From Tundra to Tropics: Letters Home from a Canadian Nurse

By Lois James-Chetelat

When Lois James graduated as a nurse in 1961, she yearned to travel and experience the world. At a time when Canadian women were increasingly breaking free of social constraints, the author found work helping others in distant corners of the globe. Her experiences include flying medevac flights in the Canadian Arctic, caring for Tibetan refugee children in India and directing a nursing program in Honduras in the midst of war. This is her story.

Central to the author's narrative are the letters that she wrote home regularly during her time away. To put her story in context, the author also discusses the historical events, economic conditions and social values that affected her life and those of other women.

Coverage of the author in the media

"Lois Chetelat was a registered nurse in Aklavik [Inuvik] in the early 1960s, and she went on her fair share of Medevac flights ... On one trip from Sachs Harbour she remembers, 'we had to hang intravenous bottles up just inside a normal airplane'-jury-rigged with a coat hanger, no less".
-Herb Mathesin up here This Month In Canada's far North

"But the bulk of the responsibility fell on Miss Lois James. 'For three days and two nights Lois go almost no sleep.' At times the horror amounted to nightmare. 'On the fourth day Lois had a wild jeep ride to Ka[n]gra but the eight-year old girl she was carrying died in her arms minutes before reaching the hospital.'"
-George Woodcock
The Globe and Mail

"Lois James-Chetelat ... Tibetan refugee children, who were streaming over the border ... in the wake of the Chinese occupation ...with every health problem imaginable. I cared for hundreds of malnourished children and kids with diarrhea, scabies and other skin infections, sores and severe worm infections. In the spring of 1964, the flow of refugees became a flood."

-Jack Stackhouse
The Globe and Mail

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Oct 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228802785

Book preview

Introduction

In 1994, after the death of my father and while moving my elderly mother to our home, I discovered a number of boxes with letters neatly packaged and labelled. When I examined the contents, I found articles and personal correspondence with members of my family that described in detail my work as a nurse in Inuvik, NWT; in India with Tibetan refugees; and in Honduras and Indonesia. Upon reading the letters, I realized that this accumulated personal information provided an insight not only into very different health care issues and nursing practices but also into the beginning of a transformation of women’s reality in Canada.

The 1960s was a time of counterculture, individual freedom, and a relaxation of social taboos. During this decade women sought to change their role in Canadian society and as a result often felt free to break from the expected social constraints. As a young woman of this generation, I wanted to travel, and I yearned for adventure. As well, I was idealistic and wished to use my nursing skills to help others. Once I graduated, I found that there were several opportunities to achieve these goals. This is my story.

My letters to my family and writings are central to this narrative. This method allows for the direct expression of my immediate emotions, opinions, and experiences, free from memory loss and later interpretation.

To broaden the scope of the text, I integrated the historical events, economic conditions, and social values that affected my life as well as those of other Canadian women. In addition, I carefully researched the history of the relevant communities, institutions, and organizations in order to create a setting that accurately reflected my experiences. The result is the memoir From Tundra to Tropics: Letters Home from a Canadian Nurse.

Inuvik, NWT, 1961–1963

Chapter 1

Getting There

My journey to Inuvik did not begin as I had originally anticipated. Once I received my final marks from my nursing examinations and forwarded them to the director of nursing at the general hospital in Inuvik, I gave in my resignation to Victoria Hospital. A couple of days after relinquishing my job, I received a letter stating that there was no position available for me as I had previously been informed. I was pondering the dilemma of what I should do when I received another letter telling me that yes, there was a job for me. I accepted the position without hesitation, and in early November 1961 I returned to Porcupine, where I prepared for the year of isolation in the Far North.

Perhaps it is not unusual that I chose to nurse in the Canadian Arctic since I was born in the North, in Timmins, Ontario, a place with a similar history to that of the Northwest Territories. I enjoyed growing up in Porcupine, but it is only now, after many years, that I understand the manner in which the landscape, people, and culture moulded my perceptions and choices in life. There is the friendliness of people, an acceptance and openness to others, and large, wild, natural spaces that allow for escape from the turmoil of everyday life. However, as I recall my childhood, I realize that this social and physical environment not only influenced my future decisions but also created in me a spirit towards life that radiated through everything I did. During my youth I was able to speak with the original pioneers of this area, and their stories of hardships as well as their energy and determination inspired me to seek out vistas farther than my everyday life and to challenge myself in a manner beyond the ordinary. I wanted adventure, and because of the experiences of my youth, the natural choice was to go North. It seems inevitable that I would become a nurse in the frontier Arctic town of Inuvik.

By the time I boarded the train for the West, I was both excited and nervous. My first two letters home express the enthusiasm of a young woman embarking upon a new adventure.

Nothing unusual happened on the routine trip to North Bay—plenty of snow. I arrived in North Bay on schedule. A fellow seeing me lug my suitcase down the street gave me a ride to the station, asked me to drink beer with him, but I graciously declined the kind offer. Instead I spent four hours watching a forty-five-cent double feature. It took up time, although the movies added nothing to my store of knowledge. Went to the CPR station only to find it locked from 6:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. So I walked the streets for an hour. The snow was falling softly. A beautiful night, but I was alone in a strange place, and I stuck to the main streets. I boarded the train, and the conductors and porters have taken wonderful care of me since.

Tuesday I woke up to see the rocky cliffs of Nipigon, reaching as high as I could view. The sun was shining brightly, and the frozen streams of ice all up the sides of the cliffs sparkled in the sunlight. It was truly a beautiful sight. And the rest of the day has been just great. I had breakfast, and since then the waiter has found out I’m a nurse, called me Susie, given me second cups of coffee and much attention... He waits on tables, and if he thinks I’m looking, he grabs his heart and whispers, I need a nurse.

We are just a small group travelling—many returning from the Royal Winter Fair. All are very congenial. This morning the sun shone continually. There was no snow but Lake Superior shimmered in the sunlight. The grass and shrubbery were coated with ice. It really looked like a fairy wonderland. This afternoon was cloudy, and the scenery was just trees with patches of snow.

I had lunch with a young fellow going to the lake head. I had supper with a handsome Air Force (married) officer. He had spent time on Ellesmere Island in the Arctic and told me of Arctic life. There is a cute white-haired Scottish gentleman from Alberta who raises ponies. I could sit and listen to him talk [all day]. And then there is an eighty-year-old scholar and gentleman from Ireland who has lived out West for fifty years. He is going to tell me of the building of the CPR through the Rockies. He is a retired civil engineer. Another retired couple from Medicine Hat (from the Winter Fair, very friendly) make up the party. We all have sleepers in the same area and have spent a great deal of time together. The porters have been fun and very good. I honestly can say I’ve never spent such an enjoyable day travelling before. I must go up to the dome car and watch the bright lights of Winnipeg as we enter this city.

***

Wed. night, and I shall continue.

This morning I woke to see the snow blowing across the prairies. I was surprised at the rolling hills of Saskatchewan. However, the landscape flattened out after Medicine Hat. Calgary had no snow but was very cold. North from Calgary the trees increased considerably, and it looked somewhat like Northern Ontario with the evergreens and poplars. The land is flat as far as you can see. One is able to see the mountains from Calgary, but because of the winds carrying snow, I could not today. Edmonton is cold, windy, and snowed in. But from what I can see it looks very interesting.

Little points of interest I noticed along the way. Each town is clearly named on each grain elevator located at the station. In the simple process of refining oil, gas is given off. This gas is burned, and the flames can be seen leaping in the horizon. Because of the flat land, the winds are particularly fierce. As you travel you can see bare fields on one side and the deep snow on the other. During the fierce winds the cattle shelter in the small woodlots and shrubbery or on the protected side of a hill. The Western people love the warm Chinook winds, which will cause the snow to disappear overnight. The towns are small and appear in comparison almost the same as a Northern town. Oh yes, oil wells aren’t as I pictured them. All the photographs in magazines are of drilling equipment, and the regular oil wells are much smaller.

The Western people are warm, friendly, and helpful. I enjoy their company. My dear old Scottish man and Irish man had little arguments as to who drank more—the Irish with his wine or the Scot with his Brandy. This was only to me.

Robert the Air Force officer told me interesting things about the Arctic. There will be complete darkness when I get there. He expects that I might have to make the flight in two days. Eskimos are very happy and have a keen sense of humour. Mukluks smell like— !! if kept indoors. If you want to buy Eskimo carvings, buy them through the RCMP [Royal Canadian Mounted Police] or the Dept.[of Indian and Northern Health Services]—cheaper. Oh yes, he also said I was a flirt. But he didn’t seem to mind. He bought me coffee in Calgary before he left for home.

***

Thurs. [Edmonton] I went to the Dept. this morning. Everyone is so friendly . . . I was given some insight into some of the problems facing whites trying to work with Indians and Eskimos for the Dept. There is so much more to it than in a general hospital.

***

My plane leaves at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow (Fri.) morning, and I get in about 7:00 p.m. There are two flights up a week—Tuesdays and Fridays.

I will write from Inuvik.

Love, Lois

The next letter was written on Saturday, December 2, the morning after I arrived in Inuvik and settled into the nurses’ residence.

Well, it was quite a trip. To begin with, we left the airport an hour and a half late because the loading of the freight took extra time. Our plane was one of these old freight planes. There were thirteen seats with ten passengers, and the whole upper half was filled with everything from bed springs, to boxes, to duffel bags. The plane was about the size of a Viscount. As I mentioned, there were ten passengers—eight men, an Indian woman, and me. The men included two boys going to work on winter jobs at Norman Wells (an oil refinery process), a sailor (a navy base outside of Inuvik), a bearded fellow who looked like the scholastic type (very withdrawn), a young businessman (who kept me company), and others who I couldn’t guess their jobs.

When we started off from Edmonton it was fourteen below. The plane was very cold. I resigned [myself] to the fact that I would be able to see my breath from Edmonton to Inuvik when half an hour later we had to turn around to go back to Edmonton to have the heater fixed. It was 2:30 when we finally left Edmonton. We arrived at 11:00 p.m. What a back-breaking, tiring trip. However, the passengers and the flight crew made it interesting. I toured the cockpit and got the lowdown on how to fly a plane. The crew were quite a jolly bunch.

We had a nice-looking steward instead of a stewardess. We stopped at Fort Smith, capital of NWT, for 30 minutes, and Normal Wells for 60 minutes. At Fort Smith the town was out to meet the plane. My worst problem was my ears. The old freight plane wasn’t pressurized, and every time we would descend to land, it felt like my eardrums would burst.

Inuvik is much like a Northern town. It was thirty-eight degrees below when we landed. There is very little snow here, and they get only approximately one foot all year. I could see very little at night and probably won’t today because of the darkness. Dec. 6 is our last day for sunlight.

Miss Johnston, who appears to be an assistant director, met me. She is English and friendly. I met Miss Rivard when I got there. She is quite young, very French, blonde and attractive. The other girls were at parties, etc.

My room is lovely. It is quite large with a bed, four-drawer dresser with mirror, bookcase (like at home), and desk all in the same style of furniture as my bedroom suite at home (same make). I think its walnut, though. Oh yes, I also have a desk chair and a cloth-covered soft lounge chair to match the set. There is a matching bed lamp on the bookcase and a brown bedspread. Three walls are green, one beige, and the ceiling white. The floor is green tile with a scatter mat. You see, it is very attractive.

***

I was talking to one of the office girls this morning, and she said it takes about six weeks for your first pay cheque to come. I have to get mukluks right away because these boots I have will never do. They run $20 to $25, but I can manage that. Diane (the girl who works in the office and is from Ottawa) says that they will advance me the meal tickets. I also inquired, and it costs 44 cents a pound to send freight. Lettuce here costs 97 cents, a pint of cream $4. Meal tickets are fairly reasonable. They are at the same rate here as all over Canada.

***

It is 10:20 a.m. and still dark outside. My ear is still aching from the plane ride. I shall finish this letter later.

***

I’ve now toured the hospital. I can see that they are not busy. I am working on maternity and surgery. There were not enough maternity patients. One Eskimo mother is in for surgery. She brought her twins in with her. (They were born ten weeks ago.) She is looking after them until the time of her surgery. I met many people today, and I’m sure I won’t remember them all. It’s about thirty-eight degrees below zero now.

I toured the town. It consists of one hotel with bar and restaurant; an Anglican and RC church; one school with both RC and Anglican residences for the pupils; the Hudson’s Bay store; a place used for movies, dancing, and restaurant; a place for selling souvenirs; a free traders store (looks like the old village variety store packed to the ceiling with everything and able to find nothing); a dry cleaner’s, and the Mountie headquarters. It’s really quite a fantastic little town.

***

On Monday, December 4, I added the following note to the lengthy letter :

I went to a party Sat. night—good fun. Badminton Sunday night. I’m quite sore and am going to watch curling now . . . I must get this letter in the mail for tomorrow. This is quite the place—not exactly what I expected, but it will be some year!

Bye for now.

Love, Lois

Chapter 2

The Town and Its Hospital

This fantastic little town named Inuvik (meaning Place of Man) is located 150 miles north of the Arctic Circle or about 60 miles south of the Beaufort Sea and just south of the tree line, where it sits within stands of poplar, spruce, and balsam. It is at the end of the Athabasca, Slave, and Mackenzie River system, and is a thirty-five-minute flight from Aklavik (meaning Place of Brown Bear), the original centre for fur trading in the Western Arctic. When Aklavik was established in 1912 by the Hudson’s Bay Company, it existed for the sole purpose of hunting and trading in muskrat pelts. Between 1919 and 1936, the town was the communication centre for the North, and this resulted in an increase in population. However, because Aklavik is built against the Mackenzie Channel, hemmed in by lakes and marshes, and the ground is a muddy substance so unstable that it is solid only when frozen, officials from the federal and territorial governments determined that Aklavik could not be extended. Therefore, it was necessary to build a new town, one that would serve as the main centre for communications (both air and water), administration, education, and medical care for the Western Arctic. In the future it would also act as the takeoff point for mineral, oil, and gas exploration. The responsibility for its development was placed in the hands of the Department of Northern Affairs and Natural Resources.

In 1954 a survey team evaluated nine possible sites for the new settlement and chose East Three, the engineers’ code number for present-day Inuvik. The decision was based on the following prerequisites: it possessed a navigable river channel; the soil was mainly fine-grained organic material, gravel, and ice, a blend that lessened the risk of heaving and settling of structures and roads; there was a safe and dependable water supply; there was a surface good for sewer and water distribution; and it had suitable sites for an airfield and wharf. Once East Three was accepted as the best site, the government targeted the end of 1961 and the summer of 1962 as the date for completion of a town that would contain an initial population of 1300 with the possibility of growth to 5000 people. The outdoor construction was to be completed between breakup and freeze-up, and the indoor work in the winter. Knut Lang, the elected member of the Mackenzie Delta and an inhabitant of Aklavik, suggested to the Council of Northwest Territories that the name East Three be replaced with Inuvik, and on July 18, 1958, commissioner R. G. Robertson officially proclaimed this change.

The airport was the first facility to be constructed. The 6000-foot airstrip was completed in 1958 at Dolmite Lake, eight and a half miles southeast of the town, and by 1961 the terminal was finished. The major problem facing the engineers was to design and build a modern town on permafrost, which extended across all of Arctic Canada and throughout a good deal of the sub-Arctic, south of the tree line. Inuvik has long, cold winters with a light snowfall and short, hot summers. Therefore, the top two to three feet of soil melt in summer and freeze in winter. The moss acts as an insulation, and if it is disturbed, the permafrost melts to a depth of several feet in the summer sun. The situation is critical in the Mackenzie Delta because the soils are unstable and the high content of water and ice, once thawed and later refrozen, causes major heaving and cracking in roads and buildings. It was necessary to preserve the moss. In order to prevent destruction of this natural insulating material, the engineers developed plans to build roads that followed the natural contours of the land and water runoff, thus avoiding drainage ditches, and to construct buildings on pilings or thick pads of gravel in order to prevent direct contact with the ground.

In the southern regions of Canada, water and sewage lines are placed below ground level, but again because of the permafrost, this was not possible in the Delta area. The solution to this problem was an ingenious system of utilidors on pilings, boxlike insulated containers that hold water and sewer pipes that run above the ground. In order to prevent these pipes from freezing, the engineers added warm water conduits, which in turn heated the residences and other public facilities. As a result, there are no furnaces or chimneys in Inuvik.

Within the completed town of Inuvik, there were two contrasting styles of living. In the east end were apartments or private homes that more or less exemplified the conditions of middle-class southern Canada. Civil servants, military personnel, and their families occupied these modern homes and enjoyed the amenities the government provided and subsidized for their exclusive benefit.

At the west end of town, the planners visualized a community that would accommodate the Indigenous way of life. Families were to remain orientated toward the bush and would arrive either by canoe or dog sled. It was assumed that they would remain only for short visits. As a consequence, no permanent homes were constructed, and the sedentary population was without water and sanitation services. The unintended result was that the two neighbourhoods of east and west Inuvik existed with unequal housing and town services, which tended to polarize and enhance the vast cultural differences separating the two communities. The physical separation as well as the cultural differences and diverse occupations made it difficult for the Natives and non-Natives to interact. In most circumstances they met only in formal situations such as jobs, schools, church, and hospital.

In 1961 out of a population of 1248, 100 were Dene, 309 were Inuit, and there was an unknown number of Métis. Of these, eighty-six Inuit, forty-five Dene, and seventy-nine Métis were employed in Inuvik with wages of from $300 to $450 per month.

The major buildings constructed by the federal government were the federal building, the RCMP building, the navy base, a laundry, a federal school, two hostels, a general hospital, a nurses’ residence, single staff quarters, a liquor store and warehouse, and a Department of Transport building.

The RCMP consisted of three divisions: the local detachment employing nine men, the subdivision headquarters with four men, and the air division with two men. The first pilot, Norm Brisbane, arrived in September 1960, and when he left in September 1962, he was replaced by Ned Carnies. Glynn Owen was the engineer and remained in Inuvik throughout my stay. The RCMP operated a DHC-3 Otter that travelled mainly to Aklavik, Fort McPherson, Arctic Red River, Norman Wells, and Fort Norman.

Our Lady of Victory igloo Roman Catholic Church, Inuvik

There were two hostels that housed the student population. Stringer Hall, named after the Anglican bishop of the same name, contained 246 pupils: 122 boys and 124 girls. Of these, 206 were Inuit, 18 were Dene, and there were 22 others. Grollier Hall, again named after a Roman Catholic bishop, was home to 47 Inuit, 110 Dene, and 64 others. Ninety-eight were boys, and 103 were girls.

Four Christian churches offered religious services to the community. They were the Baptist Church, Church of the Ascension (Anglican), Inuvik Christian Assembly, and Our Lady of Victory Church (Roman Catholic).

The inhabitants of Inuvik were able to find entertainment in three establishments. The first was Peffer’s Recreation Centre. Stan Peffer moved from Aklavik, where he operated Stan Peffer’s Cafe and Trading Post, which had been located in the centre of the settlement. His Inuvik business offered movies Monday through Saturday and dances on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. As well, there was the curling rink and Hotel Mackenzie, with a beer parlour, lounge, and coffee shop.

In 1915 the first hospital constructed specifically to treat lower Mackenzie people was built by the Roman Catholic mission in Fort Simpson. Although it was the churches that mainly provided the health care to the local inhabitants, in 1918 the Indian Affairs Branch of the federal government sent a doctor north on an annual tour of the Delta. The government also supplied medicines, which were distributed by the missions, and the Hudson’s Bay Company responded to emergencies. Throughout this period, Fort McPherson and Arctic Red River remained without professional health facilities, whereas Aklavik, not long after its establishment, acquired two hospitals. The first was built in 1926 by the Anglicans and the second in 1927 by the Catholics. In 1930 the Anglican mission brought in an itinerant dentist who served the population until 1956, and in 1930 the government appointed a medical officer of health. Aklavik was now viewed as the capital of the region, and the facilities were meant to serve the entire area. Nevertheless, infectious diseases such as influenza and measles spread quickly throughout the settlements and bush camps, causing widespread sickness and death. The medical staff and teachers tried to prevent the onslaught of these infections through education but often with little success. Following the Second World War, the federal government emphasized the prevention of tuberculosis.

Thus the modern eighty-bed hospital, which was completed in 1960 in Inuvik, was the first hospital in the Mackenzie Delta, constructed and operated by the federal government. On January 23, 1961, Katherine May Edward was the first child born in the first fully staffed and equipped unit north of the Arctic Circle. The hospital consisted of three large wards, maternity and surgical, medicine and tuberculosis, and paediatrics, an operating room, laboratory, X-ray, and outpatients’ department. A medical superintendent, two doctors, and a staff of forty registered nurses and nursing assistants cared for Inuit, Dene, Métis, and a few white patients.

Dr. A. D. Dale was appointed Medical Director of the hospital, and J. Rivard, RN, Director of Nursing. As well as the hospital, public health programs, including immunization, sanitation, and child and maternal health care, served the population and were provided by public health nurses in Inuvik, Aklavik, Old Crow, Tuktoyaktuk, Fort McPherson, Fort Norman, Fort Franklin, and Fort Good Hope. Physicians and nurses visited and held clinics in Arctic Red River, Sachs Harbour, Herschel Island, Cape Perry, and Reindeer Station.

Approximately one year after the opening of Inuvik General Hospital, I assumed my duties as a registered nurse on the maternity and surgical ward. My head nurse, Agnes Walsh, was not only a competent midwife but also a woman who demonstrated her Irish wit with a twinkle in her eyes. Even though she was older than me, we formed a good working relationship and friendship.

Although Agnes was hired specifically because of her education and experience as a midwife, Canadian health care policy stated that we did not have midwives because we had no midwifery schools. However, governments staffed northern outpost hospitals, nursing stations, and obstetrical units with midwives who had obtained their education in Ireland, England, Australia, or New Zealand. Schools of nursing were not allowed to train midwives, but if a program was established as practical obstetrics or outpost nursing, it was acceptable. Midwives were not allowed to practise in populated areas of the country, but they could be used as replacements for physicians if medical practitioners were not available. Through these actions, governments indicated that they believed that midwives were adequately qualified to serve the Native and non-Native population of the remote and northern regions but were not competent for the populated, urban, southern parts of Canada. In spite of the contention that Canada did not have a midwifery system, skilled midwives were found working in isolated areas and among poorer groups where physicians were unable or unwilling to provide services. For my part I was immediately placed in the situation of assisting women in childbirth without adequate education and experience. As a student nurse I was only allowed to observe, hand the physician the instruments, and follow his orders. In a letter home I described one of several incidents where it was necessary for me to take responsibility for the birth of a new born.

We have a medical student here for the summer trying to learn all he can. The doctor was busy at the time. We had one patient in labour, and he [the doctor] said if he wasn’t back in time, Ken (medical student) could deliver her. Well, he wasn’t back, and Ken, although he has been supervised, has never had a delivery. If you can imagine, I helped him with his first delivery. Although he knew generally what to do, I knew the routine step by step and had to tell him what to do. It was quite interesting, and we both learned a lot. However, after delivery the patient started to hemorrhage. I knew what to give her but I needed an order, and Ken is not yet able to give orders. I spent a few frantic moments phoning over Hell’s half acre for the doctor and couldn’t find him. I took the least drastic of two steps and did it. I then got the doctor, and he came and ordered what was needed (in the line of drugs), and the woman is fine. But so many times I’ve had to have a doctor and couldn’t find one. They just forget to say where they are going. Last night I got fed up looking and sent the police after him.

Native women who lived in the west end of Inuvik often had problems with hospital deliveries. Getting to the other side of town in the night, with no telephones to summon a taxi, was but one. Because expectant mothers were sent home if they arrived too early, they often were reluctant to go to the hospital and as a result were last-minute arrivals. Then there were the unfamiliar hospital procedures. Native women complained of unpleasant injections. Their traditions endorsed natural childbirth, and in spite of long labours, their stoical nature allowed them to bear it with little or no outward fuss. They were also restricted to twelve hours of bed rest, after which they were told to walk about. For some women these instructions were difficult to understand and to adhere to. Nevertheless, they were sympathetic toward the staff, and there was a feeling of affection and gratitude. I enjoyed my initial contacts with the Native patients since I found them handsome and intelligent with a good sense of humour.

Because this was a small hospital, the nurses were expected to adapt to various duties on different shifts. During my training at Victoria Hospital in London, Ontario, an intern assisted the surgeon during an operation. In Inuvik, where three doctors served the population of the Mackenzie Delta, I was called upon to provide the needed support in surgery during the removal of a gallbladder. I commented in a letter home that the surgery was well done and the technique of the operating room staff excellent. On afternoon and night shift, I was in charge of incoming calls and emergencies, and one evening I was asked to provide measurements for the coffin of a baby who had just died. When the head nurse on the tuberculosis ward was ill, I assumed her duties although I was inexperienced in this area.

Even though I expressed fondness for the Aboriginal patients, I was less enamoured with the Native nursing assistants. Because I was used to the rush and activity of a major teaching hospital, I experienced difficulty in adapting to the slower pace of the North. I understood the nursing aides’ approach as laziness, not as a problem on my part to understand and adjust to the cultural differences. The failure of the transient population to recognize and to modify their expectations of the work habits of the Indigenous population continues today. Nurse Dana Hawes describes how the supervisors at the diamond mine, BHP, at Ekati frequently become exasperated when Native workers who feel completely overwhelmed in the new situation leave camp and never return.

Letters home describe some of the more interesting incidents that occurred at the hospital. In February I wrote:

Nursing has been fairly hectic. One of the doctors had to make two emergency flights to isolated areas. On one flight he brought back a day-old baby with congenital anomalies, and I am afraid he will die on my night shift. On another flight he brought back an accidental gunshot wound.

Friday I worked all day—fairly busy. I curled that night for a couple of hours and then decided to live it up and go dancing. As I walked in the door at 2:00 a.m., Miss Rivard [the director of nursing] met me, told me there was an emergency Caesarean section, and would I go to the OR (operating room). I was off like a shot. The patient was one I had been nursing for over a month, and I was keenly interested. This was the first section in Inuvik Hospital, and it went very well. The baby looked quite healthy. We finished that about 4:30 a.m. I went back to our ward, and the gunshot wound was there. The nurse working nights is old and deaf, and I know she would be completely upset if she had to assist the doctors. I worked with the two doctors and Vern, our orderly, until 7:00 a.m. putting traction on the fractured leg and fixing up the gunshot wound. This place takes ingenuity. The type of traction we needed we didn’t have. Vern found bits of material and made it. I was supposed to work that morning at 8:00 a.m. I stayed on until the heavy work was done at 10:30. Then I got off. Actually I didn’t feel too bad. It is the type of work I enjoy, and I was glad to work all night. But I feel sick right now. I just found out that our baby born from the section died last night. They have no idea of the cause. You feel something like that very much in a small hospital.

In April I wrote my sister, Alice, the following:

We did an emergency appendectomy on a twelve-year-old girl. Her appendix was fine. Turned out that the poor kid had gonorrhea and the symptoms of infection pointed to appendix. The doctor didn’t think of doing a vaginal exam on a twelve-year-old. We have several young thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls on maternity having babies—poor kids. They are so young, cute, and clueless. What a hard row they have to hoe in the future.

A few months later I described another incident.

This weekend has brought the usual number of cuts and drunks. Yesterday afternoon I found one up-front so sloshed he could hardly walk with about four bottles of lemon extract. He was just a lump and not obnoxious. With a great deal of effort, I got him up on the emergency table. And then he fell off. I couldn’t help laughing. And this big Native lay in the corner with a great big smile on his face as drunk as I’ve ever seen anyone. My work isn’t boring.

The problems of alcohol abuse, shattered families, and individual human tragedies are common throughout the North. Governments and Native groups as well as others have searched for the causes and solutions to this catastrophe. In Inuvik the lack of provision for adequate housing at the west end of the town created a slum with substandard, crowded housing and no running water and sewage. Opportunities for better paying jobs were limited. As a result, the Natives were placed in a lower socioeconomic group in a system that originally had been formulated to serve them. Years later governments would recognize that the Aboriginal population needed greater control over their own destiny by agreeing to negotiate Native land claims.

Within ten days of my arrival, I was asked to be the godmother to an Inuit baby who was to be baptized before leaving with her mother, Emma Lester, for a remote area along the coast. Since Emma continued to breastfeed Freda, her first child, until the birth of her second baby, she