The Birth of a Travel Nurse

One drunken night in Nashville started out our road trip to the beginning of our adult lives. Our adult lives where we left behind benefits, retirement plans, and a warm attic apartment with a fake fireplace. Now that sounds like the classic start to two white women’s journey of entitlement. Eat, pray, love your mommy and daddy for providing. I can’t deny that that is where we were at, but only in a sense. Two girls from lower middle class families who took advantage of scholarships and went to a Catholic school when they weren’t Catholic. We had earned our nursing degrees, passed our NCLEX, and had been working hard in ICU’s in Pittsburgh for the past year. In our 20’s and feeling invincible. Ready to stop only to pee and take pictures of the sights we had only sang about in fifth grade.

Let me back up and say that our trip actually started in Pittsburgh, where we both had been living for the past year. After coffee with Kath, Sam (Kath’s boyfriend), Paul, and Becca, we put Kath’s belongings on her side of the car and rolled out. We made our way to Columbus, Ohio first on a quest for goat cheese ice cream at Jeni’s. Too much time has gone by since that day for me to remember what Columbus was like. I remember clean brick streets and a wind that was cutting through our jackets. As two former ice cream scoopers, cold weather couldn’t stop us from our mission.

Driving in the car about three hours from Nashville, we found our Airbnb by scoping out the least sketchy hosts, settling in D. An aspiring song writer, no surprise there, he was young and played us Justin Bieber’s new song. Could we ask for more? He greeted us just outside the apartment complex and told us that if anyone asked, we were his dear friends from out of town. Let that be a warning to all you paranoid landlords and groundskeepers. Virtually all of your tenants are probably housing illegitimate vagabonds. He welcomed us in as if he owned the place! The nerve! Now I am not one to feel comfortable around people most of the time. In fact, I usually pretend they aren’t there until they stop asking me questions. Call it perpetual social laziness or call it shyness, I don’t care. But for some reason, I felt like I was in some sort of safe zone. I also call this feeling “being twenty four”. I was drunk off of leftover new years champagne before we left with D., our host, and his couch mate A.

A. had already claimed our first choice of renting the apartment’s couch, but we soon warmed up to him once he revealed to us that he was just living off of the couch until his wife and children moved to Nash from India. He had landed a new tech job and it was time for his family to be reunited.

So naturally this family man was ready to get rowdy with his host and these two random, yet awesomely stunning, young girls. Kath was decked out in a tank and I had to wear my ratty hoody because I am a responsible matron when it comes to weather. I was mere degrees away from whipping out my Patagonia turtle fleece. Luckily, a warm breeze blew and I ended up looking like an early developing twelve-year old girl with my 90’s style, double zip, banana yellow hoodie. Thank god for valid ID’s.

We went to some bar in The District and showed off how horrible we were at shuffleboard. From matron to grandma in 3.5. I was maybe three vodka tonics in, a new drink that I had adopted in my quest for a flat stomach, not six pack. We made friends with some fellow tourist/travelers from Minnesota. We made them say words with long “o” sounds for our amusement.

Drunk but feeling good, we headed over for Karaoke on Broadway. The street blared with neon signs and D. led us into a bar called Troubadours. We made our way up to the karaoke lounge upstairs. That is where I proceeded to embarrass myself even more. I managed to hit on two guys at once and sign up to sing Taylor Swift, because when in Rome. Two more tonics in and I realized that I was going to be violently ill.

Kath, being my best friend and partner in crime and vomit, escorted me to the bathroom where I puked for maybe 30-45 minutes. I had no health insurance and found myself praying to avoid the hospital. Me, not being the religious type, thought praying was gasping between sobs to your best friend that this is not how you wanted to die. I thought I heard my name over the speaker in the background but I thought I couldn’t be that important in Nashville just yet. I thought this until I saw Kath yelling out the door that we would not be performing tonight.

Add in a few more vomits and that concluded the first night of our trip. Hungover to the point of being unable to stay standing the next day, Kath took the reigns and started us off on our next journey to St. Louis. She found herself well rested after falling asleep on A.’s bed/couch the night before.

I started to feel like a human again somewhere around Kentucky. That was the day we started missing virtually every “Welcome to _____ the state of the only blah blah blah” sign. The midwest views that we were assaulted by made the golden St Louis arch glow. This was the great American road trip we had promised ourselves. The entry to the west!

The midwest is known for their friendliness and I can now understand why! As soon as we walked into the town hall to buy our tickets we were greeted by a volunteer willing to teach us about furs. If that isn’t kindness, I don’t know what is. After petting a century old bear hyde, we were off to ride up to the top.

If you ever get a chance to ride to the top of the arch, just do it. It is actually beautiful that art was taken that seriously at one point. Not that art is dead now, but with so

many buildings being made cheaply in cities due to housing crisis and gentrification and big businesses; that arch is just crazy. Crazy that there was a time when we invested in such a weird thing. The pods that shoot people up in the air are insane (see picture).

That being said about crazy and beautiful, the top did not disappoint. The city glowed bronze as the sun set. There was the matter of people laying across the tiny windows for selfies of them and the city? or whatever they were trying to capture in the background. Most people’s bodies completely eclipsed the city so I could only imagine they were taking pictures of the felt that encapsulated us all together.

DISCLAIMER: I am a fan of the selfie. Not that I think that it is worth taking a side. People treat it like it is as controversial as abortion. Let’s get real people, the selfies don’t matter. The good the bad the ugly. Don’t care. Just don’t block my view!

After the pod ride down, a BBQ dinner at Salt and Smoke in the Delmar Loop, and extra coffee, we were off to our next Air BNB in Arkansas. There, we got the key out from under a fake rock and went into our stranger host’s house without ever meeting her. We froze our tits off and I was once again reminded that winter was not just an East coast thing.

We made our way to the state of big hair and ten gallon hats. We stopped at some point in Oklahoma to spend $4 on a piece of fudge and officially rank the state with a wopping one star rating. This is when things got dangerous on the road. With a menacing tick, a pebble cracked the windshield. Shortly after, Kath saved us from running over a cow in the road. A cow that turned out to be a mattress that must have somehow been ripped from the top of some future Texan’s car.

Dallas warmed my body and my heart. We met with my friend, T. and our friend C. T. and I go back to the times of sucking up weevils through bug collecting straws off of perfectly groomed golf courses.

That’s right. I used to work in an Entomology lab. There are these little collection tools where you literally suck through a straw to collect specimens directly from the dirt. The straw was a one way system, so ya’ll can quit gagging.

T. had chosen the restaurant Bistro B. It was full of Santa Clauses and flashing neon lights. The menu was a full 20 pages long and predominantly Vietnamese cuisine. Somewhere along our trek bubble tea had become boba and Christmas had doubled back onto itself. The restaurant choice made me remember all the things I love about T. She was always ten steps ahead of cool and yet so nerdy. Hearing about her slightly psycho cat and dating adventures was beyond perfect.

C. was our friend from nursing school who had started her career as a traveling labor and delivery nurse about a month ago. She had zero filters when she spoke, and told us the good and the bad that comes with travel nursing while I ate the whole chicken I had accidentally ordered after having anxiety over the lengthy menu. She casually mentioned how MDs would fail answer an emergency page as if they were just casually ghosting another date. Yeah, that apparently does happen. After, C. offered us her home. We slept for a few hours before we made our way to New Mexico.

If you have never had to drive through Northern Texas, consider yourself blessed. We got a ticket going through a speed trap in Paris for going 50 in a 40mph zone that lasted a quarter of a mile. We were left to think about the ticket as we continued to drive for a million hours through the flat dust. Somewhere along the way, the sky had doubled in size with a crystal clear blueness that made me feel like I was in a fishbowl that someone had left somewhere to gather dust.

We said farewell to Texas by stopping in a gas station and choosing to skip the line and share the men’s bathroom. There, a legit cowboy in his 70’s blushed when he walked in on us washing our hands. Okay, so maybe Texas could be charming.

A sort of delirium hit us somewhere between the first tumbleweed we had ever seen and the fiftieth one we saw. Something about tumbleweeds is just irresistibly hilarious. There is nothing better than driving in the dark with your best friend; the windows down, heat blasting, Queen blaring, and feeling on the brink of insanity as you laugh uncontrollably over nothing at all.

We arrived at our Air BNB hostess’ house in Albuquerque. Her name was L. and she was a Superhost. For all you AirBNB noobs out there, this meant that every guest had rated her with five stars. I was skeptical as to what that could really mean, as I felt guilty leaving anyone with less than five stars. All skepticism  was thrown aside when she whipped out tamales for us and chatted with us for a full two hours about past guests, her life story, and everyone deserving a second chance.

Our journey from New Mexico to Phoenix was the best stretch of road during our journey. It was like some natural gift as an apology for the landscape we had driven through the day before. We stopped to look at petroglyphs. We imagined ourselves as natives, chit chatting away and painting our masterpieces of stick figures and symbols. I always love to think about what drove those people to record what was going on. I just love the idea of seeing worth in something and wanting to take it down. To pass it on with such dedication and insist that it has meaning. That it can hold true at some point in the future.

We had to decide which route would be less risky. For the millionth time, I was reminded that winter did in fact exist even this far southwest. We made the decision to go through the mountains on Rt. 60, freshly covered with snow, and ended up being stranded with sparse brush and an incredible need to pee. I forgot to mention the urgency in which having to pee creeps up on Kath. She could be mid sentence and all of the sudden look on the brink of tears. This would be followed by “I need to pee. NOW”. This was the first time of our trip that required us to be exposed. Emphasis on first.

Besides the lack of coverage, the landscape felt like another world. I think that mostly stemmed from the ever changing terrain and the abandoned feeling of it all. The west seemed almost untouched. We were new to the idea of scenic overlooks until that day. After every overlook we insisted that it was the last one. By the end, we probably added a solid two hours to our trip.

Thank god we had friends in Phoenix that agreed to house us. The past few days of driving had felt endless.  Our friend from college, R. and his wife A. had moved to Phoenix over a year ago. They were the first friends that I knew of that had gotten married, bought a house, and adopted a dog. Anytime a dog is involved, my heart skips a beat. I had left my own Little Man at home with my mom. Later, I found out that he was probably still barking and looking from me all during this trip. He didn’t stop for a solid two weeks. Yes, that may have made me feel like less of a human being.

By this point in the trip, the shear dishevelment and stale smell that followed us made me so so so grateful for the kindness of our friends. A. and R. treated us like queens by giving us queen beds with at least 800 thread count sheets. They sent us to find a hike the next day, along with a list of choices for lunch. We were able to find and enjoy enchiladas at Gadzooks. Being fairly directionally challenged, we ended up hiking around in their back yard and poking dead cacti. Clearly, we are an easily amused couple of ladies. We also found ourselves laughing like psychos at the Saguaro cacti acting as trees in front of the houses in the cul-de-sac.

The next day we found Camelback Mtn, the hike we had been sent to find the previous day. It was in downtown Phoenix. Pretty easy to miss if you ask me. It was 5am and there was a definite chance that we were not going to attempt the hike. We had stopped at a local coffee shop to try to muster up some energy. A woman in line overheard us and discouraged us from hiking because of a small drizzle that had started. That sounded reasonable to me, until she added a smart ass comment about tourists being idiots and biting off more than they could chew. We were definitely going to hike that mountain.

Kath and I have looked back to that day as our entrance into woman level hiking. No longer in the limbo that Britney Spears sings about, the feeling we had when we reached the top was indescribable. And I am sure I can hear real mountain climbers chuckling in the distance in between sips of maté and bone broth. I don’t care. We scrambled more than any hike before to stand for the first time among the clouds.*

*Not entirely the first time. We had hiked in Ireland in November of last year. There, we chased the fog/clouds as we tried to make our way up to the top of Diamond Hill in Connemara. We were also warned and tourist shamed by a woman at a visitor center. She asked if we were experienced hikers, to which we answered with wide eyes and an awkward silence. She then told us that it cost a few thousand dollars to save the hikers that had no idea what they were doing. Thank the lord we did not lose our way among the sheep and have to be “those Americans”. Please expect a post on this past trip.

I had had this fantasy of becoming a super hiker when I found out we would be living in California. The biggest player in this dream was hiking the Grand Canyon. I was beyond excited to see this epic hole in the ground. While I know that human beings have a tendency to obsess over holes, I had a feeling this one might really be special.

It was not to be. Kath and I tried over and over again to justify the drive through snowy Flagstaff, but we could not. There were requirements to get chains on our tires. Even if I had understood what that meant instead of pretending, it still wasn’t a good choice for us.  A teenager working at Gigi’s Cupcakes in Phoenix had insisted that we wouldn’t need chains. I trusted him until he said he had driven up to Sedona in a sports car. We decided to make our way to Joshua Tree National Park. It seemed like it could be cool enough.

We stopped at the last convenience store before the park. Spending a fortune on firewood, s’mores supplies, bean dip (for protein), oranges (to prevent scurvy), and Coronas (for hydration), we felt prepared for our first night camping together. The long, winding road we began on was peaceful in the light of the late afternoon. Then our music cut out.

We were without service. Kath could not get a hold of her boyfriend or family to let them know where we were, and I was forced to look through what music was saved to my itunes. I had very few options, many from my friend Paul during a time when he had downloaded Grimes and Kanye’s discographies. We soon found that the only song to listen to when driving through the desert was Kanye’s “I Am A God”. Even nature laughs at Kanye’s ridiculous lyrics.

I say nature laughs at his lyrics because if any god exists, it isn’t him. It is almost like nature knows this; the wind kicks up the dust, strange trees sparsely appear like crooked silhouettes of crippled men. I know that Kath and I felt something shift. Joshua Tree was not like anything we had ever seen. Everyone talks about the energy, the “feel”, that the park contains. I know what most audiences to this statement think: what drugs are you on? But that wasn’t the case for us. Kath and I hadn’t been listening to Bono and passing an L, or acid, or peyote, or any of that bullshit. Pun intended.

Granted, I did insist these (see picture) weird furry cacti were the Joshua Trees at first. We were actually in the Cholla Cactus Garden. We made camp at Big Rocks and made a fire that took much too much effort in such a desert wasteland. The rocks that hulked behind and in front and all around us seemed to embrace us and encourage us as we made our best attempt at the worst fire.

Our hands had gone numb. This was the billionth reminder that winter exists, man. I swear I remembered science class and learning that the desert got cold at night, but somehow feeling it is just a little more real. We had finally given up after dumping a half of a corona into the fire to attempt to feed a small spark. We turned our backs away from the pit in frustration.

And in that moment, at least this is how I remember it, we heard a crackle. We turned to see a flame magically dancing at the base of the pit. How in the actual fuck? We will never know. Unless someone with actual camping experience reads this and can explain it to us.

The rest of our night was a tame walk to the “amphitheater” to hear a talk on desert tortoises. We walked the 1/8 of a mile wrapped in our car blanket and doubled up on essentially every layer we could be, save maybe an extra pair of underwear. Between shivering and straining to see what a tortoise’s penis might look like based off of the photo being displayed on the projector of two tortoises mating, we learned a ton. The only matter that is up for debate is whether or not the ranger presenting was hot or not. And to be honest, even that could not keep us from sprinting back to our site in order to get in our sleeping bags and hope that going to bed before 10 would save us from the bitter cold the late evening would bring.

SIDE NOTE: Why does every National Park seem to have an Amphitheater? I understand there are a ton of things to learn and I absolutely support the nature talks. It is just that calling a space an amphitheater 1.) Sounds very manmade/lame for a park. I understand there are natural, rock amphitheaters, but these are not common to most parks and end up being mislabeled. And 2.) Supports this idea that nature is there to entertain us. As entertaining as nature is, to think of it as there to serve us when we treat it so poorly or insist it must have a monetary worth is just bleh. Like the 90’s where a girl would mimic sticking her finger down her throat. Like seriously, BARF. Gag me. You get the idea.

WRONG. Painfully wrong. We fell asleep, at what point I’m not sure, to the chattering of our teeth and the fear that we would wake up to a sleeping bag full of loose toes. By loose, I mean broken off, prickling our feet like graham cracker crumbs. Do you get it, yet?

We both slept for maybe a solid three hours. We then laid for about two hours pretending to be asleep so the other one would not be woken to the horrifying truth that is winter. We lasted until about 5:30am, at which point we both let out gasping breaths of “take me now Lord Jesus!” and popped out of our tents, wrapped in our cocoon sleeping bags. A man around our age was tending to a breakfast fire when we emerged. We all three locked eyes (is that possible?) and hysterically started laughing. We made our way to the car to turn on the heat and defrost.

We waited in the car for the sun to rise and glanced at my car’s thermometer reading a balmy 24 degrees Fahrenheit. As soon as we saw the sun begin to rise, we drove past Skull Rock, deeper into the park and the trees. We practically jumped out of the car to marvel at (and of course take pictures of) the sunrise in the desert.

All those thoughts I had ever had that doubted my ability to live far from water, went far away. The. Desert. Is. Beautiful. Not beautiful like “look at the way the sun is shining on my new car”; more like “look at this baby I made over the past nine months.” THE definition of Mother Nature. I don’t know how else to describe it.

On top of all the eye-gasms I was having, the heat from the sun gave me that instant feeling of the first day of spring where it actually feels like spring. Where everyone has been wearing their down jackets down to the last feather, and suddenly it is time to dust off the ol’ cargo shorts. This all happens because 40 degree weather breaks through the -10’s and your thermoregulation is completely off. The blood is thinned. Suns out, cargo pockets ready to hold your cargo.

I think we both felt like we had already changed. Even though Kath and I are best friends and we talked nonstop the entire trip, I can’t really remember if we were ever able to place a concrete idea of how that made us feel. Being in the desert. Three hours from LA, where we would live for the next three months. I know we were scared. I know that we were excited. I just don’t know how we had already changed.

I think that the change was more apparent looking back. I know that people say that about a lot of things. I guess I think that that cliché is true. Hindsight is 20/20. I love it, though. To look back on part of my life and think “you don’t even know what is coming”. It can make life a little less like going to the DMV and a lot more like walking down the red carpet. So roll out your own red carpets, friends, and think back on what led you where.