.

ALL of these people, and likely many that haven’t been listed here, helped shape the fact you have an apple in front of you to eat. This is only a small example of all the food you eat in only one given day. A food with only one ingredient in it. One with no manufacturing involved, or baking, or labelling or coming from another country to add to the growing list of people who contributed.

Just imagine for a moment all the things you eat in a day, and then a week and then a month and then a year. Kind of gives you some appreciation for all the people who contribute to what goes in your body each time you eat.

Keep it in mind as you chew and maybe have a moment of gratitude if you would, from time to time. Those good thoughts might one day add up to a shift in the world’s energy and help make the world a better place.

Now, go enjoy an apple!

Epilogue to it all…..

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Well, we are home from Africa.

Freezing to death any bugs I may have brought home with me…..

We are safe.

My kids were super surprised to see me come home early, and my family and friends were happy all was well.  There were some who were able to finally exhale once we got back….and some that didn’t even realize they were holding their breath.

I know that when I go away, especially to a non-traditional place-as I am prone to do it seems, there are those who are terrified beyond belief at my travels.  They are certain that when I go, I will end up dying at the hands of a madman, or end up in some terrible wreck, alone and suffering.  They try and convince me I shouldn’t go, and life is better when it is safer.

Obviously I disagree.  I keep going to these far away places, and talk about the wonders of what the world has to offer to everyone who wants to listen.  I am glad that I do, for unless someone can guarantee me something else, we only get one time around in this life.  There are so many things to see, do, smell, eat, experience, try, and take pictures of in this world, that I don’t want to limit myself to my own backyard.  I want to inspire others to go places and do things that they never felt quite brave enough to do, until they see that someone they know and love has done it….and survived!  I hope that I keep doing that for the next 43 years.

I have done a lot of reflecting on this journey, both in it’s planning, during the trip itself, and now upon my return.  I was unable to articulate to my husband why I wanted to go, and am forever grateful for his unwavering support even though he wasn’t sure it was a good idea.  He also didn’t understand why ten years ago I went to India before our son was born.  Going places where women aren’t highly regarded wasn’t a sane choice in his mind, and he still supported me in my journey then also.  He is a good man to do this, as I know many would not.

People are asking me how the trip was.  Was it everything I thought it would be?  Would I go again?  What was the best part?  What was the worst?

I think back to why I was going to start with.

I was compelled.  I cannot say why.  I am not a religious person, but I am spiritual.  There have been times in my life where I have been completely unable to anything other that what I have done.  I cannot explain it, I cannot articulate it other than a feeling of something greater than me compelling me to.  Not even after I have done these things have the reasons become clear always.  Sometimes yes.  Sometimes immediately.  Sometimes not for years, if ever to date.

I am not totally clear on the why yet either for this.  I have had some reflections though, and those I will share.

Immediately I am clear that I am more grateful for my life now.  For not only the things I have, but the people I share them with.  I am clear on the details that I seemed to have either taken for granted, or not really noticed.  Simple things like the number of freckles on my youngest son’s nose that add to his cuteness.  Larger things like a hot, hot shower and a wonderful home with my family.

I was struck by the contrast going from Canada to Ethiopia where they country is filled with people that are lean, and strong and absent of overweight people.  When we went to Malawi, the differences in people again was striking.  My preconceptions of what people “should” look like in Africa was shattered, and that I found surprising.   Coming back to Canada I was again shocked at how Canadians look in comparison to how they looked in my mind before it was opened just a little bit wider by the world.

Again, I was struck by the fact we are sooo lucky when it comes to our healthcare and our health in general.  How easy it is for us to take advantage of all we have in front of us, and how often we don’t.  When I say we, I don’t have a mouse in my pocket.  I mean we, as Canadians.  So often people will die for the lack of what we waste, and knowing this and acting on this are two different things.

I have also been wrestling with the thought that somehow I should feel guilty for what I have.  That I should pity those with less.  Why should I?  I have been angry at this thought, and had conversations in my mind with imaginary people as I play the devil’s advocate for all positions in this discussion.  The truth is there will always be people who have more than me in life.  There will always be those who have less.  Should I help those with less when I can?  Of course.  Should I feel guilty when I have more?  Absolutely not.  Unless it has come to me in less than an upstanding way, of course (which it hasn’t for the record).  I work hard.  My family works hard.  My friends work hard.  I know no one who has inherited or won by way of lottery massive riches that has brought their lives to a standard that is above most.  People who have what they have in their life have worked hard to get there.  That does not mean they should be ashamed of what they have earned or accomplished.  This also doesn’t make me any less happy that they have something I do not.

I think about the people in Africa and the abject poverty that they live in.  Some are very happy with how things are in their lives.  Some are not.  Some are working hard to change their situation, and others are content to stand on the corner, chewing hallucinogenic grasses, whiling away their days with less than others.  The saying that ignorance is bliss can also sometimes be applied.  I am not saying that in a rude way.  Ignorance is also bliss in the lives of those with much more than those at the poverty line.  I do not know what it is like to have a jet plane at my disposal, nor to have live in house-staff, or to have a different car for every day of the week in every city I own a home.  There are many people who have these lives, and I wish for them that they don’t look at people like me with pity that I only have a minivan to drive most days.  I wish for both them, and me, and those with less than me, that we are all able to find happiness in wherever we are in our lives.  It is often perspective only after all.  Many people who are rich are unhappy or wealthy but dying.  Many of those with less wouldn’t trade what they have because they are loving everything that is in their lives on a daily basis.

But, I digress again.  Back to Africa.  Did I enjoy it?  Yes.  Were there parts I didn’t enjoy?  Also, yes.  Was I surprised at certain things?  Absolutely.

I loved how proud the people there were, and how often they would give everything they had, even though it was not much.  I loved how appreciative they were of our time spent coming to see THEM.  I loved learning new ways to dance, and understanding better how they communicate, and being able to explain to others here that what they thought was being communicated, actually may have been something different.  I didn’t love the squat potties.  Let’s be honest.  It was nasty at times.  I was grateful for hand sanitizer.  I was grateful I don’t have to raise kids as a single parent living with HIV in a home smaller than my bathroom.

Also grateful for fresh fruit and vegetables that I can buy down the street from my home.

When asked if I would go back, I say that I would.  That being said though, there are many places I have not yet gone on an adventure to, and perhaps I would like to go places for a first time first, than go back somewhere for a second time.  I would like to go to Finland and see the Northern Lights with my Dad.  I would like to go to Churchill, Manitoba and see the polar bears walking down the street with my own eyes.  I would like to take our kids to Alaska and eat picnics along the way, and that is just the start of the list….

Everywhere I go in life I have the opportunity to learn about myself and to have the world opened up just a little bit more.  For this I am grateful, and for Africa I am also grateful.

Why is music like an old friend?

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I am sitting in the Toronto Pearson airport and I feel like I have just run into an old friend.

Waiting to board my next plane to Africa, I take a few minutes to organize my pills for the day.  While looking for my pill pack I snuffle through all the pockets because I am running on three hours of sleep and for the life of me I can’t remember which of the 84 pockets I have put the pill pack.

Suddenly I stumble upon my very first MP3 player and I squeal like it is Christmas!  I haven’t seen it in years and when I see the battery is still half full I am immediately brought back 12 years as I start listening to what is on it.

I found this little beauty in my carry on bag!!

It doesn’t matter that the cloth covers practically disintegrate as I touch them they are so old. It doesn’t matter that it has been years since I’ve have seen it.

What matters is that as soon as I start to play it I feel like no matter where I am in the world having the music with me that is familiar and reminiscent of years gone by, is as good as having a best friend with me on this trip.

Life is good.  Be well.