Bittersweet

It's my last night on the reservation, and I can't help but feel a little melacholy about that.  I'm really looking forward to seeing my friends, family and Aimee (to say nothing about buying groceries without an hour's drive), but I sure am going to miss this place.  I've learned a ton here, and I dramatically expanded my list of role models. I've also been lucky enough to make some very good friends in the process.

When I talk about learning a ton, I'm partly talking about medical knowledge. But I'm also talking about the advice that changes the way we see the world. The reservation has no shortage of that type of knowledge. Here are a couple of stories that have been rattling around my head for a while. They'll make a good parting post.

Traditional Hopi medicine men have a gift, and they use this gift to not only treat, but also to diagnose their patients. Hopi people (especially the elders) are not used to describing their symptoms. When they come into the clinic to see us, we're just supposed to know what's wrong with them. On more than one occasion, I've been told by a patient that he or she feels "some way". When I ask for more information, the patient usually replies, "I don't know what I feel; I just feel...a way." It adds another degree of difficulty to the history and physical, even if there isn't a language barrier (although those are pretty common here, too). This expectation does a good job illustrating the cultural role of the healer. People go to the medicine man/healer/physician to feel better, and part of that process is being listened to, comforted, and reassured. All of the modern medicine in the world doesn't mean much, if the patient isn't treated with a good dose of humanity.

The second story relates to how we go though life. Hopi people (and I'm told Native Americans in general) are very focused on the here and now. They don't worry very much about the future, since there are enough things to deal with today. In fact, it's not uncommon for social security checks to pile up on the kitchen tables of elderly Hopis, since the checks are just paper to them; they don't help the corn grow. Incidentally, this makes the task of recruting future Hopi doctors very difficult, since the average 18 year old (Hopi or not) is rarely interested in starting down a career path that won't be completed for at least eleven years. (And speaking from experience, the average 26 year old isn't crazy about that, either.) When I first got here, I thought that the biggest drawback to living on the reservation would be the limited range of experiences. I've since learned that this couldn't be further from the truth. But even if it were true, who cares? Working our way up the ladder isn't the most important thing in the world.

And unfortunately, living on the reservation for only five weeks didn't teach me what is the most important thing in the world, but it definitely got me closer to figuring out what is.

-M

Sleep over!

Let this video play in the background while you read today's post. I shouldn't be the only one with The Commodores stuck in my head.



I was in the mood to try something new this week, so I asked my boss to schedule me for a night shift. And it was completely worth the sleep deprivation!
I showed up for work at 5pm, fresh off of the radio broadcast and a little nap. When I got to the hospital, I unpacked my food (enough for a small village), and changed into my pajama scrubs. The day doc went over the patients that were already in the ER, and officially passed the torch on to us. From that point on, it was just the doctor, two nurses, an intake receptionist, and myself covering the entire hospital.
Our first few patients were pretty benign. The 5pm to 7pm rush is generally people with non life-threatening emergencies that can't take off of work to come to the regular clinic. We had a few mysterious rashes, a sprained knee, and a pretty nasty case of diaper rash. (But I feel much better now.)
I took advantage of a quick lull around 7:30 to sneak out for some sunset photos.

On the reservation, even the view from the back door of a hospital is dramatic.
Around 8pm, things started to get a bit more interesting. A mother in her mid-twenties brought in her toddler son to have his diarrhea checked out (always the job of a med student). The diarrhea turned out to be from a mild stomach bug, and we weren't too concerned about it. What did get our attention was his swollen knee. His mom said that it had just started that day, and he began to complain about it after a nap. Since it wasn't likely that he injured the knee in his sleep, we suspected that there was an infection in his joint cavity. They're not that uncommon in children, and can be very harmful if left untreated. We drew some blood to send to the lab (he wasn't crazy about that), and sent the family home with some antibiotics. That should do the trick, but we scheduled him for a follow up appointment next week, just to be safe.
The next patient had a chronic seizure condition that seemed to be getting worse (or at least different, which is still something to be concerned about, when it comes to neurological conditions). We ran a few tests, and gave her a few medications. The drugs seemed to help, but there was a lot of underlying anxiety and family issues that we couldn't address appropriately in the ER. We called the on-call neurologist in Flagstaff (who seemed less than thrilled to be woken up at midnight), and he gave us some advice for her follow-up care. Seizures are a difficult condition to treat. We don't fully understand all of their causes, and the episodes can range from harmless to fatal. This patient seemed to be a very mild, but frequent seizer, so she will probably do much better after a neurologist reevaluates her and adjusts her meds.
Midnight in the clinic is a unique experience. The location feels familiar, but the aura is way different. Of course, I was probably starting to get a little loopy by that point.

After midnight, the patients only got more interesting. The next person to come into the ER had damaged his eyes when the sparks from his welder started flying before his mask was fully down. I don't think that I need to point out how painful that is. And apparently, it's not all that uncommon. The damage caused by welder sparks is rarely from the metal flying out. It's actually caused by the intense amount of UV light given off during the process. So people that are far away from the flying metal have a false sense of safety, and don't protect their eyes as well as they should. Four to six hours later, they're in the ER, writhing in pain. The good news is that--as painful as it is--"welder's flash" is fully treatable, and most people recover completely.
Around 3am, we got the grand finale of ER trauma. A couple of brothers had been drinking too much, and got into a vicious fight. When the cops were called to break it up, one of the brothers charged an officer, and found himself at the receiving end of 50,000 volts. And probably crapped his pants on the spot. By the time we saw him, he had calmed down considerably, but still had a couple of taser prongs sticking out of his chest. Our job was to remove the prongs, and to treat his other injuries. However, the doctor that I was working with had never taken out the prongs before. She asked the police officer how she should remove them, since they're barbed, and they don't come out nearly as easily as they go in. The cop just smiled, and said, "pull."
The other brother was soon to follow. He was brought in by the paramedics, since he was bit during all of the rolling around. Human bites are one of the most likely types to get infected (way worse than dogs or cats), so standard protocol is to bring them in for treatment. By the time both of the brothers were in the ER, they had moved past whatever skirmish had started the fight. They were actually very nice to us, and to each other. The fight was almost undoubtedly caused more by the alcohol than by any animosity between them. However, even though he had calmed down a lot, the brother that charged the officer would still be spending the night in jail.
By the time that we had finished treating the brothers, I had actually grown to like them both, and I felt bad that one of them would be going to jail. 
After we treated the injuries (most were very superficial) and discharged the patients, things got very quiet. The doctor and I both went to go take a nap; she in the doctor's sleeping lounge, and me in the staff conference room.

Surprisingly, I actually slept pretty well! That is, until I was woken up an hour later by an overhead page. I didn't actually hear who it was for, but since the doctor and I were the only people wandering around the hospital, I figured that it was for us. So I stumbled my way down the hospital corridor, and I asked the nurses who the patient was. They looked very surprised to see me, and before they could respond, I remembered that the overnight janitor gets pages, too.
"Grumble, grumble, grumble...this sucks...grumble, grumble, grumble...night shift is stupid."
However, all was forgiven when I realized that the page had woken me up at the perfect time to see the sunrise over the mesa.

That worth at least seven of the eight hours that I didn't sleep last night.

At 8am, today's ER doctor showed up to take us off the clock. It was glorious. I spent the rest of the day making up for lost time, and took about a dozen naps--even before lunch. 

And speaking of lunch, the staff nurses put together an incredible pot luck of traditional Hopi dishes as a send-off before I leave tomorrow.

I sure am going to miss this place.

-M

Myles, from the Hopi reservation, you're on the air!

One of the local physicians has a weekly call in radio program that discusses all types of health issues. It's great public health outreach, and the community really seems to enjoy it.

1I had the opportuinty to join her on the show this week, and we had a great conversation. We discussed illicit drug use--on and off the reservation--and we even managed to get a few callers. In fact, one person left a message off-air to have us call her after the show. It turned out that she's been using meth for years, and hasn't ever told anyone. She was inspired enough by the broadcast to call in to the station, and she asked that we schedule her at the clinic for her first rehab visit. That felt good.

-M

Field trip

I went out into the community with the public health nurse today. Her job varies from school-based immunization clinics to shingles education at the senior center to house calls for patients with unique situations.

We spent the first hour of the day contacting patients and planning our route. This is no easy task, since phone numbers rarely connect, and the addresses in patient charts are not much more than directions from (sometimes) well-known landmarks.

As we got everything together, the nurse explained that a huge part of her job is based around education. She discusses everything from wound care to refrigerator temperature settings. Here's her library of health education handouts.

Our trip today covered a wide variety of situations. The first stop was a well-baby exam for a one week old boy. In other situations, the parents would have brought the baby into the clinic for a quick exam, but this was a very traditional family that was experiencing childbirth the Hopi way. Immediately after the delivery, the mom and baby were driven to her parents house for twenty days of uninterrupted relaxation. According to Hopi custom, the mother should do nothing but relax (and nurse the baby) for the entire period. All of the curtains are drawn, and neither one of them should be in direct sunlight until the sunrise naming ceremony on the 21st day. That was also the case with this family, and there were a dozen family members around (almost all women) to help clean the house and care for the child. The only males allowed in the house were the baby's older brother and the father. I was lucky enough to be granted a health provider exemption.

Some of the more traditional members of the family weren't crazy about me being there, but the bigger issue turned out to be the public health nurse. She is almost 8 months pregnant (and still taking the Jeep out for house calls!), and when she mentioned that to the family, some of them became concerned. According to Hopi custom, babies that are exposed to pregnant women are more likely to be fussy toddlers. The nurse felt bad, but it seemed like the family forgave her.

The next stop was at the home of a Hopi silversmith for a salmonella investigation. He came into the clinic last week with severe vomiting and diarrhea, and needed some pretty intense care. The lab determined that he had ingested some salmonella and was suffering from some food poisoning. The public health nurse was following up with him (as she does with every infectious disease) to see if he was feeling better, and to try to trace the source of the infection. She asked the patient where he got his water from (not always a simple question on the reservation), if he uses a toilet or an outhouse, where he buys his groceries, if anyone else in the house is sick, etc. They eventually came to the conclusion that he probably got sick after eating some pot-luck food at a community ceremony last week. The Hopis still practice most of their traditional ceremonies, and since many of them are to try and bring some rain, we're right in the heart of ceremony season. The health center knows this by the annual spike in food borne illness. We've recently seen a disproportionately high about of infections, cause by some pretty nasty bugs like salmonella, giardia, cryptosporidium and shigella. Many of them come from contaminated food or water, but many of them have no clear cause. In fact, as I type this, health center workers are trying to investigate a possible anthrax investigation. (As an aside, those are a lot more frequent than you'd expect. The anthrax bacteria are commonly spread by sheep, and a lot of people on the reservation keep their own livestock.)

By the way, this is reason #1,452,938 why I love government health care (aka socialized, single-payer, etc.). Could you imagine your local hospital dispatching a team of investigators to follow up after you got treated for food poisoning? You can if you're Native American. It's a well-justified expense if it keeps your neighbors healthy.

Our last stop today was to visit an elderly woman with non-alcohol-caused end-stage liver disease. It's a fatal disease, and the woman will probably be passing away very soon. She was very calm--almost to the point of me suspecting depression--but was bravely confronting her situation. With Dr. Phil in the background, she and her caretaker described how she has been doing lately. Everything from bowel movements to skin color was discussed, and the nurse listened empathetically and wrote everything down.

The visit was part of IHS's well developed palliative (hospice) care services. Again, not only is this a wonderful service to the community, but it also saves the IHS a ton of money. The overwhelming majority of US health care expenditures are for people in the last few months of their lives. Everything that the public health nurse can do to make this process smoother (bringing supplies, educating the family about how to prevent bed sores, etc.) gives the patient a higher quality of life during her last days, and prevents the need for costly ER visits.

Just another day on the reservation.

-M

Doctor, part 2

As I roll into my last week on the reservation, I'm starting to get a little reflective. Bear with me.

I think it's a pretty safe bet to say that I'm not the same person that I was four weeks ago. And that's mostly a good thing. I no longer think that everyone coming into the ER is going to die in twenty minutes, unless I save them by making a miraculous diagnosis of some super rare disease. Although I'm still hoping for one of those.

I'm also starting to finally find the right balance between jaded and naive when it comes to prescribing narcotic medications. The 72 year old woman that comes in with shingles probably isn't looking to score some percoset. But on the other hand, the twenty year old that comes in describing textbook symptoms of gall stones (but doesn't seem to be in any particular pain) can probably go home safely without a prescription. Especially without the prescription for hydrocodone + acetominophin that she asked for by name.

And I can almost make it through an entire toenail extraction without losing my breakfast. Almost.

There are a few patients that stick out in my mind, and I'm probably not going to forget them any time soon. The almost-delivery is definitely one of those. The young mother and father-to-be had an odd disconnect from the entire situation, as if they were just there for a sports physical. But then again, I can't imagine what it must be like to go through that as a late teen. I might not have acted any differently.

We had a patient a few days ago that came in to the ER for a "hand injury", but the situation quickly progressed away from any orthopedic concerns. When it was apparent that her one month old injury came from punching someone, the nurse practitioner asked the patient who a sweet young girl like her would be punching. She cryptically responded that she was defending her mother. When the NP finished addressing the hand pain, the patient meekly asked if she could have a pregnancy test. We both froze. Our immediate concern was whether or not the patient was defending her mother from the same person that potentially made her pregnant. She wasn't. However, this still clearly needed to turn into a heart to heart between the patient and the NP, so I spontaneously heard my name over the intercom. The NP filled me in afterwards, and the sex wasn't as consensual as the NP would have liked ("Well, I didn't say no..."), so she spoke with the girl about how she can better assert herself next time. And, thankfully, the girl didn't turn out to be pregnant.

Another patient last week came in with a pain in his abdomen. He was about twenty five.

Me: "Ribs?"
Him: "No, lower."
"Stomach"
"No, lower."
"Intestines?"
"No, lower."
"Bladder?"
"No, lower."
"Legs?"
"No, higher."

Damn. Time to get out the rubber gloves.

After a quick inspection, I couldn't find anything wrong downtown. Of course, I only have a comparison sample of one, but I still think that I have a pretty good idea about what things should look like down there. After a bit of conversation, he opened up to me about a recent, less-than-safe sexual encounter. So I initially thought Syphilis or Gonorrhea. ("Which one do you have, leaking or burning?") But those lab tests came back normal, so I was back at square one. After some more conversation, the patient explained that the sex occurred sometime between breaking up with his girlfriend, and the two-week binge that he put himself though in response. And by binge, he meant that he had consumed nothing but beer for two weeks straight. He shouldn't be alive. The extreme dehydration and shock on his kidneys resulted in him developing a urinary tract infection. These are extremely rare in men (which was why I thought that he was on the train to STDville), but they're not unheard of. We kept the patient in the hospital for a few hours to rehydrate him, during which his girlfriend ex-girlfriend girlfriend joined him in the exam room. I knew that it was his girlfriend by the panicked expression on his face when I walked back in to the room with some new lab results. Since Hopi man-code is nearly indistinguishable from its English equivalent, there wasn't much doubt as to what my next move needed to be. "Congratulations, sir, you're pregnant."

But I don't want you to get the wrong impression. These cases are memorable because they're the exceptions. As a whole, the Hopi are a reasonably healthy group of people. Certainly no worse that the average non-Native American. Granted, they still seem susceptible to the alcoholism seen with other tribes, although they do a pretty good job avoiding the bottle altogether. Plus, their traditional diet and long history of being runners have survived the ages remarkably well, despite the relentless outside pressure. This could be due, in part, to the lack of fast food restaurants on the reservation. I'm guessing that economics has a little bit to do with it, but I'll bet that there's also a tribal decree keeping them out. After all, McDonald's hasn't ever been shy about putting branches in other low-income communities.

The rest of this week should be as equally incredible as the four that preceded it. I spent this afternoon with an IHS doctor doing her weekly round of acupuncture treatments. It was very interesting on a lot of levels. First, I was impressed with IHS's willingness to think outside the box to make its clients healthier. Also, the practice of acupuncture, itself, was pretty fascinating. I was curious about it before today, and now that I've seen it in action, I'm sold. I have a pretty strong hunch that I'll be spending a fourth-year rotation in China.

On deck is an outreach trip with the traveling public health nurse, a health-focused call-in radio program (I may actually talk this time), and an overnight shift in the ER. I can hardly wait!

-M

Road Trip!

After we said goodbye to my parents on Saturday evening, Aimee and I set off for a quick road trip through Northern Arizona. There are hundreds of sites to see out here, but we focused our visit on Canyon de Chelly and Monument Valley.

We had been planning on driving up to Canyon de Chelly (pronounced: shay) on Sunday morning, but on a whim, we decided to just leave Saturday night. We tossed the tent in the truck, and were on our way! The midnight drive was easy and peaceful, and to top it all off, we discovered that the canyon's federally managed campground was free!

[I'm trying very hard to keep politics out of this blog, but the last few months have been filled with conventional wisdom-bashing examples of how the federal government actually does know how to run things. The KOA site down the road has no desire to provide a free public service. And I've already told you how I feel about the Indian Health Service.]

Anyway, the campsite was great. We pulled in around 12:30 am, and tried our hardest to not wake up any of our new neighbors. Especially the clawed variety.

When we woke up the next morning, one of our quick-pack omissions became very clear. Food. So I hopped back in the car, and made a run for one of the best camping breakfasts out there: Burger King.

We spent the morning exploring the impossibly beautiful Canyon de Chelly. If it were only a natural wonder, it would be amazing. If it were only a cultural heritage site, it would be amazing. It's both; and it's a must see for anyone who visits the region.

The canyon is part of the Navajo reservation, and is still used for farmland by some of its residents.

The hike was pretty steep, and even though the "down" segment was the easy part, we were pretty happy to make it!

At the end of the two-mile hike to the bottom of the canyon is an ancient cliff dwelling made by the early Hopi ancestors. It defines "breathtaking".

After making the trek back to the top, Aimee and I got back in the car, and headed to Monument Valley on the Arizona-Utah border. The drive was beautiful, and gave us dramatically different scenery every twenty miles, or so.

Monument Valley is one of the most famous Southwest panoramas, and was the backdrop for several early Western movies. And even though Canyon de Chelly set the bar pretty high, it was still worth the drive.

Despite my best efforts to encourage her otherwise, Aimee couldn't muster up a fake sickness. So it's back to work for both of us, but it sure was a nice way to spend the weekend!

-M

Family Vacation

You may have noticed that I'm running a bit behind on the postings. I have a good excuse: my family came to visit! Mom, Dad, sister and girlfriend all made the drive up from Tucson, bringing their smiling faces, and a much needed food recharge.

Our first stop was the historic Walpi village on the top of First Mesa. It's one of the oldest villages in North America, and without running water or electricity (by choice), it hasn't changed much over the last few centuries. (The oldest village in North America is Oraibi, on Third Mesa, but it has retained less of its original form.) There were probably 12-15 homes in the village, all passed from mother to child in Hopi's matrilineal society. In fact, all property on the reservation is "owned" by a family, and is not eligible for purchase or sale. The practice dates back to the early days of Hopi community ownership. Individual property rights are a uniquely European import, and were completely unheard of in North America before Cortez and Columbus.

There are no photos allowed of Hopi cultural sites or ceremonies (so you'll just have to visit!), but I did find one taken before visitors actually respected that request. This is Walpi, and surprisingly little has changed since this photo was taken in 1920.

Our guide for the day was the mother of a friend of mine (Sam, if you remember the volleyball photo). The Hopi people are extremely hospitable, and when I told people that my family was coming, I had more food offerings and tour guides than I knew what to do with.

Sam's mom, Pam, is a warm Hopi woman in her 50s, and shared some wonderful insights into what its like to grow up Hopi. She had a very unique perspective, since her adoptive parents were one of the first Hopi Baptist converts, and were exiled from living on top of the mesas. Like many Hopi Christians, Pam lives in a small residential community along the base of the mesas. However, she married a traditional Hopi, and seems to be re-exploring her ancestral religion.

Pam explained to us that most Hopis survive off of a meager income (mostly from craft sales), although they don't consider financial poverty equal to spiritual poverty. They don't have much money (another European import), but they do live fulfilling lives near their family and their homeland. That's an important thing to remember when you drive through the neighborhoods and see bare dirt floors in many of the homes. It's a different type of lifestyle than many of us are used to, but I'll bet that the average Hopi has no interest in our sympathy. On the other hand, I feel compelled to point out that there is a wide variety of lifestyles on the reservation. For every Hopi that lives a traditional life of home grown food and mud-walled homes, there are two or three with college degrees and high-level jobs. And that's even before you consider all of the Hopis living modern lives in Phoenix or Flagstaff. Generalizations rarely hold up in most settings, and that's especially true on the rez.

After we toured Walpi, Pam invited us into her home for a few cups of traditional Hopi tea and a great conversation. My mom--never one to shy away from a good question--asked about birth control on the reservation (Pam: "Not enough...the kids don't want to talk about it"), and Hopi children forsaking their traditional culture ("Playstation is more attractive to them right now, but most come back").

Pam had invited one of her family members over to her house to give us a Kachina carving demonstration. The carver was extremely talented, and showed us how he turns the root of the Cottonwood tree into a detailed representation of a Hopi spirit. We fulfilled our role as visiting tourists, and purchased one of his works. Everybody wins.

The final stop of the tour was over to Pam's neighbor's house for a pottery demonstration. Calling the potter "nuts" is tempting, but it would be a serious misrepresentation. Yes, this guy was a bit on the surreal side, but he was far closer to a prophet than a loon. What words we could make out from his rapid fire, barely intelligible speech left us all struck by his poignancy. To set the tone for you all, the first words out of his mouth were, "I see things. People seek answers from me. Ask me anything you like. I don't talk about death." I knew it was going to be a fun visit.

After the initial knee-jerk reaction of, "Holy crap, what is this guy talking about?! And where are all of his teeth?!", we came to realize that the potter was Wise. Very wise. He had spent his life learning pottery techniques from the pueblos of New Mexico and Arizona, and used clay formation as a metaphor for everything else in this world. His pearls of wisdom included, "When you make pottery, clear your mind of all negative thoughts. Like children, pots hold on to the energy of their creators." And then there was, "Do you know what this is on my shirt?" (Silence) "The mayan calendar. We don't think that the world is going to end in 2012; that's just how far the Mayans could see, the rest is up to us. Things are changing. Mama (pointing to the ground) needs a facelift." Of course, he was spinning his pottery wheel, and adding clay to his growing pot during all of this. I won't forget that guy anytime soon.

For dinner, we drove to Winslow, and ate at La Posada, a historic railway hotel. The food was great, and it was nice to spend some quality time with my family. But that story is far less interesting than the potter, so I think I'll just end with that!

-M

About that radio thing...

I guess I've got some 'splaining to do.

If you happened to listen online to KUYI between 3pm and 5pm on Thursday, you may have noticed that I was nowhere to be found. Funny story.

I had been talking back and forth with the station manager all week about coming in to the station to play some Tucson music. I mentioned that we had a similar type of community radio station in Tucson (KXCI), and that I was a member. So I spent an embarassingly long time (several hours) picking out and ordering about two hours of Tucson's best music. And there's a lot of good stuff out there, so it wasn't an easy task. But I eventually came up with a pretty decent set list, and I burned it onto a couple of CDs (thankfully, rural general stores have come a long way).

The station manager suggested that I arrive a couple of hours early to familiarize myself with the equipment, since "it may be different than what I'm used to using at KXCI." This was the first of many opportunities for me to explain that there is a huge difference between KXCI members, and KXCI DJs. Like, enormous. However, I missed the chance (along with every one that followed).

So there I was, two hours before air time, cluelessly playing around with equipment that cost more than a car. And to make matters worse, it was actively broadcasting things while I was playing with it. KUYI broadcasts an NPR feed from 1pm to 3pm, so if I pressed the wrong button, I would cut it off, and there would be dead air until the frustrated manager came running in to set things straight. Needless to say, I was terrified. So I sat there, staring at the CD player's load button, for somewhere around five minutes before I worked up the guts to press it. And even when I did, it was with the unsure timidity of a first-time bomb diffuser. I tell you, the moment when that CD player's tray popped out (and the NPR continued playing), was one of the finer ones of my existence.

By the time 2pm rolled around, I hadn't figured out much more than how to load CDs. I was starting to get a little nervous, since I would have to introduce myself on the air in less than an hour. I mentally replayed what I would say over and over again, although it was pointless. I knew that I would ultimately just blurt out whatever came into my head at air time.

It was about that time that the manager came into the booth to tell me the usual format of the 3-5pm time slot: traditional Native American music, and oldies. I had known this going into the broadcast, but I thought that there was an implied exception for the "guest from KXCI". However, the manager didn't seem to be implying diddley squat when he came into the booth at 2. Clearly, my precious playlist would need to be tossed out the window. That hurt.

I was getting a little panicked. Not only would I have to come up with two hours of music, I'd have to do so using two of my weaker genres. So I scanned my playlist to see what would be salvageable. Thankfully, I had brought some traditional Pascua Yaqui and Tohono O'Odham music, so that could stay. And the station had a pretty lose definition of "oldie", so I could keep the Tucson music made during the 70s (although I ended up playing a whole lot more than that). However, both categories combined left me with a whopping 10-15 minutes of music. So I had to scan the loosely organized CD racks of KUYI to see what I could possibly scrounge out to fit a Tucson theme. I came up with "Get Back" by the Beatles (with it's nice Tucson shout-out), but that was about it.

By 2:45, I was starting to feel some knarly butterflies, as I realized that my theme didn't have a prayer of surviving. And since my prep time was mostly spent figuring out what I would play, I didn't have any time to figure out how the hell I would play it. And operating a 60,000 watt broadcasting system is no walk in the park.

By 2:58, I could hear the NPR broadcast winding down. Sheer terror. The manager said that he would take care of the transition from NPR, but he was nowhere to be found. I was already trying to convince myself that a few minutes of dead air would be no big deal. "AHHH!!!!!" I put on the headphones and double-reminded myself to speak slowly, since I knew that the panicked late start wouldn't help. At 2:59 and 59 seconds, the manager casually strolled in and pressed a few buttons. He played the station ID, and cued up the Johnny Cash song that I had used for practice (but had no intention of playing).

With Johnny Cash singing about ghost riders in the sky, the manager looked at me playing pretend DJ (with my headphones on and microphone up close), and said that I didn't need to worry about back-anouncing. Aka, I wouldn't be saying one word on the air. I was filled with both dissapointment and relief, since I knew that a music-only show would be WAY easier, but far less personal. Plus, I wouldn't be able to talk about the Tucson connection for each song that I played. Although, that last bit was probably for the better, since my Tucson theme barely lasted three songs (and that's if you exclude the accidental Johnny Cash track).

The only reason that I look calm in this picture is because it was staged two hours before I started to DJ. I had the self-respect to not take any panicked, sweaty photos of my actual broadcast. Plus, I would have had no time. Without a real playlist to work from, I was barely coming up with a song to play before the previous one ended. At my worst, I was just yanking CDs off the shelf, and tossing them into the player with seconds to spare. (I'll use that excuse to justify the Beach Boys song, even though I'm secretly a huge fan.)

At 5:01, I couldn't have been more relieved to see the station manager come back into the booth. He stepped though the puddles of sweat to transition into news programming, and officially relieved me from the board. He said that he really enjoyed the mix; I lied and said that it was no problem. He invited me back whenever I like, which I may do--as long as I don't have to talk!

-M


If you're interested, here is the final mix:

1. Ghost Riders in the Sky - Johnny Cash
2. Get Back - The Beatles
3. Deer Dance - Jessita Reyes (Traditional Pascua Yaqui song)
4. Wham - Santana
5. Roka - Calexico (Not a N.A. song, or an oldie, but it's a great track by my favorite band)
6. Georgia on my Mind - Ray Charles
7. Cuera Mohelam - Pascua Yaqui Singers
8. Malaguena - Richie Valens (A cool cover by one of the most famous Yaquis)
9. Tired of Being Alone - Al Green
10. Signed, Sealed, Delivered - Stevie Wonder
11. Luck in the Hunt - Jessita Reyes (Yaqui)
12. La Bamba - Richie Valens (Aside from the Yaqui connection, this was my first cassette tape)
13. Por Un Amor - Linda Ronstadt (A classic Romantico by the great Tucson singer)
14. Harvest - Neil Young
15. Echo Song - T.O. Singers (Tohono O'Odham)
16. Dallas Blues - Tom Walbank (A new song by one of Tucson's best musicians. I thought that I could sneak it in as an oldie)
17. I'll Be Around - The Spinners
18. Dropping Quarters for Jane - Al Foul (Another oldies sound-alike by a great Tucson musician)
19. Deer Dance - Tosay Hwilit (Yaqui)
20. Suspicious Minds - Elvis
21. Tumbleweed - The Modeens (Tucson band, oldies sound-alike)
22. Help Me, Rhonda - The Beach Boys (Yeah, I played the Beach Boys. Deal with it, Mike.)
23. Heragua Loco - Pascola Music (Yaqui)
24. Trop Expres - Marianne Dissard (French-born Tucson musician. Also not an oldie.)
25. Beautiful Boy - John Lennon
26. Rain Dance #3 - Navajo Singers
27. Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out - Otis Redding
28. Bridge Over Troubled Waters - Simon and Garfunkel
29. Maggie's Farm - Bob Dylan
30. Flower of the Dark Tree - Jessita Reyes (Yaqui)
31. Tell Me the Truth - Fats Domino
32. Sweet Caroline - Elvis (This cover rocked!)
33. Alone Again Or - Calexico (A great cover of a 1967 song by Love)
34. Emergence - Will Numkema (This Hopi traditional song had a spoken word segment that completely caught me unaware, and I thought for sure that I had bumped the NPR feed button!)
35. Yuwa - Key Ingredients of African Soul (A timeless African spiritual from a very cool Tucson band)
36. Mustang Sally - Maurice Williams
37. Navajo Song #3 - Todd Honyouma
38. All Done In - Rainer (A great song by one of Tucson's most talented musicians)

I may have cheated a bit, but all in all, it's a mix that I'm pretty proud of!

No Hands

Today was the first day of Be Hopi, Be Health, round two. Since the Hopi villages are so spread out, there are several sessions of camp, which each one catering to a particular area. This group of kids seemed equally as a charming as the last.

We took the campers to the same historical site as last time (Awatovi), but there was a different guide showing us around. It was nice to hear another perspective on the destruction of the city, and I'm starting to think that this is a litmus test for Hopi religions. The Christian Hopis tend to frame the story as a Sodom and Gomorra redux. The city was destroyed because its residents were living in sin. Period. The traditional Hopis seem to imply that the city was destroyed because it had sold out its sister cities by accepting the Spanish, and adopting their religion. Two divergent takes on what is clearly a difficult subject.

After camp, I went to a second volunteer gig; I'm coaching youth soccer (I know, I was just as surprised as you). But it didn't go quite as expected. The weather was pretty crappy, and this was the first time that soccer was being played at the site that I was assigned to. I think that the combination of the two conspired against me, and no one showed. Not a one. Not even the other coach, who happens to be the former Miss Hopi. I think that once I get back under Verizon's digital umbrella, there will be a message waiting for me about canceling practice.

And speaking of the former Miss Hopi, I actually already knew her from a couple of years ago. I had been booked as the MC for the Public Health diversity talent show. That is, I was booked, until I got bumped at the last minute, so that a certain current Miss Hopi could have the job. We have an old beef. A lot of good jokes died that day.

Anyway, after I was pretty sure that no one was showing (since there was zero chance that anyone would have not seen a 6'6" white guy with a soccer ball), I called off the practice of one. And I was hardly disappointed, since I had a little panic on the drive over. I realized that I didn't know the first thing about soccer. Or coaching. And to make matters worse, I kept shanking the ball out of the field every time I tried to kick it during warm up.  It was not going to be pretty.

I got back in my car, and I went over to the other site that soccer was being played at. This site was much more established, and had been hosting the informal league for several years. There were players galore, and a ton of parents cheering and laughing on the sidelines. Seeing the grownups on the side of the field made me think about two things: 1) These are some very supportive parents, and 2) there is not much to do in this town. But the level of soccer was pretty adorable, and I'll take some pictures to show you next week.

-M

P.S. It's official, I'll be spinning some Tucson favorites on the radio this Thursday from 3-5pm. That's right, no 2am slot for this guy. You can listen online here.

Window Rock

Bonus two-fer today.

I had planned on spending the day casually nursing my post-volleyball muscles back into working condition. However, my roommate, Corinne, wanted to take a little road trip to Window Rock on the Navajo reservation, and I couldn't pass that up.

We drove east out of the Hopi reservation, and into Navajo territory. The Hopi definitely have an edge on scenery.  The drive was pretty flat until just before the site. But we did get to see some Navajo political signs, which was a unique twist on an old classic.

The entry to Window Rock has a monument honoring the Navajo Code Talkers.

I'm sure that most of you remember learning about them in history class, but they were a group of less than 200 Marines and Soldiers that used variations of their native language to convey messages ("potato" meant bomb, "tortoise" meant tank, etc.). It was extremely effective, since less than 30 Non-Navajo people knew the language at the time, and the sounds were completely unintelligible to people that didn't grow up around it. The signal officer stationed at Iwo Jima said that US troops wouldn't have been able to storm the beach without them. And although the Navajos got most of the glory, several other Native American tribes were involved in the effort, including the Hopi, Cherokee and the Choctaw.

P.S. Notice the shoes that I'm wearing. That will become signifiant in just a moment.

The park is a collection of dramatic red rock spires, with the signature feature being the "Window Rock" in the background of the last photo. We knew that it was possible to climb to the top of the arch, but we weren't quite sure how. And as you can tell by my shoes, we were hardly prepared for a hike.

We saw a small trail heading around the back of the cliff, so we followed it to see if it went anywhere. With every step, we were less sure that it was the right way to go, but we couldn't see any other option. The trail dead ended at a canyon wall, but we saw a little rock pile that looked promising, so we climbed it out of the canyon. We landed on a ledge about twenty percent of the way from the top, so we still had plenty of climbing to do, but there didn't seem to be an obvious way up.  And to make matters worse, getting back down wasn't an option.

Remember, I was wearing flip-flops, and my only survival gear was a digital camera and $3.55 in cash. (Afterwards, Corinne confessed that she had seriously considered calling the fire department.)

After sitting on the ledge for a few minutes, we heard some people coming our way. It was glorious. The new arrivals turned out to be a Navajo couple in their thirties that used to climb the canyon to hide out after ditching school. But when they climbed up to where we were sitting, one of them asked where the rope was.

"What rope?!"

So, without a rope--or a way down--we shimmied up a very steep cliff. At the time, it was moderately scary, but looking back at the photos, we should have been absolutely terrified.

Mom, you probably shouldn't look at this.

This was the cliff face that we climbed up.  For scale, see that spec of a person in the top right?  That's me!

But as always, the views were spectacular.

There was a group of Japanese tourists sharing the rock with us. Clearly, they found the right way up.

The tribal headquarters is at the base of Window Rock. Some of the buildings blended in nicely, but putting the tribal body shop at the base of a world-class natural structure was an interesting decision.

The area surrounding Window Rock has a few fast food restaurants, so we pulled over for a quick milk shake on the way home. When you've spent the last two weeks eating Trader Joe's boxed dinners, McDonald's doesn't seem quite as unappealing. I'm not proud.

And it's back to "work" tomorrow!

-M

Rez ball

I had the good fortune to be invited to a volleyball tournament on the reservation this weekend. Or should I say, I had the good fortune to be tall? The volleyball invitations tend to follow that.

The homemade court was just outside one of the several small villages that was set up by the Bureau of Indian Affairs in the 1960s. These villages of totally climate-inappropriate tract houses were set up in an effort to entice the Hopis off of the mesas. The early BIA agents thought that pulling the Native Americans away from their ancestral living areas would disconnect them from their traditions enough to start the insidious homogenization process. This was the same thing that the Spanish tried 400 years earlier, to similar effect. The Hopi culture is incredibly resilient, and has stayed mostly intact, despite the centuries of outside pressure. In the 1970s, the BIA finally changed its philosophy from one of assimilation to one of cultural support. At that point, the Bureau gave control of the housing authority over to tribal officials, and these ground level villages slowly started to transform themselves into more traditional living arrangements.

But I think that we were talking about volleyball.

The tournament was Friday night and all day on Saturday. It had a decidedly block party-like feel to it, and attracted teams from throughout the Hopi reservation and surrounding villages. It was a fundraiser to send one of the tournament organizer's nieces to the Midwest for club basketball Nationals.

The competition was surprisingly intense. The Hopis are not known for their hight (which was probably why I was invited as a ringer), but they definitely made up for it in strength and tenacity. Their culture has developed around long distance running, since this "moccasin telegraph" was their only method of delivering messages between all of the distant hopi villages. Running is still a big part of daily life here (there are community 5K and 10K runs on most weekends), and although obesity and diabetes are pervasive, there is still a decent percentage of the population that is in very good shape--which I found out. I could barely get out of bed today.

The gameplay went on all day, with the occasional break to chase a rez dog off the field.

Our team is below. We came in third place, and considering the competition, I'm pretty happy about that.

The woman on the far left is my coworker at the health care center. Her name is Samantha, and she runs the Health Promotion and Disease Prevention office. She is also in charge of the summer camp that I helped out with last week, and is directly responsible for the breakfast burrito fiasco. Her husband is right behind her, followed by one of her friends and her cousin. The woman to the right of me is the wife of one of the IHS doctors, and next to her is her niece. They are both originally from the Marshall Islands.

After the tournament, the family of the tournament organizer stuck around to celebrate his birthday. Since Sam is a cousin of his, I was also invited to partake in what could only be described as a feast. The Hopis are famously hospitable, and they also tend to have huge families. Plus, cooking for others is a tribal past time. We ate like royalty, but the nicest part was their family tradition of sharing stories about the person celebrating his birthday. I heard tales about ditching elementary school, selling crafts to tourists on the side of the freeway, and getting shot by an arrow.

[When I heard that last one, I thought, "holy crap, you guys still use those?" But it turned out that the arrow came from a mechanized crossbow that a neighborhood kid was playing with. "Ahh..."]

Another great weekend. I just wish the Hopis had more hot tubs.

I'm sore.

Today was the second day of the Be Hopi, Be Healthy summer camp. We started off the morning with a two mile fun run, and it wouldn't have been so bad, if it weren't for what was bouncing around in my belly.

The village that we hosted the camp at was right next to Tuba City, which is in the Navajo reservation. For a change of pace, one of the other counselors took me "across the line" to try some Navajo food. I bought a breakfast burrito from a nice old lady, which turned out to be as big as she was. And to make matters worse, a Navajo breakfast burrito is apparently nothing more than corned beef and potatoes, wrapped in a huge piece of fry bread. It sat a little heavy. But, boy, was it tasty!

The village that we ran through was Moencopi. It is a pretty traditional Hopi village nestled in a beautiful canyon.

I know, right?! My head was sideways for the entire run. I almost forgot about the burrito...between burps.

(P.S. That's not my photo. It's one that I downloaded from Hopi.org. The website's innocuous name seems to be hiding the fact that it's hosted by a Christian ministry that is trying to convert the Hopi. I don't like that. Let's hope that they Forgive me for stealing their photo.)

We spent the rest of the morning doing kiddie aerobics. (Kiddie, my ass, by the way; I'm exhausted!)

This next photo's worth clicking on.  She's pretty adorable.

If you look closely at that last one, you might spot someone who is a bit too big for those scooters.

After lunch, we tried our hand at some craft projects. Who needs macaroni necklaces when you have buckskin paintings?

And I don't was to brag, or anything, but I think that I'm catching on pretty quickly!

By two or three o'clock, all of the kids (read: counselors) were starting to get pretty exhausted. Good thing we scheduled a couple of community health workers to come in and do some diabetes education. Diabetes is a serious problem in a lot of communities, but it seems to be hitting the Native American ones especially hard. The health workers hosted an engaging conversation, and played some CDC-produced educational videos.

The videos were geared towards a Native American audience, and were a little over-the-top with their cultural competency (the main character's name is Rain That Dances), but it was still very nice to see health materials that reflect the people that they're intended for. And the message of "sometimes foods" vs. "everyday foods" was spot-on for the age group.

We wrapped up the day by taking the kids to visit the bookmobile for some story time.

All in all, it was great program, and I was thrilled to be a part of it. Besides, it provided me with what is sure to be the best souvenir of the trip.

-M