Wonderful Camping and the Hike of Death

I went camping over the weekend of the 24th with some of my favorite people. We stayed in a campground located in Huntington canyon aka Manti-LaSal mountain range. (Note: this area is known for its dense population of black bears) It was gorgeous! I cannot believe this was my first ever experience in this area. I have totally missed out in the past.

The first night there, as we were wide awake in the tent pretending to sleep like normal people (note: all members in that particular tent work graveyards at the hospital and therefore sleep during the day), we heard a sound that could only be described as a growling roar. The conversation that followed went something like this. "Do you guys hear that?" I ask in a hushed whisper. "Yeah what is it?" they whisper back. "I don't know...you don't think it sounds like a bear do you?" I reply. "No, but what could it be?" they ask back. "Well, if it’s not a bear then it could only be one thing....it’s a mountain lion." I gravely respond. (Note: this conversation is fact and quoted to the best of my ability. We never actually saw the animal but did get verification the next morning regarding the likelihood of mountain lions) So naturally, the next morning all the members of our camping party were having a bit of a fit at the idea of large and aggressive wild animals. (Note: present members were: one high anxiety mother whom I love with all my heart, one well camp-trained father, two Seattle city-slickers, one adventurous backpacker, and me the calm sane voice amongst the chaos.) I, being a kind and concerned friend, go over the basics of outdoor safety and reminded them in a soothing voice that the only animal that actually hunts down humans for food is a polar bear. Since we are not camping in the Arctic Circle we can consider ourselves safe so long as we remember we are guests in their home. As you can guess, my mother freaked out and wanted to arm all of us with police standard flash lights that we could use as weapons....just in case we got mugged by a ferocious wild animal. Ah, I truly forgot how much I love camping.

On the Saturday of our trip we all decided to go on, dum dum dum, the Hike of Death! (Note: my parents had already headed home in order to see the Osmond’s perform with the MoTab and one Seattle city-slicker opted out) So the three of us pack our camelbacks and backpacks with water and necessary sustenance and make plans to complete the 9.5 mile hike. The first 2.5ish miles of the hike were straight up the mountain. The plan was to get to the ridge and cross a pack trail and then head down a canyon 4.5miles to our parked truck. Not too bad, right? Well, we were over halfway to the ridge when we saw our first sign of weather difficulties; hail. (Note: we had already been hiking for about and hour and a half due to the constant need to stop and regain lung control) We hiked through the hail, which eventually stopped, assuming it would blow over. By the time we were to the ridge it had begun to rain very hard and coverage was becoming scant. (Note: at this point the backpacker was kind enough to remind us that mountain lions enjoy hiding in the thick brush) Since it was raining pretty good and had not started showing signs of lightning we took a rest under a large pine tree and regained some energy. (Note: energy source of choice was sour patch kids) We noticed that even if the rain stopped where we were currently sitting, the clouds were still moving towards the canyon we would be hiking through. Then the inevitable happened; lightning. We knew we only had one option and that was to head back down the way we came. The thought of 2hrs of hard work going down the drain was heartbreaking but it was countered with the thought of being fried by a lightning bolt. We ran! (Note: as mentioned previously the coverage was scant and the only lightning safety any of us could remember was to be the shortest object around.) The biggest problem was the 3/4 mile of switch-backs in a field of flowers on the side of the mountain. I was in front and set the pace. In what seemed like no time with what seemed like no breathing difficulties we made it back down the mountain. (Note: it took us approximately 30 min to get down that mountain) After arriving safely at the bottom we took inventory of ourselves. We were soaked from head to toe and covered in an unusual amount of mud. (Note: mud was due to all the mud puddles we ran through and the several falls we took while running through them) Since we were planning on coming out way down the mountain we had to trek another 1.5 miles through the downpour to our camp site. We arrived to find all our chairs and wood wet, my knee bleeding a smidge and the backpackers arms breaking out in hives. (Note: we had not noticed the bleeding knee due to mud coverage and the hives were a surprise from a random plant) We ended up driving into town soaking wet and sore to get some Benadryl and dry wood. The rest was a bit of a blur. The backpacker was drugged on my command and shortly passed out. I then cleaned off the mud and stripped off my wet cloths so I could take a nap. For the next 2.5 hours the world could have ended and neither of us would have known. When I woke up I could barely move and that feeling stayed with all of us for several days. (Note: being that we were all too cold, drugged or tired none of us found it necessary to stretch after our marathon hike resulting in a severe stiffening of the muscles and joints) Even though it has been hard to walk, climb stairs and sit we feel that it was worth it for having survived, dum dum dum, the Hike of Death!

A Big Adventure Soon To Be

As some of you may already know, in October I will be venturing half way across the world to volunteer in Romania. I am very excited! My friend Jenni and I are traveling with an organization intitled Global Volunteers. We will be working in the Tutova clinic which is the infant portion of the orphanage for a month. We will be caring for abandoned or disabled infants and toddlers. Most of these kiddos were severely underweight babies who arrived shortly after birth. Our goals is to nurture them back to health.

Throughout my trip I will be blogging about my experiences and hopefully have pictures of the sweet little things I will be helping. Stay tuned in for the updates.

My name is Melissa Dahl, and I am a relationship saboteur...

For all of you who have ever wondered, "Why is that cute little Melissa single", I am here to enlighten you. I am a relationship saboteur. It’s true. I sabotage any possible relationships and I also sabotage any current relationships. Why, you may ask? Well, I get an intense, overwhelming sensation of fear. The moment I think that a guy might actually like me, and that I might actually be required to like him as much, I panic. My stomach starts twisting into a thousand knots, my mouth goes completely dry like Death Valley in July, and my palms start to sweat like the leaves of the Amazon, and my mind, oh if you could only hear it. My mind starts screaming a thousand miles a minute, "What’s going on, what just happened, what am I going to do..." Well, naturally, I do what any sane person would do after the fight-or-flight mechanism has been activated...I run! I run as fast as my out-of-shape lungs will let me. Usually it is fast enough and after the escape I feel a very mixed sense of relief, regret, and most of all guilt. Ah, one more notch to add to my list of broken hearts.
Am I, in any way, proud of my accomplishment? No, I am never proud. As a matter of fact, I go to my dark place and mope for at least a week. I feel sorry for myself, I feel sorry for the guy, and I feel like a failure. The women we are always complaining about, the ones that break the boys so that they never want to date again...that’s me. I am a monster! Ok so maybe that is a bit extreme, but really I am not normal. To be fair to myself, I don't always realize what exactly it is I am doing until it is already done. I have always thought that the feeling of fear was my answer that he wasn't the 'one' and why should I string him along if I don't feel the same way, but, now I see that it was more of just an overall fear. Its ok, you can call me it; I am a commitment phobe. And I bet you thought it was just men.
I would also like to address the recent issue of flowers. Why did it vex me so much to have flowers sent to me? Does not that show interest? Am I not always tooting my own horn about being a hopeless romantic? Should I not jump at the opportunity to have a romantic notion acted on for me? The answer to all of the above is yes. I most defiantly should want flowers and I find them very romantic and very sweet. However, the Mormon society and generation I have been raised dictates that any and all flowers sent to any one woman by any one man be a representation of extreme like. Yes, when flowers are sent it is usually because you have dated the person, the holiday requires it or he is in big, big trouble. Therefore to receive such a gift is very overwhelming to say the least. As a matter of fact the last flowers I have received from a boy were a dozen long stem roses on Valentines Day my junior year. Since then I have received nothing. This caused the most recent flowers to have a sense of foreboding, like he new something I didn’t. Did I overreact? Absolutely. Should I have taken a few deep breaths and informed myself that since I am a very charming person it is only expected that I should be sent flowers? Yes. All of which, were huge mistakes on my part. If I ever have the pleasure to receive any more flowers for no other reason than someone found my company enjoyable, I will most definitely handle it differently.
All in all, I look at my experiences in life as opportunity for learning and growth. Have I missed out on a lot of great opportunities to date and get to know some amazing guys? I probably have. Ah well, admitting is the first step to recovery.

The best job ever!

As my title implies, I have the best job in the world. I am a nurse and I work very strange hours and lots of holidays but it really doesn't get much better than what I do. My patients generally weigh less than 5 pounds, have very spunky personalities, and make me realize every single day how amazing this life really is.

To give you an idea of what I do, I have decided to outline an average day. I arrive at work a little before 7pm and see which assignment has been given to me for the shift. An assignment consist of 1, 2, or 3 babies. The more sick or attention needing the infant the less the number of babies in the assignment. For example a baby that weighs around a pound, needs a lot of support to breath, and is requiring a lot of serious medication may be a 1 baby assignment. After finding what my assignment will be I go and get report. The off-going nurse will tell me what the history of the baby is (i.e. how he/she was born, what was needed at birth, etc.), what the baby eats, what the baby has been prescribed for his/her respiratory needs, and if the baby is on any medication. Then I take over. The babies are now my responsibility. If you look at it in pounds it doesn't seem like a lot but if you think about it in life and vulnerability it is huge.

In a shift I will change each babies bum approximately 4 times, the babies will each be fed 3-4 times, vitals signs will be recorded hourly, and medication will be given as prescribed. I have given all kinds of medications ranging from blood pressure medication, to caffeine (helps with respiratory drive) and I have started hundreds of IVs. To put that in perspective for all of you, that is like starting an IV in an adult pinkie finger. I have sent babies home with mom and dad, and I have sent babies home to heavenly father. Each shift is a surprise of what I will be faced with. I never know if I will be working with little champs who pass every mile stone with flying colors or if I will be working with the little ones that will struggle for the rest of their lives. Some days I feel as though I could never do enough for these babies and other days I find myself wondering if sometimes as a unit and as a technology we do too much. I have rocked babies to sleep, and I have comforted them during a procedure. I have also wanted to pull my hair out because of the crying but every time you see a new one, every time you hold a tiny life in you hands or, hand as is sometimes the case, it is all worth it. All of the hard times, all of the stress and crazy, non-English speaking parents are fine. Its all OK because for 12 hours at a time you are responsible for one of Gods most beautiful creations and you have the chance to make the first trials of their life less difficult.

This is why I have the best job in the world.