Kotzebue Adventure: The End

Doesn't seem real yet, but my 2 years are over.

All my stuff, piled up and ready to be transported to Air Cargo

In some ways, it seems like this was the longest 2 years of my life. In other ways, it went by in a blink of an eye. COVID-19 shaped a lot of my experience in the Arctic, for better or worse. I knew I was going to a remote region of the world and that my interactions would be limited. With COVID, the isolation became all the more real. Thankfully we never fully stopped seeing patients in person, so at least I had some people to interact with when I was working. But social distancing as a single woman living alone really affected my social life, things sure felt extra lonely.

I have put together a couple lists that help sum up my experience in my own biased way.

Things I will miss:

My apartment view out over the lagoon. I really came to appreciate all the sun rises/sun sets, spying on the birds and watching the planes take off from my couch. Everyone that visited were jealous as only a few of us had the privilege of such a fabulous view.
The smell of the sweet, fresh air in the tundra. There is nothing like it. In the winter, the air is cold and crisp. In the few short weeks of summer, there was the freshness of new brush. And late summer/early fall with the berries. The tundra was a place to get away, intensely feel the remoteness and connect with nature.
The excitement every time I got to go on a bush plane. With COVID, I didn't get to travel to my village as much as I wanted/expected. But I also got to go on a few bonus trips to provide vaccinations and such. The little planes are different. There is no security check, you can take your full bottle of water along and no-one's there to check if your seatbelt is buckled or if your phone is in airplane mode. The seats are small and sometimes a bit hard to get to (and get in to). The views from the planes are incredible since we flew fairly close to the ground- you could see it all. Landing was also fun, bouncing along the gravel runways.
All the offers to give me a ride. I chose not to purchase a vehicle during my 2 years, which means I did a lot of walking. To work, to the post office, to the store. I did eventually get a bike which got me places a bit quicker, but my legs were still my #1. Of course, there were times when I needed a taxi (like to the airport) or I would borrow a car/ATV/snow machine. When I walked, people would often stop and ask if they could give me a ride, especially in bad weather. It wasn't scary (stranger danger) as everyone knew who I was even if I didn't know them. And sometimes I would take them up on it, other times I wouldn't. It was nice that people wanted to help.
The way people spoke/phrased things. Instead of "I was dizzy" they would say "I was trying to faint". Or instead of "it's getting worse", they would instead say "it's worst". You had to get used to how people expressed themselves in order to come up with the best way to help them. And learn the random Inupiaq word they would throw in a sentence. After a while, I would ask them questions using their terminology. Something I will probably need to unlearn now. Makes me smile.
Curious little faces of the Native children. The kids were my favorite patients. I would ask the schedulers to put all the babies in with me. Most of them were chubby with bright, dark eyes staring right at me. And the older kids were precious (well, most of them), trusting as I examined them. And when I was walking around town (especially in the villages), kids I had never met would run up to me just to say hello or to tell me a story. I'm not the first white face they've seen, but they still wanted to find out about me and somehow knew I was safe.
Hearing people's stories. Not everyone opened up, but those that did really helped give me insight into the Inupiaq culture and way of life. It took time to build trust, but I felt privileged to hear their stories and give them time to share about their lives. Appointments were not as rushed as they are in the lower 48. If people wanted to talk, they could. I was honored to be the recipient.

Things I won't miss:

Having to trudge through wind, ice and snow. I liked not having a vehicle, but there were days when I just didn't want to leave my apartment. I learned to dress for the weather quickly after a few cold walks where it felt like frost bite had for sure settled in. I also learned to keep my things close as the wind stole several items right out of my hands, never to be seen again. But even with all the preparation, leaning in and willing my feet to lift up and move could still be a challenge. I gave myself many a pep talk, "just a few more steps, you can do it".
24 hours of darkness. To be fair, we always had a little hue of light, even on the darkest days. It didn't happen until early afternoon, so on work days, I never saw it. And on weekends, I scheduled my walks/skis to correspond with the hue. Of course, there were plenty of lights inside and some street lights. Also head lamps and such for treks into the tundra. But the absence of light was something to get used to, at least for the couple months when it was most intense (December/January).
24 hours of light. This was maybe more difficult, at least before I figured out how to black out my bedroom window. There was never any indication that it was night. Never a clue that it was time to wind down, get to bed. Because I worked, I had to force myself to go to sleep, otherwise I couldn't function well. Many of the Native people flipped their schedule, sleeping during the day and staying up all night. Getting people to show up for appointments in summer was a challenge!
The tight grip alcohol has on this people group. What a terrible curse alcohol is to the Native people, not just in Kotzebue though I saw it in them first hand. Alcoholism starts young and grips people to their core. There are a few that manage to give it up, but there were plenty that did not survive long enough to tell their story and help positively influence the next generation. Kotzebue had a liquor store in town, the villages did not though there were plenty of home brews. One man told me he was still mad that Kotzebue allowed the liquor store to come to town. Others moved to a village in hopes of escaping the temptation, with varying degrees of success. It was hard to see, hard to feel like I had nothing useful to offer.
Not having access to things. All the things, but especially fresh fruits and veggies. We did have a couple stores, even restaurants. They were pricey and offered the basics. There was Amazon.com that usually eventually delivered whatever was ordered, but not always. And often by the time it arrived either you didn't need it anymore (like my mosquito net) or you had forgotten all about it. This is a 1st world problem and one I survived just fine. But man, without the things you take for granted, you get a different perspective on what's really important.

Of course, these lists could go on and on. Hopefully my previous blogs fill in the rest. I feel honored to have had this experience but also grateful for a change. Oh, and did I mention my student loans are paid off?!?! Mic drop, I'm out.