I Walk to a Beat of My Own

“Follow your heart, but be quiet for a while first. Ask questions, then feel the answer. Learn to trust your heart.” ~~Unknown

August 15th rolled around all too quickly. There had been no word from the NSF in regards to the Icebreaker status. But it was time to make the long 2 1/2hr trek to Anchorage for my appointment with the Alaska Heart Institute. This was something I was not necessarily looking forward to.

As the saying goes, the "real" Alaska is just 20 minutes outside of Anchorage. And if you're not here for the real Alaska, then why are you here?

After having lived in a couple of more "remote" areas of Alaska, the city of Anchorage is an assault on one's senses. Loud noises, rush hour traffic, strip malls, crime, speed demons. I had to remind myself that the rest of the world isn't like sleepy little Seward with their Xtra-Tuffs and carhartts that still relies on good ole fashioned stop signs.

The motto when dealing with Anchorage is: Get in and get out as quickly as possible.

My boss Wendy wanted to meet me at the Heart Institute to sit with me while I went thru the stress echo. So I was supposed to meet her and Dave there around 10:30. Fighting mid morning traffic and some congestion caused by road construction, I pulled into the Alaska Heart Institute parking lot.

Walking into that building was about the worse part of the entire experience. I was the youngest patient there. The majority of the patients present had to have been at least in their sixties and  older. Nearly all were hooked to oxygen machines and moving to the slow roll of their walkers.

My skin crawled. I felt as though I was being walked to my death as they escorted me through the building. As I sat in the stress echocardiogram waiting room, each doctor that walked by me gave me a slight quizzical look, as if to say, “What are you doing here?”

Don’t worry…that question arose several times before the day was over.

I was finally ushered into the examination room where the nurse took my resting heart rate. She clucked to herself and wrote a few notes down.

She looked me up and down and asked, “So, why are you here?”

“Um…I was referred by a clinic in Seward that I needed a Stress Echo because I had an abnormal EKG.”

“Ah, an abnormal EKG. Ok. Well, you’re quite a bit younger than most of the patients we see in here,” she said as she busied herself with getting me hooked up to another EKG. I eyed the machine with trepidation. It looked as if it was the mother of all EKG machines. It was gigantic and it had about a million cords coming off of it, all of them strapped to various locations around my chest, above and below my heart.

“So what we’re going to do is get you into this gown, tape it up so you’re not exposing yourself and then we’re going to take an ultrasound of your heart at rest. And then we’re going to get you started on the treadmill. Now, you’re going to have to run for as long as you’re able. You’re young and healthy so we’re going to push you as far as we can. So pace yourself, and whatever you do, don’t jump off the treadmill.”

Ok.

Pace myself.

Don’t jump off the treadmill.

The ultrasound tech came in to take an image of my heart at rest. She took one look at me and snorted. “Should’a brought a book. She’s a young one. We’re gonna be here for a while,” she said sarcastically as she slung a glob of cold goo onto the ultrasound wand and rotated it over my chest.

I lay there on my side observing her watching the screen. I wanted to ask her, “Is there a heart in there? Do I have one?” But I managed to contain myself and instead lay there quietly waiting for the next round of instructions.

After the ultrasound, a man walked in wearing a long white jacket.

Ah, the doctor. Finally.

He was the man who was going to sit down with me and explain the results of the EKG and the ultrasound. He was the man with all the answers.

“Her resting heart rate is at 47 bpm,” the nurse piped up.

The doctor looked at me in much of the same way the nurse had when she first saw me. He strode over and looked at the image of my heart at rest, walked back and looked at me again. He shrugged. “You look fine. Do you feel alright?” he asked.

I nodded, a little uncertain as to how to respond. “I feel fine.”

“Well, this is how we’re going to do this,” he said. “We’re going to start you out at level one with a 8% incline. With each level, the speed of the belt is going to increase as well as the incline 2% each time. The first three levels you’re going to be able to walk through them. Around the fourth level, you might have to start at a brisk jog. We’ll take your blood pressure with each level and if at any point you need to stop, just tell us. Whatever you do, don’t jump off the tread mill. Okay?”

I nodded and stepped up onto the treadmill, ready for level one.

The first three levels were just as the doctor had said, an easy stroll through the park. I caught the ultrasound tech yawning. “Sorry,” I apologized.

“No worries, honey. You just do what you have to do. Remember to pace yourself, you’re gonna be running for a while.”

Level four passed by and I hadn’t broken a sweat or gotten out of breath yet. “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.

“Fine.”

Level five slipped by and I was finally beginning to feel it in my shins. “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.

“I feel fine.”

“She’s not even out of breath,” the nurse commented as she watched me run.

The machine had gone into level six where I was running at an 18% incline at 5 mph. This time I finally felt like I was getting a little worked.

“Do you want to keep going?” the doctor asked.

Sweat was starting to pour into my eyes and I could feel a twinge in my shins with each pound of my foot. I hadn’t run since April when I first got back into Alaska. I knew I was going to walk away with shin splints.

“Do you think I need to keep going?” I asked. “I mean, I feel fine. My heart doesn’t hurt. My shins hurt.”

“Alright, let’s stop the machine.”

With those words the team of three went into action. The treadmill slowed. They rushed me from the treadmill to the cot where I was laid on my side so the ultrasound technician could get a reading of my heart. Since there was no opportunity for a cool down phase as in most work out sessions, I was huffing and puffing for air as they flipped me on my side on the table.

This I felt was the hardest part of the entire ordeal. Attempting to hold my breath for them so they could get a good reading of my heart was a difficult task. My heart was beating like crazy and my lungs craved air to slow it all down.

But soon it was all over. I laid there on the table catching my breath, feeling my heart rate settle as the doctor and ultra sound technician looked over the images of my heart. They were comparing the ones of my heart at rest to the ones of my heart under stress.

I laid there watching them, searching for any tell tale signs of concern on their faces. Needless to say, this guy had a decent poker face; I couldn’t get a read on him at all.

“Everything looks good to me,” he finally said.

I exhaled. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

The doctor turned to me. “You’re healthy. There’s nothing wrong with your heart." 

"We were looking for possible thickening of your heart walls, a thing called Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy (HCM), but everything looks good. Your valves look good, the walls of your heart look good. Do you want to see the images?”

I agreed instantly. Who would pass up an opportunity to look at images of their own heart?

He pointed out my valves working at rest and then under stress. Even to my untrained eye, they looked to be working the same. He then pointed out the walls of my heart. “I’d say you’re good to go. Maybe, and I mean maybe, later down the line when you’re like sixty, you might want to keep the possible thought of HCM in the back of your mind. But you’re fine. You’re well above the average for your age. You ran for fourteen and a half minutes when the average for women your age with this test is about ten minutes. Good job.”

With those words he left the room, probably to go see patients who actually needed his medical attention. The nurse gave me a glass of water to drink and started unhooking the EKG cables from me.

She leaned in and whispered. “You could have made it to level seven.”

I laughed. “But did I need to?”

The ultrasound technician and nurse shook their heads. “Doesn’t matter. You could have done it for us. We’ve never seen a woman make it to level seven. We wanted to see you complete level seven.”

Sweden Lays the Smack Down

“Patience is a virtue, Possess it if you can, Seldom found in woman, Never found in man”~~Unknown

An interesting chain of events occurred right after I made my appointment with the Alaska Heart Institute.

1) On July 28th, I received an email from the National Science Foundation's Director Karl Erb containing the following letter:

National Science Foundation
4201Wilson Boulevard
Arlington, Virginia 22230
July 28 2011

Office of Polar Programs

Dear Colleagues:

As you have probably heard, the Swedish government has decided that it is unable to allow the use of the icebreaker Oden for joint research work in the Southern Ocean or to open the channel through the ice that enables resupply of McMurdo Station (and consequently, resupply of South Pole Station and provisioning of field camps in the Antarctic interior).

 (Oden the Swedish Icebreaker)

Unless we can find and engage a suitable replacement by mid-August, we will have to implement contingency plans that would curtail activities in the near term but enable the possibility of resuming normal operations in subsequent years, i.e. we will need to take steps to avoid closing McMurdo and South Pole Stations. Closing the stations would have a substantial impact on subsequent operating seasons.

Without the January 2012 resupply, avoiding these closures requires stretching the available fuel through January 2013. This can be accomplished, but only by significantly reducing our on-ice tempo of operations in the meantime. As a result, a number of science projects and infrastructure upgrades would have to be deferred in order to reduce fuel usage. Most affected would be those requiring LC-130 support.

Together with U.S. government colleagues in the State Department, the White House, the Coast Guard and in other agencies, we are working to identify and engage a replacement icebreaker to meet the U.S. Antarctic Program's needs. A number of our international sister programs have provided promising leads. If we succeed in this search in timely fashion we will be able to proceed with a normal season.

We will keep you all apprised of developments as they occur so that project leaders can make essential contingency plans should we be unsuccessful in securing an icebreaker. Your best source of information will be your NSF program manager but we will also distribute updated information when available via the USAP.GOV web site.

Sincerely, 

Karl A. Erb Director

2) On August 11th, I also received an email from Raytheon's medical department stating the following:

Dear Frannie,

This e-mail is to inform you that you are Physically Qualified (PQ) for your Summer deployment. Your PQ status is good through 3/01/12. In order to winter or extend your PQ, you will need to contact the Medical Department.

Congratulations and have a good trip!

Sincerely, Carol Roberts

Again, I was in limbo. I had been cleared medically with no mention of the abnormal EKG. When I should have been relieved and ready to prepare myself for the trip to Antarctica, Sweden made the decision to withhold their Icebreaker to the NSF. I was back to the drawing board. 

Without an Icebreaker, there might not be an Antarctic season for anyone, let alone myself. They were asking us to be patient, to wait as they sorted things out. 

I still had a lot of uncertainties ahead of me. Did I need to go ahead with the Stress Echo even though I had been cleared medically by Raytheon? 

Yes I did. I still felt I was perfectly healthy, but I needed to know.

Could I afford to wait while the NSF searched for a replacement Icebreaker? They seemed fairly confident, but my season was ending in less than a month and I would soon be unemployed and homeless. I would also soon be $1,500.00 in debt for a stress echo cardiogram that I did not have money to pay for. But it was my life. You can gamble a lot of things, but gambling my life was not one of them. 

I called my supervisor and spoke briefly about the Icebreaker in hopes of getting a better understanding. That conversation did not provide any clearer of a picture. If there were going to be cuts, it would be the new employees that would be cut. This I completely understood. I would have done the same thing. Why would they bring in people who had never been there and cut seasoned, veteran staff? 

I was told that if I could be patient, they had hopes that it would all work out. Otherwise, they would understand if I had to back out because I needed better job security. 

In a way, it was like Devil’s Advocate. I've always been considered a fairly patient person by co-workers and friends. I, too, consider myself a relatively easy going, patient individual. It takes a lot to get me riled which can be a great thing. On the other hand, once I reach that point, it's hard to let go, which is not always a great thing. What can I say, we all have faults.

However, this up and down could have tried a saint I feel. I was just ready to know. I NEEDED to know if I was going or not. I'd been hired in June and here it was mid August. I was ready. But no one had any answers.

I agreed to wait, while at the same time I started searching for possible “back up” options. However, everything I was finding did not stand out to me like the idea of going to work in Antarctica had. My heart was pretty set on getting there.

Tribulations of the Heart

"Having an adventure shows that someone is incompetent, that something has gone wrong. An adventure is interesting enough — in retrospect. Especially to the person who didn't have it." ~~ Vilhjalmur Stefansson

It was another week before I finally got a call from the clinic in Seward. I knew as soon as I heard the voice mail they left me that they didn’t have good news. They wanted me to come in so Dr. Ursel could talk with me. 

I found myself once again, sitting quietly in the patient exam room; this time however, the lights were on, all machines functioning perfectly. I was soon joined by Dr. Ursel who had my paperwork and EKG results in his hand.

“So I chatted with one of the specialist at the Alaska Heart Institute. They said there definitely is an abnormality to your EKG. It’s relatively minor, but they don’t know what it is. Since the power was out when you were here the other day, we’d like to do a second EKG free of charge to see if by chance it was a faulty reading due to it being on backup power. It’ll be free of charge and if it’s still abnormal, we’ll go from there as to the next step. How’s that sound?”

I agreed. I soon found myself strapped to the innocent looking flashing machine that had jeopardized my chances of going to the ice all in the blink of a second. The same nurse came in to do the procedure. At this point it felt like we were old friends. We chatted, laughed and soon were under way. 

I laid there quietly on the cot, attempting to will my heart to speed up a little bit, thinking if my heart rate was higher; it would fool the machine into thinking that Irregular Sinus Bradycardia had miraculously disappeared. But it seemed my heart was not to be roused since it rested at a steady 50 bpm. 

Alas, even with willful thinking and crossed fingers, the damn machine still spit out the same results. The nurse took another reading as a “just in case.” I watched her face as she stood up from the machine. She was quiet with a sad smile as she stepped out of the room to speak with the doctor. 

A moment later she returned. She freed me from the machine, sat me up, and said the same thing she had said a week ago. “Dr. Ursel will be in in a minute to speak with you in regards to your readings.”

I can guarantee you they won’t take you…

Damnit, damnit, damnit.

Dr. Ursel’s words echoed over and over in my head as they had a week ago. “If you’re serious about going to Antarctica, the next step you will need to take is to do a stress test. That may not even reveal what the problem is,” he said. “Most likely they will make you do a stress echocardiogram. And then if that doesn’t do it, we’re talking thousands of dollars worth of tests. I could easily get your medical bill up to $10,000 or more. If the stress echo doesn’t do it, the next step would be a Cardiac catheterization and an angiography.”

“How busy is your schedule?” He asked me.

“Pretty busy. I don’t get definite days off. We get a day off when we get a day off,” I replied.

Dr. Ursel leaned back in his chair. “This is what I would recommend. Since you’ll probably have to drive up to Anchorage for these tests and you don’t know how many days you can get off, let’s get you scheduled for what tests we can. That way if the stress echo doesn’t determine what it is, you can just go ahead and get the next thing done since you’ll be there. It could all cost a lot of money. But you have health insurance; your deductible will be reached soon since you’ve already had all these other tests done, so it’ll probably cover the majority of these tests.”

“Do you really think I need all these tests?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. We could just schedule you for the stress echo, but if that doesn’t determine it, you’d have to drive back into Seward, and you need all this information by August 1st. Correct?”

I nodded. I did need all this information by August 1st. I had to be completely finished with all my medical and dental testing by August 1st so that I could have it all submitted and then wait to find out if I was cleared medically. The next step would be ticketing. However, the idea of having a catheter snaked up my groin to my heart was amazingly unpleasant sounding. It was these words that made the monster of arrogance raise his ugly head.

I looked the doctor straight in the eye and said, “I don’t want to come off as cocky, but I’ve got a decent understanding of medical terminology since I’m a wilderness first responder. I’ve also got a pretty decent understanding of what an unhealthy body can do. I’m pretty sure that a stress test or the stress echo would tell us if there is anything. I feel pretty good. My heart doesn’t hurt, I’m not tired. I don’t have any signs of someone with heart disease or the possibility of a heart attack. I’m outside all the time. I can’t afford all these tests you want to sign me up for. I’m a kayak guide. I don’t make very much money and the health insurance I have is just short term traveler’s insurance.”

Doctor Ursel nodded. This was probably a story he had heard all too often over the years. “How about you do this? Why don’t you go home for now, think on it and in a week or so get back to me? We don’t need to make a decision right now. This is going to cost a lot of money, that’s true. Maybe you need to decide if going to Antarctica right now is realistic or not. As of right now, I know they won’t take you. You could save some money, get this taken care of in the fall, and try for Antarctica again next year. It will always be there.”

I agreed to this and again, was ushered out of the office. As I walked out of the building, I felt as though I was being paraded through a lineup of mourners, sympathizers to my plight. The nurse and office assistant all stood watching me walk by, sad smiles on their faces. My world was that of a penny jar containing one single penny, Antarctica. I’d put all my faith in that penny. Someone had just come along, turned that penny jar upside down, and rattled it all about, trying to shake it loose. It was still there, just pretty unstable.

I returned to the kayak shop uncertain as to my next step. Did I want to keep fighting for the chance to go to Antarctica? The odds were 50/50. I would either be 100% healthy and I’d get the go ahead, or I’d find something that could easily take my life later down the line. Or I could turn a blind eye to it all.

Deep down inside I didn’t fully believe the Doctor and I didn’t believe the results of the EKG. The doctor had rattled off a lot of technical terms I didn’t quite understand and he hadn’t been entirely willing to explain any of it further. Granted, he was just a physician’s assistant, but he had been so persistent in pushing me toward taking all these tests. It seemed overly excessive.

At the office in the kayak shop there are three chairs lined up against the wall facing Wendy’s (my boss) desk. These chairs for some reason have this amazing knack of attracting us guides to walk in and slouch there and spill our woes to Wendy, whether she really wants to hear them or not. Even on our days off when we could be out wandering the mountains outside of Seward, instead we can be found still in our pajamas sitting there talking with Wendy. I am all too guilty of this. I cannot count the number of times I have walked in over the two seasons that I have guided there, sat down, stared at Wendy, waited for her acknowledgement, and then let it all spill out.

At the same time, Wendy has this uncanny ability of knowing that we need someone to talk to when we come wandering in looking like a lost puppy. She will often look up at us, do a double take, spin in her chair and say, “Take a seat Frannie. Talk to me.”

When I got back to the kayak shop, that’s exactly what I did. She knew where I had been and she knew by the look on my face I hadn’t come back with good news. I spilled the beans and then sat quietly, waiting for another person’s thoughts.

Wendy is a person who loves to help people solve their problems. She’s full of all kinds of ideas. When I decided to stay in Alaska my first season up here in 2009, she was throwing ideas left and right to me. As usual, they’re always pretty good.

“Why don’t you talk with Darin and get a second opinion on your EKG?” she asked. Darin was the local ER doctor in Seward and a good friend of Dave and Wendy’s. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him and see what he says and then make your decision from there. He’s an actual doctor and Ursel is just a physician’s assistant. Antarctica will always be there. If it is something serious it’s your health and you could get it figured out and try again next year.”

Getting a second opinion was what I decided. I spoke with Darin and after a week or two of playing phone tag, we finally touched base on what he thought the EKG represented. He had good and bad news. He didn’t feel that I needed anything as intense as a Cardiac catheterization and an angiography (Thank God), but he did agree that I should get a stress echocardiogram. He said that just the stress test probably would not show what my heart was doing, but the ultrasound part to the test would give the doctor a good image of my heart at rest and under stress and they should be able to see what it was from there. He said pretty much the same thing that Dr. Ursel had said. The EKG indicated that my heart for some reason was not getting enough oxygen and that was a concern. At the same time however, he said that it could just be my makeup and my heart could be just fine.

I asked him if getting the stress echo was something that could wait or if it would be better to get it done as soon as possible. At this point I had made the decision that Antarctica aside, I had to know for my own personal well being if there was something wrong with my heart. I had been walking around for two weeks with the knowledge that my heart might have an abnormality, but I didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t helping my stress levels any.

All my paperwork had been submitted to the medical department at Raytheon. I had passed my dental exam with no major problems other than needing a simple cleaning. I had submitted the original EKG and had notified them that it had read abnormal. I had yet to hear anything on their end to state if I had been “PQ’d” or not, or if I needed further testing.

Darin didn’t hesitate. He recommended that I get the test over with sooner than later so that way if it was something serious I could prepare myself for the next steps.

With those words, I sucked my pride up, folded it away, and made an appointment with the Alaska Heart Institute in Anchorage for August 15th.

Did My Heart Really Break??

"Men (Women) Wanted for hazardous journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful. Honor and recognition in case of success."  ~~Ernest Shackleton (1874-1922)

The next step in the hiring process is getting what they call, "PQ'd" (physically qualified). The process of pq'ing requires the applicant to go through some very stringent medical and dental examinations. They do this because they want to make sure that nothing serious is going to happen to you once you’re in Antarctica. Flights are limited, medical services are even more limited. There is a clinic and dentist at the stations, but the equipment there to be used in a medical emergency are what they somewhat consider "rustic." They have the ability to deal with most minor injuries and illnesses, but if it becomes something that is considered life threatening or a long term injury, you're air lifted out of there and treated in either New Zealand or Chile. Or in some cases, your deployment comes to an abrupt end and you're sent back to the states.

A book I recently read gives an all too vivid reality check as to what can happen to you if something develops while you are in Antarctica. I sent my copy to my mother to read, hoping it would give her an idea as to the journey that is ahead of me. It’s an inspiring real life story. I finished it in three days, it was so good. If any of you are at all curious, here is the link: 

Ice Bound: A Doctor's Incredible Battle for Survival at the South Pole

The great thing is that you get reimbursed for all the medical and dental screening that you are required to go through. On the other hand, if something abnormal shows up, you're required to do whatever additional testing is necessary to prove that you're healthy. If you're serious about going to Antarctica, that is. These expenses, however, come out of your own pocket. 

So as you walk into that doctor's office, you keep your fingers crossed they won't find anything. The younger you are, the fewer tests you’re required to do. But as most things go, the older you get, the more your body starts to degenerate, resulting in more tests. Tests like anal probing. Shudder.

Being a 30 year old woman, I was lucky enough to not have an insane amount of testing ahead of me. I walked into the small clinic in Seward and was greeted by a building cloaked in shadows. 

Talk about an eerie beginning. 

The power had gone out at this end of town and they had been waiting for two hours for it to turn back on. They said they would be able to do some of the examination, but I would have to schedule another day to do the blood testing that I was required to get done. 

Eager to get as much of it as I could out of the way, I went ahead and agreed to do the exam. I soon found myself sitting in a room lit by just an emergency flashlight dressed in a medical gown.

The medical examination involved the following:

• Physical exam
• Influenza shot (performed w/headlamp)
• Tetanus shot (performed w/headlamp)
• TB skin test (performed w/headlamp)
• Drug test (performed on a separate day)
• Blood test (Was supposed to be done a different day, but the power finally came back on)
• EKG (machine was on backup battery)
• Mammogram (had completed earlier in the spring before I even knew I wanted to go to Antarctica)
• Pap smear (same as above)

I can openly say that I do not consider myself an overly arrogant person. However, no matter how humble you may be, there is bound to be something to make arrogance raise its ugly head. For me, it was someone telling me that there was something wrong with me. That someone being a doctor.

I'm thirty years old. Ever since I was a small child, I have been hit off and on throughout my life with nasty bouts of pneumonia. I vaguely remember celebrating my sixth birthday in the hospital because of pneumonia. In college, it was pneumonia that had me almost bed ridden for a month and gave me a dislocated rib cartilage that took months to heal. A few years ago, it was pneumonia that landed me in the emergency room with a pleural effusion and I was out of work for over a month.

It's always been pneumonia that's gotten me. I've never had another major medical concern. My whole life I grew up being told by my mother (bless her heart) that I had to watch what I did with myself because my lungs wouldn't be able to handle it. When I taught 30 day wilderness courses for the National Outdoor Leadership School and I was living up at 13,000ft for almost an entire month, my mother said I couldn't do it. But I did it. I was in the best health of my life.

When I walked into the clinic to do my exam, I had a slight fear that they would tell me that I wouldn't qualify because of scar tissue in my lungs from pneumonia. But that was just my internal paranoia going off. I felt I was pretty healthy. I was working outside every day as a kayak guide. I didn't smoke, I barely drank, and I ate healthy. I was active day in and day out.

As it were, my lungs passed with flying colors. It was my heart that got me. They checked my pulse and the nurse looked up at me. She asked me if I was a runner or a swimmer. I shook my head. Only occasionally and not lately because I had been so busy with work. I'd had little time or energy for running.

She nodded and wrote a few things down. She then turned to me and said, "You're resting heart rate is at 50 bpm. That's usually a heart of an endurance athlete."

The words, “endurance athlete” brought my good friend, Attila Boros to mind.

That was not me.

I shrugged. I didn't know what to say. I'd always had a slow heart rate. The year before I had gotten my wisdom teeth out and my heart rate had set off the heart monitor's alarm because it had been down to 48 bpm. At that point, they had just said it was because I was healthy.

We finished the physical exam and they led me into the EKG room. The power had yet to return, but they decided to go ahead with the EKG since it could operate on battery backup. I agreed. I was just ready to get it all over with.

They attached me to the big machine, had me lie down as still as possible and took the first reading of my heart. The nurse looked it over, looked at me, opened her mouth, and finally spoke.

“So…the EKG is reading abnormal. I think I’m going to run it again, maybe there was a “hiccup” in your heart beat as it took it.”

If there was going to be a “hiccup” in my heart beat, that announcement would have definitely produced it.

So I lay back down, managed to regulate my suddenly racing heart, and waited patiently for the dreaded machine to spit out its results. The whole time, my arrogant brain was convincing me that it was a glitch in the machine. There was nothing wrong with me. How could there be? I was perfectly healthy. 

When the paper came out, the nurse’s reaction was the same. I literally felt my heart sink. There was something wrong with me. 

She unattached me from the machine and sat me up. “Now I’m just going to step outside and chat with Doctor Ursel to see if he needs to come in and discuss a few things with you.”

Left in the room to my own devices, my overactive imagination soon was creating all sorts of unimaginable situations. 

A minute later, the doctor himself walked into the room with my EKG results. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from me. 

“Now, what we’re seeing in your EKG has brought up some concern,” he said quietly.

I raised an eyebrow. “What exactly is it that you’re seeing?”

“We’re seeing things that we shouldn’t be seeing in someone of your age and sex. We’re seeing things that we should be seeing in a 60 year old, obese, smoker male.”

Ok…

My heart suddenly hurt. Did this mean I was a walking heart attack? 

I didn’t believe it. 

“The EKG is reading that you have “Irregular Sinus Bradycardia.” This could mean a number of things. It could mean the following: 1) your heart is not getting enough oxygen so you might have dead tissue; 2) you could have a blockage somewhere 3) you could be perfectly healthy and just have something that we call “athlete’s heart.” However, with the results of this EKG, you would not qualify for Antarctica. I can guarantee you they won’t take you without further testing.”

I can guarantee you they won’t take you…

These words echoed over and over in my head. Something that I had thought would be a cake walk had turned into the nightmare of all nightmares. 

“So what we’re going to do,” the doctor said, “Is send out your EKG to the Alaska Heart Institute in Anchorage so we can see if it’s officially anything we need to be concerned about. They will advise us as to the next step that you need to take, if anything. Once I get the results, I’ll give you a call, and we can go from there. Until then, I wouldn’t be too concerned. You’re healthy, you’re young, it’s probably just how your heart is made.”

With those words, he ushered me out the door just as the power went back on.

Light had come back into the world, but it had suddenly dimmed in mine. As I walked to my car to head back to the kayak shop, I found myself wondering. 

The term, "heart break" is a terrible cliche. My heart ached from loving someone who no longer loved me in return, so therefore you could consider it "heart break." But could your heart really break? Had heart break really broken my heart?

Antarctica, what had once seemed a grand idea and solution to all my problems, suddenly appeared very dismal.

It's a Primary!

"Below the 40th latitude there is no law; below the 50th no god; below the 60th no common sense and below the 70th no intelligence whatsoever."~~Kim Stanley Robinson

 There are two positions Raytheon Polar Services or NANA Services will offer you if you potentially make the cut after the interview process. The first is an "alternate" position. It sounds exactly like what it is. You're the backup person in case their first choice doesn't go thru in the end.

The second position is a "primary" position. Again, it's not rocket science. You got the job if your offer letter says "Primary."

I was offered an alternate position as a field camp cook at one of the remote field camps out of the Amundsen–Scott South Pole Station and then I was offered a primary position as a vehicle operator at the McMurdo Station. My fingers had been crossed for the Field Camp Cook position as it would have been more "career oriented," and well, just pretty damn amazing. I would have been cooking for a number of people ranging from 2-80 depending on what field camp I was stationed at. It would have been intense, amazing, awe inspiring. 

But, hey, beggars cannot be choosers. 

When they offered me the vehicle operator position and it said "PRIMARY," I took it. 

I woke up bright and early on June 6^th to a voice mail from a woman from the hiring department at Raytheon. I lived where I worked; my room was on the main floor of the little kayak shop, just off the bathroom. My room was like a step back into my old college days. When I had lived with my best friend Lacey in college, we used to have a loft and that was where I slept. Yes, I’ll admit, I might be 30 years old, but my living situation had not really progressed that far from my college days. But what can you do? This room was very similar, my bed up on the loft and each morning that I was not out in the field, I would emerge from my nest of blankets like a hamster from his cocoon. 

On this particular morning, I was still sitting in my bed, barely awake since I had just gotten back from the field the day before and was groggy from lack of sleep. I dialed the woman’s number, fighting my sleep coma, my heart racing. She was from the hiring department. That could mean only one thing. 

I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but that phone call resulted in me accepting a job offer from the Raytheon Antarctic Terminal Operations as a Vehicle Operator. I had been hired to drive 12 passenger vans and the infamous "Delta Buses."

She offered the job to me and I accepted without a moment’s hesitation. After hanging up, I sat in my bundle of blankets for a moment, dumbfounded. What had I just done? 

I had just accepted a job to work in Antarctica.

Normally, I’m a pretty quiet morning person. I walk into the kitchen dressed to paddle, heat my thermos of hot water for my clients as I get my breakfast going. I nod good morning silently to my co-workers/friends/house mates as they all wander in to do the same thing. I sit down and eat my breakfast, still quiet. I then brush my teeth, go out and load my paddling gear into the van. I run to the bathroom, throw on my guide jacket, walk into the office and sit down across from Wendy, my boss. At this point, I’m finally ready to greet the morning with a smile and a friendly word.

Well on this morning it was 7:00am and I didn’t even need to be up doing my daily morning routine. I had the day off. We’re typically given the next day off when we return from guiding a trip in the field. But as soon as I hit the “end call” button on my cell phone, I was bursting with adrenaline. 

I had to share my news with the world.

I threw my blankets off, scrambled down the ladder leading to the floor so fast I almost tumbled head over heels in my hurry to get down. I threw open my bedroom door and came skidding to a halt in the center of the kitchen.

There was only one person in the kitchen doing what I normally do, fixing their breakfast in peaceful quiet as they prepare themselves for a day of kayak guiding. I stood there for a silent moment, shaking with suppressed energy, and then I finally let it out.

“GUESS WHERE THIS GIRL’S GOING? ANTARCITCA!” I yelled. 

And then I made a fist pump into the air. 

For those of you that don’t know what a fist pump is. Here’s the Wikipedia definition: The fist pump is a celebratory gesture in which a fist is raised before the torso and subsequently drawn down and nearer to the body in a vigorous, swift motion. The fist pump is sometimes carried out in parts of the Western Hemisphere, Europe, and Japan (where it is known as guts pose) to denote enthusiasm, exuberance, or success and may be accompanied by a similarly energetic exclamation or vociferation. The gesture may be executed once or in a rapid series.

And if you still need further definition, here is a photo example:

I then sat down on the couch that sits in the corner of the kitchen and attempted to bring myself back to my normal morning peaceful quietness. But all efforts were lost. My mind was whirling, my heart was pattering uncontrollably. I was like an A.D.D. child. Every co-worker that walked into the kitchen that morning was greeted with an enthusiastic, “I’m going to Antarctica!” 

My foot was officially in the door. 

Now, to clarify that statement. When I say, my foot was in the door, what I really meant was, I had the barest of a toe hold into the world of Polar Services. I had been offered a job, but I still had a whole lot of clearance to wallow through before I was in the clear.

Applications, Applications, Applications!

"Adventure is just bad planning." — Roald Amundsen (1872—1928).

 ANTARCTICA.

Once I made the decision, Antarctica it was, and then Antarctica it was. There wasn’t much stopping me. It had consumed me.

I knew of two possibly “easy” options for getting myself to the far southern end of the world. I also knew of one not so easy option.

Let's not fool ourselves now! When it comes down to it, there’s really no easy way to get to Antarctica. I definitely had my work cut out. As it should. I feel that if you’re going to make the commitment to such a place, you’d better be damn sure that’s where you want to be. And I wanted to be there more than anything.

I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Adventure Recreation. Some might call it a degree in "B.S.=bull shit" because I get to play all day long and call it work. Well, I'm going into my ninth year of "bull shit" because I was one of those lucky fools to stumble into a degree and fall head over heels in love with it.  After nine years, it still hasn't got old. I still live for the view on the other side of the mountain. This time the view's just at the bottom of the world. I don't really know how to do anything else. As a little kindergartner once said to me on the side of a mountain in upstate New York, "I was born to be outdoors."

So, what could I do with a degree in outdoor education in Antarctica? Teach penguins conflict resolution? Uh-huh.

Antarctica is a continent dedicated solely for scientific research as stated in the Antarctic Treaty of 1959. I wasn’t a scientist, I wasn’t a researcher. So…what qualifications could I bring to Antarctica? 

At first I made the attempt to search for jobs associated with my line of work: Recreation or field based. Believe it or not, there’s quite a bit of a recreational draw to Antarctica. Personal expeditions involving skis, trekking, dog sleds, climbing, and yes, sea kayaking in Antarctica has occurred.

The ultimate dream: SEA KAYAK AT THE END OF THE WORLD!

Internal light bulb just went off!

Sea kayaking in Antarctica will occur in the future, I promise.

However, I had yet to even set eyes on Antarctic land. I have been working as a sea kayak guide for two seasons, but I didn't feel it necessarily made me qualify to paddle in Antarctica. So after a day spent in "Fran dreamland" imagining what it would be like to paddle in some of the harshest conditions possible, I finally moved on to more attainable and realistic prospects.

I made the decision that my journey to Antarctica would not be career based. It was simply an experience. A lot of people asked, why? Why Antarctica? My response: Why not? It was simple as that. My last post explains the real reasoning behind the madness.

It was to be a growth oriented journey of self discovery and healing.

At the same time however, in some ways going to Antarctica would be career based. I'd be living and working in a small community. I'd be working in the department of customer service, something I've been delivering for the past nine years with a smile. And I'd be promoting the mission of science, which often goes hand in hand with the environment. 

In 1959 when the United States and other nations signed the Antarctic Treaty reserving the continent for peaceful and scientific research, the NSF (National Science Foundation) was given the responsibility of all the U.S. operations and research stations already existing on the continent. It was called the U.S. Antarctic Program, and it still exists today. There are three U.S. operations functioning on the continent: the Palmer Station, McMurdo (the largest), and the South Pole station. From my understanding, most first season employees sent to work in Antarctica are based out of the McMurdo station.

About every ten years, a company is up for bid with the National Science Foundation to provide logistics, operations, and staffing for the NSF's operations in Antarctica and the Antarctic waters. That contractor is Raytheon Polar Services, a division of Raytheon.  Another subcontractor that is also a division of Raytheon Polar Services is NANA Services, LLC.

Raytheon Polar Services (RPSC) role in Antarctica is this:

• Supporting science and operating research labs
•  Procuring, arranging for transport, warehousing, and issuing equipment and supplies
• Operating and maintaining stations, research vessels, and numerous field camps
• Arranging medical clearance and travel of parties
• Managing transportation of passengers and cargo
• Arranging annual resupply and fuel of McMurdo by Military Sealift Command contract ships
• Providing marine terminal operations
• Complying with safety, health, and environmental requirements

NANA Services role is this:

• Staffing positions in the Food and Dining
• Housing and Custodial
• Recreation
• Beverage
• Retail Departments

I applied to as many positions as possible. Several friends of mine that had already weathered a season or two on the ice gave these words of advice: "Apply to anything and everything, even if you're not remotely qualified."

My applications looked like this: Field Camp Cook, Housekeeper, Janitor, Dining Attendant, Prep Cook, Recreational Specialist, Field Coordinator, Vehicle Operator, Large Vehicle Operator, and Recycling Specialist.

Applications submitted it was time to play the waiting game.

And wait, I did.