Denial

I am not a big advocate of denial. People can waste years of their lives unable to face a difficult truth. I have spun my wheels believing situations are not really so bad. My new AIDS patient is wasting precious time refusing to be tested for HIV and therefore delaying initiation of life-saving treatment. Sometimes though, a situation is so horrible and impossible that some stubborn denial may be all that gets you through.

I have a patient with MS who lives full time in the assisted living ward of the infirmary. Her sentence is such that she will be with us the rest of her life, a long slide toward incapacity. Some people I work with refer to her crime and say that she is getting what she deserves. I do not subscribe to this concept at all. Plenty of good people have MS also and plenty of inmates who have done the same and worse are walking around healthy.

My MS patient is very stubborn and she is in deep denial sometimes. This is what allows her to fight back. If she is loosing dexterity and can't put in her tampon then she blames the brand of tampon, insisting that the prison must have switched makers. They haven't. She will blame her wheelchair, her bed, her shoes, anything.

At one point about a year ago she was bed-ridden. If I found myself at that point I would probably feel like it was hopeless, resign myself to the bed, get pneumonia and die. On a fundamental level she refuses to accept that this disease has ultimate power over her. She has fought back to be more or less self-sufficient, even taking a few steps with her walker when transferring from wheelchair to bed. I have to admit admiration for her in this accomplishment.

Her right leg is worse than her left, weaker and not as apt to take direction from her. She will tell me every night how stubborn that leg is, "but I'm more stubborn than that leg," she assures me. I tell her I believe her. I've seen the results. She believes every day that she can beat MS. Everyday that she puts her pants on by herself, goes out to her classes, and goes to chow she does.

Boots

I have always wanted a pair of cowboy boots. I never really felt though that I had the right to wear cowboy boots. I don't ride anymore. When I did ride I rode English. I'm not from a ranch or rural area. Hell, I can't even drive a 4 wheeler without running the thing up a tree, but that's another story. I don't even date a redneck anymore. It seemed to me somehow inauthentic for a girl from suburban Richmond VA to be running around in cowboy boots. Sort of like those gel-padded, bras, fake advertising.

But then my mom moved to Texas. After a few trips out here I thought "perfect, now I have at least a weak excuse to get boots." If people ask me about the boots I can say that I got them when visiting my mom in Houston.

At my mom's housewarming party I did a little field research amongst the locals regarding where to get boots. One fashonista who works with my mom and sports Carlos Santana cowboy boots pointed me toward Dillard's or Foley's. She explained that if I could find something I liked it would be cheaper than the western stores. She even mentioned that there was a sale going on at Foley's, or Dillard's.

We had decided to go to the Galleria anyway so I could stock up at Teavana. I support my local tea shop also, but for some inventory you need Teavana. After Teavana we checked Foley's, no boots. Then Dillard's. There was in fact a half off sale. I immediately found my dream boots. Brown with red contrast stitching and fancy stitching across the toe. Soft leather, not too high, comfy on the foot. No fake ostrich, not too much heel. Excellent. My mom even got them for me as a birthday present, April 17th everyone.

On the way home we went to a western store so I could get a belt and belt buckle to go with. I looked over the boots at the western store, the cheapest was $200 and I didn't like any of them nearly so well as my find at Dillard's. I got a longhorn belt buckle and a plain brown belt to match the boots. I was thinking about the concho belt, but I wanted to start with something more versatile and work toward the conchos.

Now I am all set to return east tomorrow with my new western gear. I will be sporting my new boots and buckle through the airports. I know I will have to strip at security, but I am ready for that. Getting on a plane is nothing compared to what I go through each night going to work.

Crusader Castle

Growing up I never, ever dreamed that I would go to Europe or anywhere else. When I was in high school I felt smug and very well-traveled since I had been to San Francisco, Montreal, and the Bahamas. Hell, I even had a passport to go to the Bahamas. Once in college I made friends with people from Iran and Hong Kong. Some of my friends went abroad to Europe and Israel. I never imagined crossing the Atlantic myself.

Then I got married. Before I knew it I found myself walking along a dirt road in rural Turkey looking for an abandoned mosque. I found myself in Notre Dame cathedral, the Forbidden City, Easter Island, and Machu Pichu to name a few. I have been to India twice. Most of the pictures on this blog are my photos from my travels with Eric. My new addition to the right sidebar area is one of my favorite of Eric's shots of my back. Often when Eric felt a shot needed something he would call out to me "go over there and provide scale." He would indicate a general area and it was up to me to come up with some sort of pose that seemed spontaneous and natural. I never showed my face when providing scale because I didn't want the picture to be about me.

This particular shot was taken in a crusader castle in Syria. Our driver was taking us to Krak des Chevalier, a huge and very well preserved castle in Syria, when he stopped at this smaller "extra castle." It was cold and pouring rain when we headed up the muddy slope, not sure what we would find. We were out of the "Lonely Planet" guidebook. The castle was dark and cold. I got a great feel for what a drag it must have been for the men from southern France to have to be holed up in one of these places for the winter. When Eric told me to provide scale I stripped off the rain jacket, wool sweater, and backpack to provide the most attractive looking scale possible.

When I first saw this slide I was shocked. I remember the day as very dark and dismal, but the light at the entrance of this little castle is amazing in the slide. This was my first castle and I remember the awe and wonder of having the place all to ourselves. Everyone else had the good sense to be inside on a day like that.

Now I can't imagine not going back to Turkey, Japan, France, and especially India. I haven't left the country now in over a year and it seems like I need to pack up and get going somewhere. Now that I am thinking about traveling alone though, the rules have changed. I would not go to India alone for example. I have traveled alone for brief periods in the past. I traveled from Malaysia to Singapore, spent some time in Singapore, and flew back to the US alone. Traveling alone presents a new set of challenges. You have to haul all of your stuff to the bathroom with you if you are in transit for instance, nobody to watch your stuff.

I am not sure if my international traveling days are over or not. I still have the internal frame backpack, the experience, and some funds for a trip. I have yoga workshops lined up for the late winter/early spring, and fall '06, but nothing this summer. What I may lack is the time off from work and the ability to part with my money. Overland trip across Turkey? We'll see.

Way Out West

This break I came out to Houston to see my mom and step-dad. I arrived Thursday afternoon. After a quick run with my mom and clean-up we all went out to my favorite restaurant in Houston, the Grotto. The Grotto is a typical high end Italian restaurant exclusively staffed by non-Italians. As far as I can tell from chef to bus-boy the place is all Mexican, but I love the place anyway. We started out with cocktails and appetizer and moved to entrees and red wine. My tolerance is so low again that after a Cosmo and a glass of wine I had to focus to walk to the bathroom. I was thinking about writing a blog entitled "I'm So Drunk" when I got home, but I couldn't think of any additional content beyond that.

Today it was up and to the gym. Working out is one of the cornerstones of my mom and my relationship. We don't have to talk, we don't have to listen to the same music, we just have to get out there and sweat. After the workout and clean-up we went into the medical center for my appointment with the cornea specialist my mom works for as an ophthalmic technician. I had Lasix surgery a few years ago and have finally had to admit that my vision is not what it was post-surgery. He did tests on my tear formation and on the surface of my cornea but the ugly truth revealed itself during the refraction: I need glasses. Again. Mainly to drive at night and for going to concerts or sporting events. I drive at night fine, provided I already sort of know where I am going.

Tomorrow the central feature of this visit will occur: the housewarming party. My mom and Byron have invited over all of their friends and co-workers to show off their new place. I think they are expecting about 20 people. I have already met most of my mom's co-workers, fellows, and residents in my two trips to her office, so I will have something to work with socially.

AIDS

We got a new AIDS patient this week. The facility has about 50 or so of known HIV positive inmates who live out in population, take their meds, go to work, and lead normal incarcerated lives. I have three inmates who live in the infirmary because their counts are low, but they do not have any symptoms. They will remain in the infirmary until a medication is found that their diseases respond to. This process can easily take about a year.

I have only worked with one other inmate with full-blown AIDS. She came in straight from jail right around the time I started working at the pen. Like the new patient this week, she was newly diagnosed HIV positive. AIDS was ravaging her body while anger and denial ate up her mind. I worked with her in the infirmary form November of '04 till March of '05, when she went to population. When this first AIDS patient arrived she was so angry at the world that she would literally not speak to any of the nursing staff for about a month. Now when I see her in population going to school, tutoring, and getting ready for her release she looks so healthy.

This new one is going to be another really long road. She has all of the classic symptoms of AIDS, a certain kind of pneumonia, thrush (yeast infection in your mouth and throat), and a CD4 count of 6. Normal would be more like 500. Yet she refuses to consent to an HIV test to confirm diagnosis. Without a confirmed diagnosis she cannot be started on anti-retroviral therapy through MCV. These meds are expensive and the state pays for them out of a special budget, but to get into the program you must have a confirmed case. She keeps telling us to worry about the pneumonia and do one thing at a time. She swears that she can't have HIV.

She is needs to be on oxygen but is very non-compliant with this therapy as well. Whenever I go into her room to check her she has it off. We have tried masks, nasal cannulas, and switching between the two. Her fingernails will be blue. Last night she told me that she thought that there was carbon monoxide coming out of her oxygen condenser. "I knew someone who went to the hospital for that," she confided to me.

In nursing school they barely teach you anything about HIV and AIDS. We had a few lessons in Pathophysiology. Nothing in Medical Surgical classes, nothing in Pharmacology classes. Pretty much everything I know I have learned on the fly working with my patients at the prison. I have learned about different med combinations, med side effects, pneumonia, and wound healing in the HIV patient. I have worked with some really interesting wounds in HIV positive patients. I have worked with inmates who have been positive, taking medication for 10 years, and doing well. Think about it. Magic Johnson is still around. That is what I tell my new diagnosis patients. I tell them HIV is a disease that people are living with, not dying from immediately.

Learning about HIV and AIDS is one of the things that I like about working in the prison. I get to see them when they are well, when they are sick, and when they get well again. I like the prison because I get to see the big picture of the disease. Not just a little snap-shot on a highly specialized hospital floor.

Itty Bitty Buddha

I came into work last night and was presented with an itty bitty Buddha in a box that opens up to double as a sort of cardboard niche shrine by two of the officers. The officer that writes on this blog and the "Mama" of the shift co-conspired. It was such a nice, random gift, in a tough night. Last night I had to deal with patient abandonment, sending and agency nurse home early, and a disfigured Columbian dwarf drug dealer going into labor with her 7th child.

This Buddha is the fat, happy, laughing Buddha you see a lot in China. Not the serious, skinny, meditating Siddhartha Gautama Buddha pictured above. Granted that picture is also from China, but that is the Siddhartha and his two primary pupils, in the Indian tradition. Although this more common Buddha is serene, he often seems very remote and unattainable to me. With the laughing Buddha I look at him and think "bring me some luck fat boy." I have him open, sitting on his little altar, and housed in his red and gold shrine on my desk as I write. Thanks ladies, the itty bitty gift is appreciated in a big way.

Noli Me Tangere

I addition to buying new jewelry, I like to reinvent some of my old pieces. For years I have allowed a silver cuff bracelet that belonged to my mother to languish unworn in my "second-string" jewelry box. It suddenly occurred to me to have something engraved on it. I remembered a line from one of my favorite sonnets by Sir Thomas Wyatt: "Noli Me Tangere, for Caesar's I am,/And wild for to hold, though I seem tame." I have always really liked these lines, even though I lack a Caesar.

In the poem the speaker is chasing after a woman who he refers to as a deer, or hind as they used to call them back in the day. Note: the word "hélas" means "alas" and "Sithens" means "since." It is pretty generally accepted that Wyatt is referring to Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII's second queen. The whole poem is as follows:

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

"Noli me tangere" basically means "touch me not." I liked the idea of having this phrase on my wrist. When I googled the phrase I realized that it had another layer of meaning. This Latin phrase is actually a sound bite out of the Vulgate, The first Latin translation of the Bible. Turns out that in the Vulgate Jesus says this phrase to Mary Magdalene in the garden when she runs into him after his resurrection. This makes Wyatt's choice all the more interesting to me. I figure that the Christian implication was obscure enough that most people wouldn't make that association.

So I went to my jeweler and sprung for the hand engraving. It turned out beautifully, the engraving work is amazing. I am very pleased. I feel this phrase and the poem reflect nicely some of the things I am feeling right now.

New Mat

Today my new yoga mat came in the mail. I came home from some errands and there was a mat-sized box on my front porch. I didn't expect the mat until next week, so I was pleasently suprised.

I have been practicing yoga now for about 4 years. I have been practicing Ashtanga for 3 years fairly intensly. I have despised almost every yoga mat I have ever owned or encountered. The central conflict is as follows: my practice is very active, that's yoga slang for fast-flow with lots of sweating. My practice is usually 45 minutes to 2 hours a day (not on work days). Over this course of time my sweat will slime the mat, make me slip, and quickly literally errode the mat. Since July I have destroyed two yoga mats. Most people who do my style of yoga use very thick, stiff, heavy black mats that can hold up to the pounding. I do not like these mats. They do not provide enough cushioning for my knees and spine. My knees seem to need more than average amount of cushion. These mats also do not roll up nicely, which is ok if your mat stays in one place. My mat needs to be on the move. Some people will also put cotton rugs on top of their mat. I do this for the second part of my practice when I am mostly on the ground. I cannot use the rug for the standing portion of the pratice because I don't get enough traction.

So what is a yogini to do? I have tried a few different mats over the years. Some were too slick, many simply started to break apart while I was practicing. After extensive product research and some field testing I think I have found my perfect mat. The Jade mat. It is made from natural rubber. It's thick, but not rigid. It has good traction, but I don't feel glued to it. It rolls up nicely. On-line reviews insist that it's durable. Only time will tell on that one.

Odd and Ends

1. I managed to evade the pharmacy yet again.
2. I'm back to work in the infirmary tomorrow night for sure.
3. Eric has auditions at the Hart School, Michigan, and Northwestern.
4. All of the images on this blog are my own photos, except the one of my back on the "Insomnia" entry, Eric took that.
5. Podcasts are sound files that individuals record in the style of talk radio, news, even like old radio dramas. The genre is like AM radio, the local college radio station, and Public Radio all rolled into one. Only anyone, anywhere, can record anything and put it out there. Worldwide and uncensored. Most podcasts come out weekly, a few daily. One guy does a podcast while he is running. There are soap opera podcasts. You can subscribe to the podcast on your ipod and get each new episode dowloaded automatically.

The Sound of One Hand Clapping

When I first struck it out on my own I could not tolerate silence. I had something going on the ipod all the time. I listened to all of War and Peace in about a month. Unabridged. At first even music wasn't good enough, I had to have a human voice talking to me, even in the 30 seconds before I fell asleep after work. I listened to books on tape and podcasts. I was taking the ipod to bed with earbuds, then transfering to speakers for around the house, and then into the car. I called and emailed everyone I ever knew. Gradually I started to listen to music too. I kept something on even when I was in the shower. I created playlists that would would inspire me, and buried the songs that made me drippy or nostalgic deep, deep in the ipod.

This weekend I realized that I was having trouble keeping up with this week's new podcasts. Then I realized I was listening less because I was tolerating silence. I have even been able to get into bed and fall asleep without books on tape or music. The hot water bottle is there to stay as long as this weather holds though.

I also used to keep something on all the time so that I would not mentally scrutinize all of the street traffic sounds. I am now no longer listening all the time for someone to come home.

Valentine's Day

Don't worry, V-day is not going to send me into a tailspin of depression due to being alone. For starters I am pretty sure that I am going to have to do mandatory overtime tomorrow night, so I will be too busy to feel bad for myself. I think that I will end up in the main pharmacy pulling the AM pill line, a post I have avoided to this point. I have always assumed that I would be a very poor combination of bored and therefore inaccurate at this job. Trial by fire tomorrow night.

Looking back I really can't recall ever having done anything terribly special on Valentine's Day. One year around V-day I was dating a guy who went to Virginia Tech. I found a ride on the ride board and went down to see him. This was my one and only time to Blacksburg, and the only Valentine's Day that I can remember at all. We ended up eating at Subway for Valentine's night as he had not made reservations. He knew I was coming to visit. That one didn't last long.

This year I got myself a present. I went online and ordered some fun, modern, semi-precious jewelry. Two necklaces and a set of earrings. I know this sounds lavish, but the stuff is really pretty inexpensive. I don't want to reveal my source because I also ordered some birthday gifts for my spring birthday friends from the same website to save on shipping. I don't want everyone to know the true extent of my cheapness. Even though I ordered the stuff a few weeks ago, I have them wrapped in my desk drawer. I get to open it tomorrow.

Week Off

Things are going better this week. I had a very good conversion to days, I feel like I am starting to get the hang of this living alone thing. One of my greatest fears is that I will not be able to convert if there is nobody around to motivate me to stay up. I have been sleeping pretty well, but not excessively yet. No more going to sleep at 10 AM Wednesday and getting up at 12 noon on Thursday.

In a way the fear of not having anyone around has turned into a freedom. I felt myself getting sleepy this afternoon. When I realized that I was headed for a nap I started to panic. Then I thought to myself "What the hell? There isn't anyone to judge me or be pissed off if I am up all night." If I screw up my sleep schedule that is my issue. I have movies to watch and can mess around on the computer pretty much indefinitely.

I am getting my routine and supplies down for cleaning my house. This may sound basic and in a way sad considering that I have lived here since August. I don't mean to imply that I have not cleaned, I was just dealing with filth on a situation by situation basis. I did clean well before my mom came in November, I swear. The bathroom just does not come that clean. Really Mom. My house is also very different than my apartment, I have never worked with 50 year old hardwood floors before for example.

Setting up a regular cleaning regimen is one of my goals. Another goal for my break days is to make at least one new recipe each week off. Today I made museli bars from my Mayo Clinic Cookbook. I tried to make these last week but added too much salt and messed it all up, so I count it as a new recipe. This week I was very successful.

It is snowing like crazy here today. So I was cleaning, cooking, and listening to new podcasts when my mind drifted over to Mike. I was wondering if he had moved out of his Scottsville house, I seem to recall his lease being up this weekend et cetera. I had a great sense of liberation when I reminded myself that this was not my problem anymore. All I had to worry about was getting these old floors clean.

Borderlines and Antisocials

Borderlines and Antisocials are the most common personality dissorders I have encountered in my prison employment experience. The term "Borderline" harks back to the early stages of Psychiatry when this patient population was thought to be borderline psychotic. The Bible of Psychiatry, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, defines Borderline Personality Disorder as the following: Rapid changes in mood, intense unstable interpersonal relationships, marked impulsively, instability in affect, and instability in self image as indicated by at least five of the following:

*Going to about any lengths to avoid real or imagined abandonment.
*Intense unstable interpersonal relationships characterized by changing between idealization and devaluation the relationship.
*Lack of ones own identity. A marked instability of self image or the sense of self.
*Impulsively in two or more areas that are self damaging. These may included abuse, sex, spending, eating, driving reckless, or etc.
*Recurrent gestures, self mutilation, suicidal behavior, or threats.
*Instability in affect.
*Marked feelings of emptiness.
*Frequent displays of anger due to a difficulty in control.
*Dissociative or paranoid

Borderlines are very difficult to work with. They can very quickly draw in the people around them either with charm or manipulation of sympathy. These are the ones that will tell you that you are their favorite nurse and nobody can take care of them the way you can. Whenever I hear these words it is chilling. You will be their favorite nurse for awhile, then when you displease them, they will often refuse treatment from you or stop speaking to you. After some time has passed, suddenly you are the best nurse in the world again. Borderlines are also the cutters. Yes, the inmates get razors in prison for shaving purposes, so there is plenty of opportunity without having to go to all the trouble to pull off a piece of the desk and sharpen it.

One of the interesting features of working in a prison is the high density of Antisocials, otherwise known as Sociopaths. The DSM defines Antisocial Personality Disorder as a disregard for and violation of the right's of others, those right's considered normal by the local culture, as indicated by at least three of the following:

A. Repeated acts that could lead to arrest.
B. Conning for pleasure or profit, repeated lying, or the use of aliases.
C. Failure to plan ahead or being impulsive.
D. Repeated assaults on others.
E. Reckless when it comes to their or others safety.
F. Poor work behavior or failure to honor financial obligations.
G. Rationalizing the pain they inflict on others.

The prison is full of Antisocials of varying intensities for obvious reasons. Borderlines manipulate your compassion, try to punish you, and try to hurt you. Antisocials try to control through intimidation. People often ask me if I ever feel afraid at work. I usually say "Rarely," but I don't say "never." Some Antisocials are charming, some are very abraisive. When you have to be near them to take vitals and examine them you feel a chill. I have one inmate, who is in for natural life, that I will not allow to walk behind me. I will not allow myself to be in a room with her where an officer cannot see me. This inmate happens to be the number one brittle diabetic of the facility, so I am frequently in contact with her.

It just so happens that the prison's diabetic problem child number two is a combination Borderline and Antisocial. Every since I led the code when she slit her wrists I have been subject to "favorite nurse" status. Picking someone up out of a pool of blood, bandaging them, cleaning them up, and sending them out is a very emotional experience. After she came back I got a call from the housing unit that her dressing was coming off and it was a few more hours till treatment line. The inmates aren't allowed to have medical supplies in their property, there is a twice daily treatment line for dressing changes, blood pressure checks, and weekly injections et cetera. So I called her over and changed the dressing. The wound was gaping so I applied some steri-strips, I thought it looked a bit infected so I refered her to the nurse practitioner. The treatment line does not have steri-strips, they only change the over-bandaging. Steri-strips can stay in place for a few days so at the end of my work week I called her back over to change the steri-strips. This was part of how I became "favorite nurse."

Her sugar control has made her an in-patient in the infirmary, and also a resident in the assisted living unit. She is currently in population but is the only inmate in the institution that has orders to come to the infirmary for a pre-bedtime fingerstick just before lockdown. She somehow also became my MS inmate's aide so she is around the infirmary all the time for that job.

So far I have described the Borderline traits. Her Antisocial traits reveal themselves more slowly. She lies very frequently. I think that her poor sugar control, as well as the sugar control of the chilling Antisocial mentioned above, results from their inability to follow the "rules" of diabetes. They both recklessly manipulate their own sugars by puposely over and under dosing themselves with insulin. They both have horrible crimes that involved harm to first degree family memebers.

Dealing with patients like these two over the long term is one of the major challenges of nursing in a prison. Every night when you come in, they will be there. They were both there before I came, and will remain after I've moved on.

Working Through

Last week was my first week off, home, and alone. I did yoga, I ran, I listened to Chekhov short stories on ipod, I started to navigate the overwhelming but fascinating world of podcasting, I curled up with hot tea in my reading room and journaled. I made a few tactical errors like watching a DVD on serial killers while alone. Not so good. Time for a major Netflix queue revision.

Now that I have worked 3 night 12’s I find my loneliness consuming. This is the opposite from my previous experience. Work used to be my refuge. When I was married I was pulling 50 hours a week easily. I felt lonely and wanted to be at work to see my friends. The prison felt like a community, a family. In June I was on the last day of my stretch when a random officer asked me what I was going to do with my 7 days off, what I was looking forward to. I really couldn’t think of anything. I was thinking about a hole in the schedule and considering another shift. In that moment I knew that I had to do something. That was the instant I decided to leave Eric.

When I was dating Mike I still wanted to get back to work to return to order and sanity. He worked days, so I almost never saw him at work. He worked with his people and I worked with mine. The only reason I knew him was from his time on nights over a year ago.

Now at work I feel raw, like all of my skin is gone. I don’t have the energy to navigate the complex webs of personality disorders and relationships. I am faced with boundary issues with inmates and staff that I suddenly don’t feel like I can handle. I still feel emotionally enriched by working with most of the inmates, and I get along very well with most of the staff, but things are tougher now. I am very conscious of the fact that there is nobody waiting for me at home to hug me and help me process the environment. Driving home is a point of serious vulnerability for me. When I get home I just try to go to bed as fast as possible. The good news is I’m not having any trouble sleeping now.

Insomnia?

I have been monitoring myself pretty closely for signs of depression.
sometimes I do have a depressed mood and low energy, but I feel like I am basically able to get done what needs to get done. This mood is also not persistent. My appetite and eating habits have been good, not too little, not too much. The only thing that worries me is sleep. For most of my life I have been hypersomnic if anything. I could sleep anywhere, plane, bus, train, you name it. On my last work cycle I noticed that I was not sleeping well during the day. I usually have to set an alarm to get myself back up in time to go to work, but last week I would wake up around 2 PM and not be able to get back to sleep. I thought I would catch up on my off-week, but I have converted very badly. I can't get to sleep until 4 or even 5 in the morning and then usually only sleep until noon or sometimes 2 in the afternoon. If I make it till 2 PM I am usually restless and dreaming for the last few hours. I have been rotating between days and nights for about a year now and it has never gone this badly. Normally after I get off from working I am sleeping 12 hours a night for the first few nights. I will be sitting around falling asleep at 7 in the evening. I am exercising and wearing myself out, so I am not sure what the problem is or even if it is a problem. I don't feel terribly dragged out when I am awake. Now that I am alone I feel like some of the rules are being re-written. It has also occured to me that not eating meat might be some sort of factor. My tendency to over-sleep seemed like such a fundamental part of me, could it possibly be lifting?

Another Shot From the Hike

3 days and 2 nights in the wild environs was quite a challenge for me. The first two days were lovely but exhausting. The third day my father refers to as the "death march." The weather had turned. We started out by scaling the mountain behind the hut in the below picture in the driving wind. It was all downhill from there. Literally, downhill in the rain. I accidentally didn't take the rain seriously at first and let myself get too wet, let my core temperature drop, and let my sugar drop. I then went into an altered mental state, to put it kindly. Now there is talk of a spring hike...

August 2005 Hike

In August of 2005 my dad and I went on a 3 day and 2 night hike through the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The two nights were spent in "huts" along the way. You may be able to see one of the huts nestled at the base of the mountain in this photo. The huts are permanent structures that have full kitchen and bathroom facilities (cold water only, no showers.) They have open bunk style sleeping arrangements with thick blankets supplied. They didn't seem heated, but I can't say for sure. The hut workers provide tasty hot dinners and breakfasts.