Coming attractions

April is gone. I don't know where it went. I know my downtime is at a premium when my reading has been curtailed. I owe you several stories, which I'm hoping to write about this weekend. Stay tuned for details regarding my meeting with the tribal president, some extended face time with a liaison from Senator Johnson's office, and coming out as an atheist.

And then there are the things in my personal life I can't write about right now. All I'll say is I'm thinking my optimism briefly drifted into the realm of delusion, and the consequences are about to become apparent. Adding everything up, it has been an intense two weeks.

Coincidentally, it was same time period just last year when I volunteered for Habitat down on the Gulf Coast, which eventually led to my move here. I expected an adventure when I moved to the rez; however, my life has been completely reshaped. Not that I'm complaining. I wouldn't change a thing. One adventure begets another...

Anyway, stories to come. But now, to bed I go.

Belated cake

The three of us at Habitat have rarely been all together in the office for the past couple weeks. The delay has mostly been my fault: two days in Aberdeen, the track meet in Mobridge, last weekend in Sioux Falls, and meetings galore. Today, anticipating we'd all be here, LaCosta brought in my birthday cake. She likes to bake and is just a thoughtful person.

That's "Belated" written in blue:

And how cute is this, runners on the side:

I sent a quarter of this behemoth home with both Sandy and LaCosta. I really don't need a chocolate cake sitting in my fridge, begging to be eaten in a single sitting.

This was my first birthday I didn't bring in birthday treats for my officemates since moving to Juneau in 2003. I love that tradition; however, I now only have two co-workers and the nearest Costco is in Omaha. New home, new traditions, I guess...

P.S. Oh! The cake was great. Can you really go wrong with chocolate on chocolate?

No, we're poorer than you are

I was on a conference call this morning where there was some argument as to the poorest county in America. It was as if someone actually wanted claim to this status. Pretty surreal, if you ask me.

In case you were wondering, I stick to the per capita income figures provided by the Bureau of Economic Analysis. Five of the poorest 14 counties in 2007 were located in South Dakota, all on reservations. Todd County, home to Mission, came in eighth at $15,890. Keep in mind this is out of 3,111 counties and county-equivalents. Absolutely mind boggling.

As a point of comparison, per capita income in South Dakota was $35,760 and $38,615 in the United States. Without looking it up, anyone have a guess as to the county with the highest per capita income?

If you can't say anything nice...

One thing I love about running is the camaraderie within the running community. Although it's usually an individual event, it's not uncommon for racers to provide a few words of encouragement to one another on the course. And then there are events like the Klondike, where you'll always have at least nine team members supporting you.

On the other end of the spectrum, I absolutely hate it when spectators think they're doing me a favor by screaming at me like a drill sergeant as I run by. It's neither supportive nor motivating. This one guy barked at me as I neared the finish up in Presho back in March. This ain't the military, so quit your yellin'.

And then there was the woman who implored me to "run faster" at the end of a race in Juneau last year. Even if I hadn't been extremely sick, I couldn't have gone any faster due to the short distance to the finish after a 90-degree turn at the very end of the course. Moron.

I bring this up because I accompanied the Todd County track team on Tuesday to Mobridge for the Big Dakota Conference meet. Although there was a disparity within the group of distance runners in terms of their finishing times, everyone obviously gave their best efforts. What bothered me was the boorish behavior by some of the coaches and parents during the 3200.

I was stationed at the 200 mark halfway around the track to keep tabs on our team. It didn't take long for the runners to space themselves out. Besides cheering for TC, I provided words of encouragement to those who were struggling to complete the eight laps. Two girls were nearly in tears; others were clearly in pain. Two miles is a long run for many. I'm sure they didn't need to hear their family imploring, "Catch that girl! Go faster! Pick it up!" We can't run the race for them; however, a little positivity goes a long way.

I think what pissed me off the most is those yelling were not the most athletic folks I've ever encountered. This might sound harsh, but I wanted them to get their asses on the track to run eight laps. Then, I'd have yelled, "Pick up the pace!" or some other bullshit.

It struck a nerve with me because you could tell those kids were trying their best just to finish. That's all you can ask. Getting lapped and struggling to complete a race after the "elite" runners have long crossed the finish line is a disheartening combination. The least I could do was clap and cheer, "Looking good! Keep it up! Stay strong! Only 200 to go!" Hopefully, those parents and coaches were paying attention.

Brian goes to the clinic

Every once in a while, us degenerates have to get tested for HIV. I decided to stop off at the state's health clinic in Pierre on my way to Aberdeen Wednesday morning to do just that. I skipped the clinic here in Mission to remain anonymous and to take advantage of the state's free services. Thanks South Dakota!

And before y'all get all excited wondering if I've met someone, I'll throw some cold water on that thought right now. Moving to the reservation has been, as expected, like joining a monastery. I got tested for my own peace of mind and so by the time I go on my next date, say, in 2012, I'll be able to tell the guy I'm negative.

Okay, back to Wednesday. I arrived and was immediately hustled back to a room and told I could take my shoes off prior to being weighed. Kind of weird, but I complied. As soon as my shoes were off, the woman asked, "You're here for the Biggest Loser competition, right?" I laughed and told her the reason why I was there. I also wanted to exclaim, "You think I'm fat, don't you!"

My shoes back on, I was shown the way back down the hall to the testing area. A different woman asked the typical questions, and then offered me a menu of testing options. I could choose the simple oral swab to test for HIV and piss into a cup, or I could upgrade to blood work. Everything was free, so I chose piss and blood. She thoughtfully asked if I had a preference of which test I'd like to complete first. My bladder was full after the hour-and-a-half drive from Mission, so I practically grabbed the plastic cup and brown bag out of her hand before running down the hall to the restroom.

And what's the deal with the brown bag? Jesus, it's a health clinic; I don't think it would have been too uncomfortable for everyone involved if I had walked down the hall holding an exposed cup of piss. But no, let's fool no one by putting it into a bag. "Oh, don't mind me. This is just my lunch." I returned to the room with the cup filled to the appropriate level (and I had plenty to spare!). Next would be the blood work.

I'm not scared of needles and they don't hurt in the least. However, my body just doesn't react well to them. My extremities get tingly, my vision starts to become fuzzy, and voices sound as if they are coming from the end of a really long tunnel. And it's not just needles either. I can tell you stories about trips to the orthodontist and the eye doctor that almost resulted with me unconscious. Even conversations with friends centered on medical procedures can leave me clutching for balance. My parents knew early on in my childhood I would never become a doctor.

And I'm getting worse as I get older. I almost fell out of a chair while having blood work done in Juneau. The physician's assistant kindly asked if next time I wouldn't mind laying on the table so she wouldn't have to worry about me falling on the floor.

Back to Pierre... There was no table in the room, so I remained in my chair. She placed the tourniquet around my left arm and said, "You have nice veins." I replied, "I know. That's what all the ladies say." Okay, I didn't really say that.

I always make an effort to distract myself from needles. I figure if I don't watch what's transpiring, everything will be okay. Since she was taking the blood from my left arm, I looked off to the right. Unfortunately for me, I was just a few feet away from a poster depicting every STD under the sun. I really could have used a picture of rainbows and teddy bears right then; instead, I got pubic lice and herpes. Yum.

I barely felt the needle going into my arm. Before I knew it, she was done. She could have done a better job of hiding the vial of my blood afterward though. Where was that brown paper bag when it was really needed? I don't need to be seeing my blood. That's when my vision fuzzed over. She was speaking to me, explaining how long it would take for the results to come back, blah, blah, blah. I think I responded, but I don't remember. I could barely hear her.

I should have told her what was going on. I'm not usually bashful about telling my healthcare professionals when I start to feel faint. But not this time. She led me to the door, and I guess we walked out.

The next thing I know, I'm in the fetal position on the floor around the corner with two women hovering over me. I had passed out. Two things surprised me: how quickly I realized what had happened and the relatively long distance I had covered prior to collapsing in a heap. The younger of the two was the one who had taken my blood. Bless her heart, I guess she saw me leaning into the wall and tried to keep me upright. She must have weighed about 110 pounds soaking wet. Yeah, there was no saving me.

Under orders, I stayed on the ground for a couple minutes. A chair was brought over, where I then sat for a good 20 minutes. They brought me a soda and a damp rag to place on the back of my neck. I really wanted to barf, but that would have done no one any good. The nausea passed.

I started to joke about what had happened to try to convince them I was okay. It was first time I had ever passed out, but I had come awfully close in the past. No big deal. The younger woman commented I was the first patient to pass out on her. I swear, she said it was "cool." As it turned out, she is also running in Deadwood in June. She's running the half, while I'm doing the full marathon. I'm sure she'll remember me. You never forget your first.

The older woman, on the other hand, was completely freaked out. She asked if there was anyone who could take me home. Not only did I live out of town, but I had a two-and-a-half hour drive to Aberdeen ahead of me. Sorry.

I finally convinced them I was perfectly fine to continue my drive. And I was. If I had really thought there was something seriously wrong with me, I'd have asked them to take me to the emergency room. I have a bit of a hypochondriac streak in me at times, mostly because I've never really been seriously ill.

To the very end, I tried to lighten the atmosphere with my wit with the older woman; however, she wasn't having any of it. The two ladies at the front desk thought the whole situation was quite humorous though. One of them, in fact, said, "If that happens again, I'm giving you mouth-to-mouth." Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?

I walked out to the car and rolled the windows down. I had a snack (I'm always so prepared) and drank more of the soda. And then I was ready to roll. Just as I was about to pull out of the parking lot though, the two women came walking out. That was actually the scariest part of the whole ordeal. Their posture and pace said, "You're not going anywhere Mister."

The older woman asked if I had had a history of seizures. Okay, I sincerely appreciated the concern, but I didn't have a seizure. I once again told them this happens every single time I get a needle. This time, I just happened to pass out. Frankly, I'm surprised it took this long for it to happen. So, I'm no doctor, but I'm fairly certain I didn't have a seizure. The younger woman did ask if I would please call the office when I arrived in Aberdeen to let them know I made it okay. I promised I would.

And that was it. I felt fine during the remaining drive. I stopped off for a hamburger in Roscoe, which had me feeling even better. I made it to Aberdeen, calling the clinic even before getting out of the car. And the rest of my birthday was totally dull in comparison.

I'm telling you, if me being in a relationship ever again means I'll eventually have to get tested again, celibacy isn't looking so bad after all.

Snow day

The snow from the blizzard almost two weeks ago has melted. It went away pretty fast considering how much we received. This storm was different because the wind came out of the northeast instead of the typical northwest. That changed the drift patterns dramatically.

Here's the road leading into town, with my footsteps on the right returning from the drift:

A closer look at the drift blocking the road:

Icicles hanging from one of the Habitat homes:

The sun tried to peak through late on Sunday. I live in the building in the left-center:

The camper out back:

The sun reflecting off of the church:

And a bonus shot, taken during the first (I think) of the three recent blizzards:

With several days of sunshine and temperatures in the upper 60s forecasted next week and a soaking rain today, Mother Nature should come out of hibernation quickly. Everything has been brown since my arrival, so this place should take on a whole new appearance shortly. The grass is already turning green. Spring is coming!

31

I'm about to call it a night here in Aberdeen after a most interesting birthday. I have a story to share, but that tale will have to wait until I return to Mission. I'm also going to post some post-snowstorm photos. But now, I'm off to bed.