Alaska! Up North and to the Left

by Steven Swaks

  “It’s a shame we cannot have any carry-ons,” Gladys said.

  “The flight is not that long, why do you need one?” Lydia waited for the point Gladys wanted to make.

  Gladys smiled. “A few weeks ago, Doctor Gohain went to Newtok. She had her food in a cooler and checked it in, as she was supposed to. But the airline didn’t take it on the flight because the plane was too heavy… the pilot only told her when they arrived at the village. Her first dinner was made up of chocolate bars she’d brought onboard with her,” Gladys explained still smiling. “She was forced to visit the village store to buy the bare necessities for dinner, but those businesses are very expensive and they only have limited supplies. At last her cooler made it in the next day.”

  “Well, hopefully, ours are going to make it!” Lydia grinned.

  Gladys became more serious. “Well, once we arrive in Pilot Station, we are going to meet the health aides. You have been working with them on the phone right?”

  “Yes, I do the RMTs* with Kwethluk and Russian Mission,” Lydia said surprised by the change of conversation.

  “The health aides have already set up a series of house calls to meet some of the elders who cannot come to Bethel, either because they are too sick or too weak to travel,” Gladys explained. “We are mainly going to see patients who are not able to come here. We are going to see a few pregnancies and do some Pap smears, we will need to refill medications for chronic patients and so on. You need to understand that some of them can’t even afford the plane ride or the extra costs to come here overnight.” Lydia remained quiet and attentive. “Obviously, we will also attend any walkins. You will see, towards the end of the week, the entire village will know that we are there and the waiting room is going to be filled!” Gladys smiled again. “This little outing will be a wonderful experience for you,” she paused. “You will learn more about the Yupik, learn how they live, where they live, learn about their culture. This trip is going to make you a better doctor. You will be able to better understand them.”

  Lydia remained silent and occasionally nodded.

  “Good afternoon, thank you for waiting, passengers for Pilot Station!” A tall and obviously Japanese pilot announced with a thick accent. A small group of passengers gathered around him. “Hi, my name is Yoshi; I’ll be your pilot today.”

  “What did he say?” Lydia whispered at Gladys who shrugged and shook her head.

  Yoshi proceeded and called out the passengers’ names, “John, Gladys, Christy, Elena, James, Lydia, Kyle, and Love… Lovina?”

  One by one, the passengers raised their hands like well-disciplined school pupils. The pilot opened a door with a large red restricted sign. Lydia felt a small knot in her stomach, she had never been an avid flyer and any plane which was not accessed by a jetway was too small and unstable for her taste. The group stepped out of the terminal. The unusual blue sky contrasted with the controlled chaos of the airplane parking area. A forklift went by; a pilot was gassing up a small plane hunched over the wing while workers were loading another one.

  The passengers walked in a single file line towards a white plane with double red stripes running the entire length of the fuselage. Lydia knew it was a Caravan (being married to a pilot, it was difficult not to know that kind of thing), which looked like a modestly bigger version of the tiny trainer Steven used to take her on.

  One of the passengers came closer to the pilot, “Are we getting a big plane?”

  Yoshi smiled, “Yes, today we taking a Caravan!”

  Lydia frowned, that? That’s not a big plane, that’s an overgrown puddle jumper…

  The group walked around the tail and entered the right side of the aircraft via a lateral door with unfolded stairs. Lydia boarded and sat behind Gladys, just aft of the right wing. The Caravan was not so bad; there was a center aisle and maybe five or six seats on each side. She jolted as the door slammed behind her. Yoshi walked around the front of the plane and accessed the cockpit through a small door right beside his seat. He sat, buckled his four point seat belt, and his hands started to fly around the dashboard turning knobs and flipping switches. After a brief moment a short, quick, and rhythmic tic, tic, tic, tic, tic, ensued. Almost at the same time, a winding sound came from the front of the plane and soon grew into a raging roar, the plane was coming to life. It took a short moment before the Caravan started to move. Lydia’s stomach cringed a little more as the plane taxied to the runway, stopped, and moved again to line up with the long white dashed line in the middle of the asphalt. The pilot pushed the power lever and the plane rushed forward. The white runway lights went by, one by one at first, then faster and faster in a dizzying streak. Lydia’s stomach wrung in anticipation, twisted by a malignant force as the plane gained momentum. The Caravan nosed up and left the safety of the ground. Yoshi gently turned right, flew over the southwest housing and kept turning towards the northwest. For the first time, Lydia saw more than a flattened version of Bethel. The tundra spread as far as her eyes could see, lakes, thousands of them, the mountains breaking the horizon and reaching the heavens. Bethel passed by, the hospital and the three parallel streets of her own neighborhood, even one of the grocery stores. Gladys became a tour guide and pointed at landmarks, nothing much, a winter snow machine trail with engraved tracks on the tundra or a cabin for hunters or fishermen.

  Gladys had been wonderful but Lydia’s stomach could only handle so much height and rolling motion. The cabin of the plane became a spinning blur. Lydia closed her eyes and waited for the firm ground to come back. Gladys looked back, grinned, and shook her head. The flight took another thirty minutes. The Caravan flew over the tundra and a growing tree line into moose territory; but it did not matter to Lydia, she only remained in her darkened world hoping for an early end to her misery. She did not see much of Pilot Station before the plane landed. The small village was nudged in a tight valley on the shoreline of the Yukon River. A rough road ran up a hill to a gravel runway which overhangs the river in a dramatic cliff plunging into the river 300 feet below, but Lydia (which was probably a good thing) did not see that either.

  The wheels hitting the gravel announced the end of the calvary. Lydia had survived and she was pleased to see that the flight had not been as tormenting as she had anticipated. Yoshi taxied the Caravan on a small gravel apron where a few people and four wheelers waited nearby. They were friends and family members of arriving passengers, but it did not matter if it was a small gravel strip in a Yupik village, or JFK in New York, the same emotion was there, people hugged and kissed, vigorously shook hands and tapped each other on the back. Smiles and occasional tears lit the faces overwhelmed with love.

  Lydia stepped out of the plane, the solid ground felt so good. She looked around in a rapid glance, the area was green and luxuriant. The lush trees and thick bushes surrounded the airport in a ring of life and abundance. Lydia kept peering, the experience was intoxicating. Yoshi was already on the other side of the plane unloading the baggage and mail from the plane’s belly pods. Lydia walked around and dug for her bags in a pile of baggage.

  A pickup truck surged out of the trail and rushed to the plane. The driver stopped, jumped out of the cabin, and strode towards Gladys.

  “Hi Dr. Reno! How’re you?” A middle aged Yupik man greeted her.

  “It is nice to see you again George.” Gladys quickly hugged him and looked at Lydia. “This is Dr. Swaks; she is going to stay at the clinic for the week.”

  George introduced himself and picked up the bags.

  “Well, nice to meet you Doc, hop on.” George pointed to the back of the pickup truck and Gladys walked to the front cabin. Lydia looked at the bed of the truck confused. Hop on? Hop on what? The back? What is he thinking? I’ve never done that. Is this even legal? She hesitated, looked around for a sign of confirmation, something, anything. Somebody was about to come out of the bushes with a good laugh. Nothing happened, no sign, no laughter, nothing. Lydia looked again at the truck and reluctantly grabbed on the s
ide panel of the bed, she laboriously raised a knee onto the tailgate and dragged herself on the pickup truck bed. She sat on a suitcase with a blank stare and hung on.

  The two minute trip to the clinic was not so terrible. The pickup passed a carved wooden sign indicating Pilot Station, population 500. The weather was pleasant with temperatures hovering around the low seventies, and the lush surroundings reflected the wild Alaskan woods awaiting at the edge of the road. The truck pulled in front of a newly built single story building just off the road. Lydia hastily climbed down the bed while George helped her pull the bags out. Gladys was entering the clinic, Lydia soon followed. In this late afternoon, the health aides were already gone. Lydia entered directly into a well-lit waiting room. At the first glance, the clinic almost looked like any other medical facility. Two rows of attached chairs faced a counter with a large window into a reception area and two small offices. A small black coffee table stood on the side of the room with a few magazines neatly piled. The clinic’s white walls carried medical posters. Lydia looked closer. The main health concerns littered the walls, teen pregnancy, rising diabetes, and tobacco chewing which sometimes started at an elementary school age.

  George walked out.

  “Lydia! Your room is here!” Gladys’ voice came from the end of a corridor. Lydia left the waiting room to find her. There were a few examination rooms on the right side of the corridor and utility rooms on the left, maybe a small break room and a janitor’s closet. Lydia met Gladys in the room next to the last.

  “This is your room, you have the bathroom right there,” Gladys showed a narrow door next to the bedroom. “There’s a microwave and a refrigerator over there. Sometimes dentists, optometrists or residents come here, but you should be the only one in the clinic this week.” Lydia nodded. “Well, you have a good evening. I’ll be here tomorrow morning. George left the front door key on the reception counter with his house’s phone number. I’m going to spend the night at an old friend’s house. Don’t hesitate to page me if you need anything.” She paused. “Are you going to be ok?”

  “I should be fine, thank you.” Gladys walked out. Lydia stood there slightly overwhelmed.

  The next day unraveled as announced. Aside from a shower in a foreign bathroom and a breakfast cooked in a microwave, Lydia’s morning was a pale copy of a conventional day in Bethel. Lunch came by and the afternoon followed in a surprising monotony. Lydia had expected a little more. She could not put her finger on it, but she was almost disappointed. It was a day at the clinic, that was all. There were the same posters on the wall, the same patients, the health aides’ faces were different, but she had been under the impression there would be some spice unfound in Bethel.

  Lydia was washing her hands in the nursing station, still contemplating the day. Gladys walked in, “We have a home visit. It is to renew a prescription for high blood pressure. It is a few minutes’ walk further down the road.”

  “Oh, ok, good!” Lydia’s eyes lit up. There was something new, maybe not so exciting, but she was about to do something else. She was looking forward to venture deeper into Pilot Station and see what the village was all about. During her residency in California, Lydia had done a few house calls for hospice care. It was a very unpleasant experience with families torn between wanting to see a loved one live for a few weeks longer or letting them go and mitigate the suffering. Either way, patients were at the dusk of their lives waiting on their death beds. There was nothing to look forward to but the dreaded passing of a loved one, and Lydia was one more unwilling participant in her patients’ end of life.

  Gladys and Lydia left the clinic and walked down the hill deeper into the town. If it was not Lydia’s first stroll through a Yupik village, it was the first time she was exploring so far from Bethel. She could feel the difference. There was no precity mentality of some villages closer to the regional hub. Pilot Station was closer to the untainted essence of Alaska, and even the Yukon River flowing by only added its share of romance and adventure to the scene. As they walked further, the houses became more clustered. Most of them were very small wooden structures with occasional clothes hanging in the front, a boat, a snow-go, or a four wheeler of some kind. Technology had stamped even the most remote village and satellite dishes spread like gangrene on the traditional roof tops. The elders had learned to live in harmony with nature and subsisted from what she gave while the grandchildren watched the drunken reality shows on television, flesh ruled the air and alcohol lubed the frustrations.

  Gladys and Lydia turned right off the main road and walked down a dried snow machine trail to a very small house. Gladys knocked on the peeled off blue paint wooden door.

  “Mesabelle?” She called. They both waited outside the door, silent, in quest of a sound from inside the house. “She’s old. She has a hard time to hear,” Gladys curiously murmured. She knocked again, this time louder. “MESABELLE! THIS IS GLADYS!”

  An old and frail voice came back. “I’M COMING!” The voice sounded wary, over articulated, and strained. After a moment the creaking door opened slowly. A very old native woman appeared in the crack of the door. She had short white hair and was wearing a blue and white traditional Yupik dress and a pair of sweat pants. She was very skinny with an arched back but her mischievous and sharp eyes drew the attention of her interlocutor.

  “Oh, Gladys, it is very nice to see you again…” the old lady opened the door wide.

  “How are you Mesabelle?” Gladys asked with a gentle tap on her frail shoulder.

  “I’m fine… and who is this?” She looked at Lydia.

  “This is Dr. Swaks. She is a doctor from Bethel. She is going to follow me around this week.”

  “Good, we can always use doctors around here!” She smiled. Lydia shook her hand and Mesabelle walked back in followed by the two ladies.

  They entered directly into the small and dark living room. It did not take much to figure out she had been living there her entire life. A shelf carried a few picture frames with foxed black and white photos of another era. Gladys and Mesabelle sat on the couch and Lydia picked up a chair from a nearby table and sat in front of them. The examination was rather rapid. Gladys had taken the patient’s vital signs, asked a few routine questions and renewed her medications. It had been a long time since Mesabelle had been to Bethel. She was so uncomfortable in those small planes, Pilot Station was home and she did not want to travel anymore.

  “Well, it looks like you are healthier than I am!” Gladys proclaimed.

  “At my age, you never know!” the old lady said. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked looking at Gladys.

  “Um, nothing special,” Gladys answered. Lydia shook her head in negation.

  “My granddaughter is going steaming, you should go with her!”

  “I haven’t been in a while, most definitely, we would love it. Thank you!” Gladys joyfully answered and looked at Lydia, “We’ll come back tonight.” Lydia approved with a quick nod and a shy smile.

  Steaming was a very vague concept for Lydia. Her neighbors in Bethel owned a steam house which looked like a tiny log cabin the size of a full size van, and was divided into two small rooms used for bathing. That was the extent of her knowledge of the upcoming steaming session. In the Delta, and even in Bethel, the steam houses were as common as pimples on a teenager’s face, but Lydia had never paid attention to them; they were part of the décor, another little flavor of Alaskan taste in a growing town. Living in Bethel, Lydia had never expected to ever cross the line and open the door to the native intimacy. It was beyond anything she had expected, but somehow, she was finding the strength to accept. Try new things, experience the culture, broaden your horizons, her thoughts stayed locked on the proposal. She remained pensive and quiet most of the way back to the clinic.

  She broke her silence, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

  Gladys laughed, “You don’t need a swimsuit! Everybody is naked! Don’t worry; it’s only between women, maybe a young child might b
e there, that’s all.” She kept quiet for an instant and pursued. “You know, steaming is a very efficient way to bathe, it is a very deep cleanse, down to the pore. Most of the Yupik think that showers are very superficial, which is true in a way.” She smiled. “And beyond the hygienic aspect of steaming, they just love to meet and spend time together!”

  Lydia kept her head down and occasionally glanced around for the remainder of the walk back to the clinic. She had never been very social, and this, this… thing, was well beyond her comfort level. She would soon get naked in front of total strangers. She would spend time talking and socializing in a pile of steaming flesh locked in a confined space. The idea was repulsing.

  The dinner was quiet and lonely, the microwave humming and the inevitable ding sound broke the silence of the clinic for an instant. Even Gladys had left Lydia to attend to personal matters. By the time Gladys came back to pick her up, Lydia had decided to fully live the moment. That would probably be the first and last time she would steam, so she might as well enjoy it! One day, she would be back in California and she would look back at her Alaskan days. This would have been a marvelous and unique experience and she did not want to miss any of it.

  It is with this state of mind that Lydia walked back to Mesabelle’s house. Mesabelle? What was that name anyway? Lydia thought. She was more opened to the village and the new experiences.

  Even at 9:30, it was still broad daylight and in June it would stay that way until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning. Pilot Station was really a beautiful village. A network of trails converged and crossed each other, they went to the store or the river; they climbed the numerous hills and dug deeper into the narrow valley. Lydia looked up and saw a picturesque white Russian Orthodox Church higher up on the hill, with two blue onion domes and a small cemetery hiding behind it. From the distance, Lydia could still see small picket fences surrounding each grave.