Thoughts on Leaving Home

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In Which Four New Nursies Depart the Saskatoon Airport May 13, 2016

Our journey commences. Today I left my home in Saskatoon to embark on the internship of a lifetime. I’ve gone from the warmth and comfort next to my lovers’ body 14 hours ago to soaring about a quarter of the way across the Atlantic Ocean. In the time building up to this day I half-heartedly hoped I would suffer a minor fracture, or there would be just enough political turmoil in my destination country to disrupt my journey, but not to seriously impact anyone else’s life. Because the truth is this: I am as scared as I am excited. I am the seven-year-old girl eager to attend her best friends birthday party sleepover, but who had to call her mom to come rescue her from the terror of the unknown when it came time for pajamas and lights out. The difference between seven year old Carrie, and twenty seven year old Carrie, is that mom can’t come pick me up from Uganda’s house. It leads to the question: Why am I doing this?

Self-fulfillment primarily. I would be lying to say that I have enough skill and know how to really make a lasting influence on anyone’s life or education to where I am going. What can I offer? What do I gain? And does that balance out?

I can offer this: A genuine desire to build relationships and to learn from one another. A genuine desire to experience life outside of the creature comforted and structured realm I know at home in Saskatchewan. Where time is stringent, sanitary conditions as well. Where we live in silos, according to the rules set out for us from our British monarch heritage. I can offer the most open of hearts and minds. Is that enough?

And to count the gains I receive: adventure, knowledge, gratitude, humbleness, awe, spiritual connection and understanding, personal growth and strength. Challenges when I return home don’t seem as challenging when compared to the context of so many of the individual’s lives I will meet.

And though I feel fear, I am ready. I spilled tears on my pillow, in my shower, down the front of my puffy vest as we left Montreal, for Tyler back home whom I shall miss nearly constantly for the next ninety-seven days. I am ready for the gruesome hospital tasks that await us in Mbarara, with a minutia of the supplies and resources we are adapted to working with at home. I am prepared for the harrowing stories I will hear from mothers and daughters, of exploitation, abuse, and hardships. From the men, stories of the impossibility of attending their chosen professional educational training - another would be physician denied the opportunity. I hear myself complaining about my $40 000 of debt which has granted me this opportunity, and the boundless opportunities here forth. Though I have a hefty price to pay back, at least that is an option for me. I have become so close to being a Registered Nurse! I never knew I could be so respected after only four years of training and literally zero paid experience. Members of my own community, when I would pass them the debit machine to charge for the meal I served at the popular chain steakhouse where I worked, would drown me in praise for my career choice. Members of the community I volunteered last year on the eastern coast of Africa showered me with gifts and affection to thank me for the ten days I was able to spend with them and their children. Tears poured embarrassingly down my face, as I became enveloped in the overwhelmingly warm grace the parents of these miraculous children. Overwhelmingly warm grace, which has called my heart back since I left last July.

And this is why I return – to experience that sense of community, belonging, and unconditional love from complete strangers.

I recall the eagerness with which the parents brought the students siblings, who did not attend the school, to see the “doctor”. And the delight to hear their child checks out perfectly head to toe; or, the concern and worry when something less than desirable was discovered. I recall the eagerness with which Teacher Munira undid the buttons of her blouse to reveal her chest, so that I may auscultate with my stethoscope the sounds of her hearts and lungs, that checked out beautifully. Teacher Munira cannot afford the clinic for a simple check up. If only I’d had a blood pressure cuff with me then. Even now I did not bring one; I am a chronic procrastinator, and I began my search in Saskatoon for a blood pressure cuff too late and was unable to procure one before my departure this morning. In Uganda, you cannot go to the Shopper’s Drug Mart and insert your arm into a robotic machine that tells you the strength of which your heart is working to supply blood to the rest of your organs and body.

I digress. Our journey commences. I am prepared, even for heartache, and disbelief. My greatest challenge today is leaving Tyler. Some of the other girls with me now have boyfriends as well – I am glad for someone to be able to feel my pain! Three months is not that long, I am constantly reminded by family and friends, as well as my own conscious. Alas, my organs cannot work in agreement and though my head and my body are ready, my poor heart isn’t entirely on board. She will be, as soon as we’re working in our community and doing good work.

Tyler understands. He is supportive and proud of me. There’s many, many things in this world that can make me cry, but hearing the words “I’m proud of you” from him reduce me to a pile of pudding, or something gelatinous. Almost nine years I’ve known and loved this man, to some extent or another. Our history is tumultuous, far from the fairy tale we all long to live. But we made it. I fear I am entirely and incredibly selfish. If he abandoned me for three months, could I understand the way he does? Hell no! But, he’s always been the better of us two. And, alas, we always knew I was going on this trip, or something like it. I’ve had an insatiable appetite for books since grade one, an insatiable appetite for adventure, learning, and people. Carl Sanders was my bible, then National Geographic. I was to be a journalist, documenting the travels of a herd of camel, recounting the lived experiences of women in war-torn countries, or sharing the horrors of corporate irresponsibility with the world.

And somehow I found my way to this most amazing of careers, with the most amazing of people, with the most amazing opportunities. I don’t know my role yet, I don’t even know the extent of my capabilities. I don’t know as much as the other students about pharmacology and pathophysiology, but I know my heart is true. I recall the words of many acquaintances in my life: You are very different from the other girls. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you are not like the other girls.

I hope this Ugandan experience and thorough writing exercise I am embarking on will help me figure out what that difference is – what sets me apart as a unique Carrie Ann from the rest of the remarkable human beings in this world. Maybe that piece, whatever it is , will help me to thrive in my chosen career.

But I am far from thriving; I’m a bird with wet wings, a colt fresh from the womb with frighteningly unsteady legs. But I’ve been raised tough and I've been raised smart; I am intrepid, and I can do this. Get ready for the next three months, Miss Ann, get ready...

However, the next few days are not for dwelling or pondering or self-realization - the next three days are for a group of four recent nursing graduates to indulge and celebrate in the fabled City of Lights. Ahhhhh Paris. Our French is abysmal, despite the rest of the worlds expectations of Canadians, but that will not deter us. We shall have a ball! Paris, we're on our way, and I cannot wait to see (and eat and drink) you!



Carrie Ann

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