Tonight I am sitting in a nice warm house, my hands curled around a mug of hot peppermint tea, listening to my hubby and puppy snore. I know our baby girl is enjoying time with her grandparents and cousins, and is safe and sound. The perfect Christmas tree that the three of us picked out together is lit and strung with beaded garland, ready for the ornaments. Tonight I am blessed.
A few days ago the Major and I were shopping, enjoying an afternoon together after the first of many cyber knife treatments on brain lesions. That day I had asked the radiation oncologist to be totally honest with me as to where she thought hubby was at as far as the disease went. Of course there is no clear cut answer, there is no absolute in dealing with cancer, or medicine for that fact. Every patient is different. I know that. I looked her straight in the eyes and asked her to go off the record. I knew how dangerous that was, but I had to know. I got the answer I kind of knew I was going to get. It just hit like a ton of bricks to have it said aloud. There is always hope, and I know we're in the best place to find something else that may work better if this treatment isn't doing what it should. We still have to wait and see how the treatment worked before they can say for sure what both of us are thinking. It eats away at you.
Back to shopping. The Major was looking at Pandora, picking out charms with me as we had done in South Carolina when I got my necklace. This time he was looking at a bracelet. All of a sudden I hear Avril Lavigne's When You're Gone. This song was on repeat on my iPod for my walks during deployments, and now I can't bear to hear it. The words, the sadness...during deployments I always knew he was coming back. Sure I was afraid for his safety and his life, but I knew he'd come back. Now this. This cancer. It's different. And those words hurt way too much. The Major had to walk away from the counter. Ever the military man he does not show emotion in public. Even with the steroids some how he is able to keep emotions in check when around strangers. I was left standing at the jewlery case with the very sweet sales girl, tears streaming down my face having to explain that my husband has terminal cancer and this may be the last bracelet he buys me. Set off panic attack number 1 of the day.
We were able to enjoy lunch, finish shopping and come home to nap. The Major was tired from therapy and I from anti anxiety medication and the stress of the day. One bonus to our daughter being on vacation with her grandparents is naps. I love sleep, and am so thankful for the chance to nap!!!
Panic attack number 2 came at a more usual time for me. Bed time. I look over at his face and the thoughts that race through my head are too much. Everything from "Why is this happening?" to "What are we going to do?", "It should be me, he's the better parent, the better person...", "I hate the Army for missing this", "Maybe God will perform a miracle and he'll be ok"...and my body fights my brain and the two scheme together to get me to the point where the person with the awful disease is consoling me. How dumb is that? Talk about needy and selfish. But he's the only one who was ever able to talk me out of a panic attack. And when I think about that, it sends more tears.
The next day I had pulled it together. Usually after having one bad day I can keep in control. I go back to being the secretary, the assistant, the protector, the medical aide, the translator, the mama bear...level headed, calm and just slightly scatter brained.
The Major decided we needed a date that night and took me to see the new Bond film. I love seeing his face when he's watching a movie he's been so excited to see. I am partial to Pierce Brosnan, but I suppose even Bond needs to change every once in a while. With that said, this was probably my favorite Daniel Craig Bond film.
As the credits were rolling and we sat together wondering what the next bond would be like with the changes they made in this movie, the tears welled up and the lump in my throat appeared. Would he be here for the next Bond film? Is this the last time I will watch a new Bond film with him?? I swallowed every emotion and got ahold of myself before the lights came on. I couldn't keep doing this to him.
Today, during his treatment, I was able to talk to some people who specialize in dealing with families and patients fighting cancer. Finally, people who said things that I think all of the time. People who made me realize I'm not so crazy. People who want to help our family enjoy our time instead of being bitter, angry and just plain miserable. It's going to take work for all of us. This is not something to get over. This is something to learn to live with.
Tonight, as we strung lights together around our beautiful tree, those thoughts started to fill my head. Is this our last Christmas tree? I watched him stand and admire the lights, the sparkles and shimmers, and take in the smell of a fresh tree...and at that moment I chose not to worry about next year. Not to worry about 5 years from now. I have him now. I have him this Christmas. I have him this New Year's. Even though his body is fighting this terrible war, one that has changed his body, his moods and what he can and can't do...he's still there. He's still the man who grabbed my arm when I tripped and said "Don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall". He's still the man who opens doors, pulls out my chair, knows every look, makes up silly words to my favorite songs to get on my nerves. He's still our daughter's Daddy, her hero and the love of her life. So every day I need to wake up and be thankful for another day. Not worry if we'll have a tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
A different kind of PCS.
I haven't written in a few months. Honestly the last time I was writing, I believe I had a draft started about our new duty station. We were all so excited, just a week after the Major got home from a year long deployment, we were so happy and giddy. Seattle was to be our next destination. There was a new command and the Major was looking forward to a faster paced, more challenging job. I was drooling over the on post housing. Looking at trips to Mt. Rainier, Mt. St. Helens, Pike Place Market...I was so happy, and not even the rain could scare me away. We were leaving -60 degree, 8 month winters...a new adventure, a new place to explore, and best of all - no deployments for 2 years.
A little back story before we get into how this all changed. A few weeks before the deployment, my husband had gone to the clinic to have his toe looked at. It had been sore and bleeding. He had always had problems with ingrown toenails, but this was different. The clinic sent him to a civilian pediatrist in town, who determined he would remove the toenails, two days before deployment. Two days later the Major left with a bandaged and very sore toe. A month later when we were finally able to talk, he told me his toe had been bleeding ever since he left. I begged him to get to the doctor as soon as possible. He did as I asked and they temporarily "fixed" the problem. However, living in boots, walking in the desert, only being able to shower every so often, it had to be fixed over and over and over. A few months into the deployment, he came home on emergency leave for me as I was having medical issues. While he was home he asked me to look at a lump in his neck, close to his spine. I asked him to go to the clinic to get it checked out because it was painful and he was unable to turn his head. They told him they weren't going to touch it because of the proximity to his spine. After going back to Afghanistan, a friend, who is a surgeon, took it out for him since they were at a Forward Operating Base and had limited access to high tech medical equipment. There was no way to get it sent away for pathology.
A few months before returning home, he told me he was getting more lumps all over his body. Again, I asked him to see the doctor. The doctor told him not to worry about them, they were probably just benign cysts, and there were more immediate concerns with wounded soldiers that needed addressed. They would be going home in a few months and just deal with it.
After the Major returned home, the clinics were packed with the returning Brigade. One night I noticed that the lumps had turned to bruises and they were very painful. I took him to the emergency room. As an EMT of 10 years I knew the flack I was going to get for this. I knew it probably wasn't a true emergency, but I was scared, and so was my husband. After getting lectured by the PA about how they aren't a clinic and how we shouldn't worry about simple epidermal inclusion cysts, I felt helpless. My husband is young. No medical history, no meds, no drug, tobacco or alcohol use. Just being in the military for 11 years and being sent to many strange countries. Thankfully, she sent for a consult with dermatology. A few days later he had a CT scan of his belly, back and chest. They called him back for one on his head. After that we saw the dermatologist. I am convinced I met the two most kind, generous, intelligent and patient Army doctors there at Ft. Wainwright in those days. The dermatologist recommended he have some lumps removed and biopsied by the general surgeon who was going to do his hernia repair...oh I forgot to mention that he had a double hernia from the deployment. The general surgeon was the other wonderful doctor I was speaking of.
They took three lumps. A few days later, we were called to come in for the results. I can't explain the exact way my world turned upside down, inside out, and all together just crashed to the bottom of some dark abyss when the words "stage 4 melanoma" were uttered. I'm young, I haven't seen everything in the medical field, but I knew exactly what those words meant. It was all too fast. We were whisked to the dermatology suite, talking with the doctor and I broke down. I had to leave the room because the Major was still processing exactly what he was told. In a matter of hours the orders were being changed. We were no longer going to the most awesome assignment either of us could have hoped for. We were being told to "go home" "go be with family" "go somewhere you will have support". I sobbed uncontrollably for hours. No grace, no rationale, no reason...just complete and utter sorrow and panic. I just got him back. I JUST GOT HIM BACK!!! What do you mean he had an incurable cancer??? HOW??
Yes, I wanted to know how. We were flown out of Alaska, forced to leave all of our belongings, selling both vehicles, and leaving the house for rent, to fly for treatment to begin right away at Hershey Medical Center in Pennsylvania. After a few consults it was determined the Major has a rare type of melanoma, toenail based melanoma. Melanoma is one of the deadliest cancers. It isn't comparable to any other cancer. Toenail based melanoma is so rare, not many people know about it, not many doctors look for it. Even when you have a toe that bleeds with a tumor in the nail bed for over a year. Even when you get lumps in your lymph nodes. This is a point of bitterness for me, I place blame on a few choice people in the Army, as well as one civilian foot doctor.
Once established in PA, Chad started treatment. The first was a gama knife surgery to treat a lesion in his brain. The second was called Interleukin 2, or IL 2. This was the absolute worst thing I have ever watched a person go through. It was so absolutely horrible, I though it had to work. There was no way any human being could go through all of that and not have it work. 7 days of 3 rounds of treatment a day. Treatment that caused high fevers, low blood pressure, hard and vigorous rigors, vomiting, diarrhea, mood swings, confusion, weakness, and bloating. Both times he had it, he got through 12 out of the 14 treatments. This was very good. The PET scan that followed was not so good. It was time for the next type of treatment. This is when we decided to move to Maryland and start going to Johns Hopkins.
I had been getting very frustrated with the lack of urgency I felt at Hershey. Things were moving slowly. I needed someone to be serious about TRYING to save my husband's life.
In the months we were going through all of this, I had started working at my old EMS company again. It was the one thing that gave me a release. Something that took me out of the stress of what was becoming my normal life and let me focus on others. I met a few new friends, and reconnected with old ones. The major and the little one were watched over at home by family while I was away and I was making some extra money to help make up for what we lost in BAH moving from Alaska.
Soon after transferring to Johns Hopkins, hubby started having minor seizures. It was time to give up my regular hours at work. He was not supposed to drive or be left alone. Again, it became more real. I don't know how to explain that. It had just seemed like we could escape it for bits of time. Every time something gets worse, you feel yourself loosing your footing and things change all over. The steroids they use for the swelling in his brain make his personality different and he can't help it. The thing that kept me normal is gone and we have to adapt and overcome again.
There are things I think about daily. I find it hard to relate to people. I have a terrible time being happy for newly weds. I cry when I see elderly people holding hands. I break down when our 4 year old asks if Daddy is going to live with God. I don't look past the present day. I focus on the hour I am in, because the next hour could be better or worse. Sometimes much worse. I go through anger and bitterness, sadness and angst. I find minor complaints from others so irritating that I wish they could see this, just for a minute. Feel it just for a minute. I don't want to think 20 years down the road. I don't even want to look 5 years down the road.
I will say I appreciate the true friends. The family. And the permanent military family we have established over the years. You all have been so gracious and kind, supporting and loving. We appreciate all of the prayers, all of the help, everything. I do hope for a miracle. I hope the current treatment takes the lesions away. I hope the next cyber knife procedures get rid of the brain lesions. I hope they find a cure for melanoma. I hope he goes into remission. Every day this is what I hope for. I don't hope for a new car, more money, a night out, super deals on Black Friday. I hope for normalcy. I hope for another year with my husband. I hope for a few hours with the man I know and love, that the medication eases up for a while and lets me get a glimpse of that man. I hope my daughter remembers good days, and doesn't become afraid of her father. What I hope for anymore is so far off from what other people do. People say I'm irritable or I'm just not myself. That is correct. I am not myself. My heart is ripped to shreds and I do the best I can every day for my little family. There is no want for pity or attention. As much as I know people mean it when they say they are praying or they offer their help, I wish it didn't have to be that way. I have unfortunately realized I can't do this without help anymore. That isn't our family. We are a military family, self sufficient and tough. We made it through two Alaska winters, have moved 10 times, and been through countless situations. I do chest compression like a boss and can still hold someone's hand after they have puked all over me. I stay calm as someone is screaming in my face because of the horror they had just witnessed and still treat a patient after they have swung their fist at my face. This, this cancer, is something so awful, so new, so uncontrollable, I feel as though I am failing because I can't beat it for him. He can't shoot it with a gun or drop a bomb on it. He can and DOES fight. And there are days I have to remind him why he fights. I never had to remind him why he fought for America.
That's all I can do is believe in him, hope for tomorrow, and take care of my family. Nothing else is up to me.
A little back story before we get into how this all changed. A few weeks before the deployment, my husband had gone to the clinic to have his toe looked at. It had been sore and bleeding. He had always had problems with ingrown toenails, but this was different. The clinic sent him to a civilian pediatrist in town, who determined he would remove the toenails, two days before deployment. Two days later the Major left with a bandaged and very sore toe. A month later when we were finally able to talk, he told me his toe had been bleeding ever since he left. I begged him to get to the doctor as soon as possible. He did as I asked and they temporarily "fixed" the problem. However, living in boots, walking in the desert, only being able to shower every so often, it had to be fixed over and over and over. A few months into the deployment, he came home on emergency leave for me as I was having medical issues. While he was home he asked me to look at a lump in his neck, close to his spine. I asked him to go to the clinic to get it checked out because it was painful and he was unable to turn his head. They told him they weren't going to touch it because of the proximity to his spine. After going back to Afghanistan, a friend, who is a surgeon, took it out for him since they were at a Forward Operating Base and had limited access to high tech medical equipment. There was no way to get it sent away for pathology.
A few months before returning home, he told me he was getting more lumps all over his body. Again, I asked him to see the doctor. The doctor told him not to worry about them, they were probably just benign cysts, and there were more immediate concerns with wounded soldiers that needed addressed. They would be going home in a few months and just deal with it.
After the Major returned home, the clinics were packed with the returning Brigade. One night I noticed that the lumps had turned to bruises and they were very painful. I took him to the emergency room. As an EMT of 10 years I knew the flack I was going to get for this. I knew it probably wasn't a true emergency, but I was scared, and so was my husband. After getting lectured by the PA about how they aren't a clinic and how we shouldn't worry about simple epidermal inclusion cysts, I felt helpless. My husband is young. No medical history, no meds, no drug, tobacco or alcohol use. Just being in the military for 11 years and being sent to many strange countries. Thankfully, she sent for a consult with dermatology. A few days later he had a CT scan of his belly, back and chest. They called him back for one on his head. After that we saw the dermatologist. I am convinced I met the two most kind, generous, intelligent and patient Army doctors there at Ft. Wainwright in those days. The dermatologist recommended he have some lumps removed and biopsied by the general surgeon who was going to do his hernia repair...oh I forgot to mention that he had a double hernia from the deployment. The general surgeon was the other wonderful doctor I was speaking of.
They took three lumps. A few days later, we were called to come in for the results. I can't explain the exact way my world turned upside down, inside out, and all together just crashed to the bottom of some dark abyss when the words "stage 4 melanoma" were uttered. I'm young, I haven't seen everything in the medical field, but I knew exactly what those words meant. It was all too fast. We were whisked to the dermatology suite, talking with the doctor and I broke down. I had to leave the room because the Major was still processing exactly what he was told. In a matter of hours the orders were being changed. We were no longer going to the most awesome assignment either of us could have hoped for. We were being told to "go home" "go be with family" "go somewhere you will have support". I sobbed uncontrollably for hours. No grace, no rationale, no reason...just complete and utter sorrow and panic. I just got him back. I JUST GOT HIM BACK!!! What do you mean he had an incurable cancer??? HOW??
Yes, I wanted to know how. We were flown out of Alaska, forced to leave all of our belongings, selling both vehicles, and leaving the house for rent, to fly for treatment to begin right away at Hershey Medical Center in Pennsylvania. After a few consults it was determined the Major has a rare type of melanoma, toenail based melanoma. Melanoma is one of the deadliest cancers. It isn't comparable to any other cancer. Toenail based melanoma is so rare, not many people know about it, not many doctors look for it. Even when you have a toe that bleeds with a tumor in the nail bed for over a year. Even when you get lumps in your lymph nodes. This is a point of bitterness for me, I place blame on a few choice people in the Army, as well as one civilian foot doctor.
Once established in PA, Chad started treatment. The first was a gama knife surgery to treat a lesion in his brain. The second was called Interleukin 2, or IL 2. This was the absolute worst thing I have ever watched a person go through. It was so absolutely horrible, I though it had to work. There was no way any human being could go through all of that and not have it work. 7 days of 3 rounds of treatment a day. Treatment that caused high fevers, low blood pressure, hard and vigorous rigors, vomiting, diarrhea, mood swings, confusion, weakness, and bloating. Both times he had it, he got through 12 out of the 14 treatments. This was very good. The PET scan that followed was not so good. It was time for the next type of treatment. This is when we decided to move to Maryland and start going to Johns Hopkins.
I had been getting very frustrated with the lack of urgency I felt at Hershey. Things were moving slowly. I needed someone to be serious about TRYING to save my husband's life.
In the months we were going through all of this, I had started working at my old EMS company again. It was the one thing that gave me a release. Something that took me out of the stress of what was becoming my normal life and let me focus on others. I met a few new friends, and reconnected with old ones. The major and the little one were watched over at home by family while I was away and I was making some extra money to help make up for what we lost in BAH moving from Alaska.
Soon after transferring to Johns Hopkins, hubby started having minor seizures. It was time to give up my regular hours at work. He was not supposed to drive or be left alone. Again, it became more real. I don't know how to explain that. It had just seemed like we could escape it for bits of time. Every time something gets worse, you feel yourself loosing your footing and things change all over. The steroids they use for the swelling in his brain make his personality different and he can't help it. The thing that kept me normal is gone and we have to adapt and overcome again.
There are things I think about daily. I find it hard to relate to people. I have a terrible time being happy for newly weds. I cry when I see elderly people holding hands. I break down when our 4 year old asks if Daddy is going to live with God. I don't look past the present day. I focus on the hour I am in, because the next hour could be better or worse. Sometimes much worse. I go through anger and bitterness, sadness and angst. I find minor complaints from others so irritating that I wish they could see this, just for a minute. Feel it just for a minute. I don't want to think 20 years down the road. I don't even want to look 5 years down the road.
I will say I appreciate the true friends. The family. And the permanent military family we have established over the years. You all have been so gracious and kind, supporting and loving. We appreciate all of the prayers, all of the help, everything. I do hope for a miracle. I hope the current treatment takes the lesions away. I hope the next cyber knife procedures get rid of the brain lesions. I hope they find a cure for melanoma. I hope he goes into remission. Every day this is what I hope for. I don't hope for a new car, more money, a night out, super deals on Black Friday. I hope for normalcy. I hope for another year with my husband. I hope for a few hours with the man I know and love, that the medication eases up for a while and lets me get a glimpse of that man. I hope my daughter remembers good days, and doesn't become afraid of her father. What I hope for anymore is so far off from what other people do. People say I'm irritable or I'm just not myself. That is correct. I am not myself. My heart is ripped to shreds and I do the best I can every day for my little family. There is no want for pity or attention. As much as I know people mean it when they say they are praying or they offer their help, I wish it didn't have to be that way. I have unfortunately realized I can't do this without help anymore. That isn't our family. We are a military family, self sufficient and tough. We made it through two Alaska winters, have moved 10 times, and been through countless situations. I do chest compression like a boss and can still hold someone's hand after they have puked all over me. I stay calm as someone is screaming in my face because of the horror they had just witnessed and still treat a patient after they have swung their fist at my face. This, this cancer, is something so awful, so new, so uncontrollable, I feel as though I am failing because I can't beat it for him. He can't shoot it with a gun or drop a bomb on it. He can and DOES fight. And there are days I have to remind him why he fights. I never had to remind him why he fought for America.
That's all I can do is believe in him, hope for tomorrow, and take care of my family. Nothing else is up to me.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
So you want to be a SAHM?
So I have been thinking about writing this year in review post. I honestly can't believe it's been a year. I think about all of the things I have accomplished and failed at. There is a whole list of both. In the grand scheme of things none of them really matter, not to anyone else any way. They're my triumphs and missteps, for me to learn from.
Sure I am proud that I was able to learn and grow and keep things running on my own while dealing with medical issues and a needy preschooler. There were days I was so ready to give up, but I just kept pushing on. One thing was constant, those bad days ended and I got to start over the next morning.
I saw this post yesterday about being a stay at home mom. I try not to let things bother me, especially people's opinions or observations because, well...they really don't matter to me. When I see someone talking about how easy it is to be a stay at home mom however...that makes me want to explode. I especially get angry when I see someone complaining about how hard they have it when they're doing a job I did for 3 years in highschool, and they have a husband at home. No, I may not be working right now, but I also don't have anyone to share any of the burden with. I think it would be a fun experiment for those complaining about how little their spouses do to be without them for a week. Just a week. No outside help of any kind. Then let's see if you still think they don't do anything. Let's add onto that, not being able to call your spouse when something unexpected goes wrong and you have to figure it out for yourself. Might change your perspective.
This got me thinking about my stay at home mom status and how much I really do wish to be working part time. Hey, if you think that makes me monster-mom, then that's your opinion and I know a place you can stick it. The truth is, kids and parents need time with people their own age. If you don't get it, you end up with a 3 year old who is telling you that she's in charge, and a mom who is saying things like "macky cheese" and "boo-boo" or "owie"....ugh.
Also, I am good at something. I have a skill and I don't want it to go to waste. I have a passion for something and I want my daughter to be proud of that. I want to raise a child who knows she can grow up and be anything she wants. If she wants to be a stay at home mom, well then that's ok too. There is nothing wrong with being a stay at home mom. I absolutely think if that's what you want to do, then that is wonderful. I have the utmost respect for people who can homeschool their kids and sew the patches on their husband's uniforms. I prefer the tailor and picking out a good school, but we're all different, aren't we? Just because my way is different than yours doesn't mean it's wrong, and vice versa.
One thing I have enjoyed is finding things on Pinterest to keep my boredom at bay. Trying at least one new recipe a week that the hubs might like has brought me some feeling of accomplishment. He jokes that the house is always spotless, so I can't use that for a "gold star" any more. Cooking and baking...now that's where it's at! I don't like to cook. I don't particularly enjoy baking. I am pretty good at both, but the effort and the mess, is it worth it? Yes, I am that woman who is so obsessed with clean, I hate seeing flour on my sparkling counters. I hate the way it floats through the air and lands on my shiny hard wood floor. I am trying to relax though, and of course always have the swiffer vac handy. Hey, I'm not super mom, and in my line of work, clean is necessary. You don't want to be loaded into an ambulance with someone else's blood splattered all over, do you? Didn't think so. Yes, flour is different than blood, but mess is mess. Ok, apples and oranges, don't judge!
Anyway. I have started compiling recipes. I have been hand writing them on pretty little recipe cards so hubs can look through them and pick out which ones he would like to try without scrolling through the few hundred ones I have pinned. I also have the world's pickiest eater in the form of a cute, button-nosed Tinkerbell-ish little girl. I have found a couple successful dishes that she will eat. This is a huge relief since I hate giving in to her chicken nugget or easy mac obsession. Before you ask, yes I have tried making home made versions of both, and no, she won't eat them. If someone could please tell me why the disgusting, processed versions taste so much better to unrefined little palettes, I would be grateful.
Last night I decided to try a new quinoa recipe. I love quinoa. I was hoping these cheesy little quinoa bites would be something Little Tink would eat. I was chopping and shredding the ingredients while cooking my quinoa, quite excited to taste this new creation. Everything was ready to mix together, all I needed were the eggs. I go to the refrigerator. Eggs. OH MYYYYY GOOOOOOOSHHHHH----- NOOOO! EGGGGGSSSS!!!! There was the egg carton. The day after Easter. Filled with pastel colored hard boiled eggs. *Slaps forehead* There is my bowl full of shredded carrots, cheese and other ingredients sitting beside my beautifully cooked quinoa. So I either scrap the whole project or run to the store for eggs. Or...yes, there has got to be something I can do with something I already have. So I reach for my most important kitchen tool. The iPhone. What would I do without it? I know, I know...there are people who live without them. I don't know how, but they do. Egg substitute....searching, searching. There it is! A teaspoon of flax meal with a quarter cup of water! I HAVE THAT! There are a few things I always have: flax meal, applesauce, greek yogurt, coconut milk...and yeah, before you get smart, eggs are usually among that list.
There I am, in my kitchen, feeling smug and proud that I was able to save my recipe without leaving the house. I finished mixing, put the stuff into the cute little muffin tins and popped them into the oven. I'm smiling at my oven like an idiot now. Suddenly I get this image in my head of the 18 year old version of me walking into my kitchen in her combat boots and BDU's, slapping the smile off my face saying "Wake up girl! Go get your hands into a bloody trauma because you, my friend are delusional!" I started laughing out loud. An accomplishment to that girl was getting a suicidal patient to go to the hospital with her instead of having the cops cuff them...or getting the cranky patient who hated everyone to laugh. Figuring out how to get a 90 year old patient who was wedged between the toilet and the bathtub out without compromising c-spine. And there I am standing in front of my quinoa muffin win. Oh the shame. Yeah, yeah, food and saving lives here we go with the apples and oranges again. My point is, I'm not anywhere near where I thought I would be. I never thought life would consist of being a single mom for a year at a time, cooking and baking my way through a deployment. I can't wait to get back on a rig and start using my brain again. I must say though...the cheesy quinoa bites- DELISH!!! Being a stay at home mom isn't the easiest job in the world. Being a working mom isn't either. I would never covet one for the other. You do what you have to do with your situation and take whatever you can to get some happiness in there somewhere.
Sure I am proud that I was able to learn and grow and keep things running on my own while dealing with medical issues and a needy preschooler. There were days I was so ready to give up, but I just kept pushing on. One thing was constant, those bad days ended and I got to start over the next morning.
I saw this post yesterday about being a stay at home mom. I try not to let things bother me, especially people's opinions or observations because, well...they really don't matter to me. When I see someone talking about how easy it is to be a stay at home mom however...that makes me want to explode. I especially get angry when I see someone complaining about how hard they have it when they're doing a job I did for 3 years in highschool, and they have a husband at home. No, I may not be working right now, but I also don't have anyone to share any of the burden with. I think it would be a fun experiment for those complaining about how little their spouses do to be without them for a week. Just a week. No outside help of any kind. Then let's see if you still think they don't do anything. Let's add onto that, not being able to call your spouse when something unexpected goes wrong and you have to figure it out for yourself. Might change your perspective.
This got me thinking about my stay at home mom status and how much I really do wish to be working part time. Hey, if you think that makes me monster-mom, then that's your opinion and I know a place you can stick it. The truth is, kids and parents need time with people their own age. If you don't get it, you end up with a 3 year old who is telling you that she's in charge, and a mom who is saying things like "macky cheese" and "boo-boo" or "owie"....ugh.
Also, I am good at something. I have a skill and I don't want it to go to waste. I have a passion for something and I want my daughter to be proud of that. I want to raise a child who knows she can grow up and be anything she wants. If she wants to be a stay at home mom, well then that's ok too. There is nothing wrong with being a stay at home mom. I absolutely think if that's what you want to do, then that is wonderful. I have the utmost respect for people who can homeschool their kids and sew the patches on their husband's uniforms. I prefer the tailor and picking out a good school, but we're all different, aren't we? Just because my way is different than yours doesn't mean it's wrong, and vice versa.
One thing I have enjoyed is finding things on Pinterest to keep my boredom at bay. Trying at least one new recipe a week that the hubs might like has brought me some feeling of accomplishment. He jokes that the house is always spotless, so I can't use that for a "gold star" any more. Cooking and baking...now that's where it's at! I don't like to cook. I don't particularly enjoy baking. I am pretty good at both, but the effort and the mess, is it worth it? Yes, I am that woman who is so obsessed with clean, I hate seeing flour on my sparkling counters. I hate the way it floats through the air and lands on my shiny hard wood floor. I am trying to relax though, and of course always have the swiffer vac handy. Hey, I'm not super mom, and in my line of work, clean is necessary. You don't want to be loaded into an ambulance with someone else's blood splattered all over, do you? Didn't think so. Yes, flour is different than blood, but mess is mess. Ok, apples and oranges, don't judge!
Anyway. I have started compiling recipes. I have been hand writing them on pretty little recipe cards so hubs can look through them and pick out which ones he would like to try without scrolling through the few hundred ones I have pinned. I also have the world's pickiest eater in the form of a cute, button-nosed Tinkerbell-ish little girl. I have found a couple successful dishes that she will eat. This is a huge relief since I hate giving in to her chicken nugget or easy mac obsession. Before you ask, yes I have tried making home made versions of both, and no, she won't eat them. If someone could please tell me why the disgusting, processed versions taste so much better to unrefined little palettes, I would be grateful.
Last night I decided to try a new quinoa recipe. I love quinoa. I was hoping these cheesy little quinoa bites would be something Little Tink would eat. I was chopping and shredding the ingredients while cooking my quinoa, quite excited to taste this new creation. Everything was ready to mix together, all I needed were the eggs. I go to the refrigerator. Eggs. OH MYYYYY GOOOOOOOSHHHHH----- NOOOO! EGGGGGSSSS!!!! There was the egg carton. The day after Easter. Filled with pastel colored hard boiled eggs. *Slaps forehead* There is my bowl full of shredded carrots, cheese and other ingredients sitting beside my beautifully cooked quinoa. So I either scrap the whole project or run to the store for eggs. Or...yes, there has got to be something I can do with something I already have. So I reach for my most important kitchen tool. The iPhone. What would I do without it? I know, I know...there are people who live without them. I don't know how, but they do. Egg substitute....searching, searching. There it is! A teaspoon of flax meal with a quarter cup of water! I HAVE THAT! There are a few things I always have: flax meal, applesauce, greek yogurt, coconut milk...and yeah, before you get smart, eggs are usually among that list.
There I am, in my kitchen, feeling smug and proud that I was able to save my recipe without leaving the house. I finished mixing, put the stuff into the cute little muffin tins and popped them into the oven. I'm smiling at my oven like an idiot now. Suddenly I get this image in my head of the 18 year old version of me walking into my kitchen in her combat boots and BDU's, slapping the smile off my face saying "Wake up girl! Go get your hands into a bloody trauma because you, my friend are delusional!" I started laughing out loud. An accomplishment to that girl was getting a suicidal patient to go to the hospital with her instead of having the cops cuff them...or getting the cranky patient who hated everyone to laugh. Figuring out how to get a 90 year old patient who was wedged between the toilet and the bathtub out without compromising c-spine. And there I am standing in front of my quinoa muffin win. Oh the shame. Yeah, yeah, food and saving lives here we go with the apples and oranges again. My point is, I'm not anywhere near where I thought I would be. I never thought life would consist of being a single mom for a year at a time, cooking and baking my way through a deployment. I can't wait to get back on a rig and start using my brain again. I must say though...the cheesy quinoa bites- DELISH!!! Being a stay at home mom isn't the easiest job in the world. Being a working mom isn't either. I would never covet one for the other. You do what you have to do with your situation and take whatever you can to get some happiness in there somewhere.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The cardiac chronicles...and an upbeat tune
"Go ahead, push yourself." Those are basically the words I got as I was leaving the electrophysiologist's office last week. At age 26 this was the 8th one I have been to. 2 of the 8 have actually operated on my heart. Some don't consider cardiac ablations operations, but let me tell you, when it's your heart they're sticking probes and catheters and lasers into while you're out, you consider it a pretty significant thing. Especially when they tell you there is a 70% risk you could come out of it with a pacemaker.
I guess we should start with a little back story. At age 18, I had been an EMT for 2 years. I grew up with a respiratory therapist for a mom. A mom that had been through a cardiac ablation for SVT (supraventricular tachycardia). One night I was lying in bed feeling sluggish and like my heart was skipping beats. After checking my pulse and finding that it was indeed irregular, I freaked out. The next day at work I was feeling the same way and the medic I was working with hooked me up to our LifePak 12 and found sinus tachycardia with multiple PVC's, or premature ventricular contractions, which were those skipped beats I was feeling. So off to the cardiologist I went with my handy EKG strip in hand. It took 3 years, multiple holter monitors and one very effective event monitor to find the exact problem. I had tried 2 different medications that only made me extremely tired and didn't correct the problem in those 3 years as well. I was thankful to be referred to an electrophysiologist who had also taken care of the Vice President of the United States and who didn't hesitate to say "Let's stop messing around with medication and get this fixed". A very scary experience at the age of 21, but I felt so much better afterward and was able to lose 30 pounds by getting back to the gym and running with my husband. I was eating better and swore off any form of energy drink and limited my coffee intake, as well as watching my salt intake. I was given the go ahead to have a baby, but cautioned that I would need to have special care during pregnancy to make sure nothing went wrong. Some doctors have told me one arrhythmia has nothing to do with the other, some have said that my heart is more susceptible to arrhythmias because I have had them in the past. I tend to err on the side of caution. After Little Tink was born, I was focused on staying healthy and losing that baby weight. I got down to my pre baby shape and was loving walking every day with the little one and going to the gym a few times a week. Then the problems started all over. I noticed my workouts getting more and more difficult. I was getting winded at things I had been doing with such ease before. I had a newborn, but knew the tiredness I was feeling was just like what I had felt before. It was back. There I was again, checking my pulse every 10 minutes to see just how fast it was beating. The fear was overpowering and I stopped going to the gym. I still walked every day, but increasing dizziness and one very scary ER trip landed me right back in another Dr.'s office. This one was not so great. He found the problem, but since it was in the sinus node of my heart (the natural pacemaker of your heart, if you will) he didn't want to operate. So what was I supposed to do? Take a medication that would make me spacey and tired, unable to keep up with a very active 18 month old? Not being able to do the things I loved like working out and being active? Unacceptable. SVT and atrial tachycardia may not be life threatening in the sense that you are going to drop over dead from them, but they can turn into more. They also wear down your heart over time. I wasn't going to settle for his answer. With an upcoming move, I decided to go back to PA and go one of the best hospitals I knew. A family friend had given me a recommendation for his electrophysiologist. I was evaluated and scheduled for surgery. This was the one where I was told there was a 70% risk of coming out with a pacemaker. That was something that almost made me not go through with it. Yes, it's a stupid thing to be afraid of a pacemaker, I would tell any patient that they are more helpful than harmful and they let you enjoy a normal life. But I'm the worst patient ever and I rarely let what I know of medicine calm me down, because hey, it's my body. I ended up having the ablation, and the first words out of the doctor's mouth were "We got it, and no pacemaker for you!". I was so relieved. And then the regret came in the next few days. My heart was fixed, but I was still having abnormal beats while my heart healed. They were different now. Harder, stronger and more like a horrible hiccup in my heart. I was bradycardic and so run down. A friend of mine hooked me up to a monitor when my heart rate dipped into the 40's and it showed a bundle branch block. I was sent to the ER where the nurses thought I was having a heart attack. I was struggling with chest pain and dizziness while they tried to figure out what was going on with this 24 year old girl. Thankfully, my doctor came to the rescue and said "No, she's not having a heart attack, that's the way her heart beats now that we modified her sinus node". By that time the ativan had kicked in and I was as high as a kite, laughing at the fact they got it wrong. Not nice, I know. After that, I felt pretty good and my heart got back to normal after about 3 months.
I know the importance of keeping your heart strong and healthy. I work very hard at this because even though I can't do much about an electrical problem in my heart, I can keep it as healthy as possible so it is better off if another problem arises. In this kind of life, the military one, I don't have much control over my stress level. Sure, I can choose how I handle it, but cutting down stress? Not sure how to do that. Last summer I bought an elliptical, knowing I didn't want to go through a deployment in Alaska, sitting on my butt in the house all winter. In the summer I was able to jog and bike with Little Tink, but in the winter...forget it. Winter sports aren't my thing. Cold isn't my thing. This lovely machine took a beating, let me tell you. The place I was in emotionally when I bought it was bad. I would have days when I was listening to angry girl music yelling out the lyrics like I was yelling them to a real person while I jogged my way through an iFit workout. Other days I would let the depressing songs play on Pandora and bawl while Jillian Michaels would tell me to "Keep going".
A few months ago I started having trouble getting through the workouts as they got tougher. So I went back to easier ones. Even those were getting hard. I was having irregular heartbeats again. This time there was no tachycardia. I kept a log of my heart rate at rest and while working out. It was wonderful. I am even at the point now where I have a slow resting heart rate, which my doctors are happy about. My heart is strong, but there was still something wrong. Yes, I am more aware of what a PVC or PAC feels like. I know when I feel bigeminy or trigeminy. I also know that I shouldn't feel dizzy or out of breath doing workouts that I have been doing for months. I shouldn't have to stop and try to catch my breath when I stand up from the couch because my heart is flopping like a goldfish out of water. Here comes Dr. number 8.
I had seen a doctor in the town where we live who did tests and concluded that my heart was healthy and I was just more sensitive to the minor things that were going on. These records and tests were sent to the new doctor out of town. There were different options that were given. We can do a year long, implanted event monitor. The placement would be much like a pacemaker, under the skin and would record my heart for a year. We could go for another ablation, probably not find the exact problem and it would be a waste. Medication isn't an option because of my previous surgeries. They would now be more dangerous than beneficial. Yes, they could see there was another arrhythmia, but it was benign. I could live with it. Yes, it was disruptive to my lifestyle, but I could choose to push through it. I could choose to ignore what was scaring me so much and go on. With those words and that ok given by someone who knew much better than I did, I made up my mind. I would take his advice and "go for it"...until I fell over or went into a dangerous rhythm, I would be ok. I can't sit around worrying about that though. The worst thing would be to stop the things that are good for me, like running and doing my leg workouts. So knowing now that I need to keep my potassium and magnesium at a high normal level, I push forward.
The past few days I have been doing workouts that literally make sweat drip off my body. It feels great. I have rid my iPod of any negative songs and replaced them with upbeat, happy tunes that make me smile and run harder and faster. Today I had a little help from Andy Grammer...
"Only rainbows after rain
the sun will always come again
and it's a circle, circling around again
it comes around again
But you gotta keep your head up, oh
and you can let your hair down, eh
I know it's hard
I know it's hard to remember sometimes
But you gotta keep your head up, oh
And you can let your hair down, eh!"
Yeah, I had that one on repeat. Working out is a lot more enjoyable when you're not using anger to fuel your momentum. So I'm all stocked up on dried mango, bananas and keeping my diet heart healthy with plenty of oatmeal and whole grains. Don't get me wrong, there are going to be days when this girl needs to grab a beer and a steak and I'm going to ignore my hands when they swell from the salt. I do believe my recent attitude adjustment and change in my outlook on life has helped a lot too. You can listen to songs that tell people "Forget you" to focus on the anger you feel, or you can fill your mind with happy thoughts and lyrics that make you feel like dancing around the house like a fool...so now, back to my silly little song...."This is just a journey, drop your worries...you are gonna turn out fine, ooooohh you turn out fine..."
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Things you may be taking for granted
I don't intend for this post to be condescending or mean. I don't believe everyone takes things for granted. I know I certainly did. It took a year of being by myself with a toddler, trying to maintain a house, a yard, 2 vehicles, a dog and myself to realize that maybe, just maybe he did more than I thought. Because right now what I'm thinking about isn't that his clothes are going to be all over the floor again, that his PT gear will be sitting in his gym bag, stinking up my entry-way until I wash them, that there will be muddy boot prints unless I ask him to leave them at the door, or that I will have to clean up after a guy in the bathroom again...you know, all the stuff a wife would nag about.
What I am thinking about is that I will no longer have to be the only person putting our daughter to bed. I will have someone else to talk to at the end of the day, besides a cute chocolate lab. I'm thinking about waking up to he and Little Tink playing quietly in the living room on the weekend so I can get an extra hour of sleep. Having him walk back in the door after he's already left for work because he stopped to buy me a Vanilla chai. Having him come home for lunch to spend time with us even if it means he has to eat on the drive back. Having him drive me home after I have a procedure done, instead of waiting an hour after so I can drive myself home. Cuddling up to him with a good book while he plays the "idot box" as my sister in law so affectionately and accurately named it...that's the PS3 if you couldn't figure it out. Not being the only person that has to drive. That is a huge one. When he was home on R&R, I would just automatically go for the driver's seat...but he sweetly said "I'll drive if you want". Not having to be the only person with responsibility just seems like such a relief. Sure, I'll still mow the yard because he blows up with hives at the very sight of trimmed grass, but he will take the vehicles to get serviced so I don't have to sit with a squirmy toddler and wait for them. I'll have dinner on the table when he's home from work and do the dishes so he can spend time with his daughter, but he'll cook for me all weekend long and maybe surprise me with a night out during the week. I'll gag at opening that gym bag, but he'll hold my hand while they take a pint of blood with a needle the size of a straw.
I may nag and complain about cleaning up after him. I may accuse him of being a 3rd child (I consider the dog one), and say things like "I'm NOT your mother" when he asks me why he doesn't have any clean socks. I may lament the fact that I am not doing what I am passionate about right now, and curse every dirty dish that is put into an empty sink, but I realize now what I want more than anything is just to have him here. I don't care about the laundry or the dishes or the dust on the tv. I care about having my best friend beside me when I start my day and when it ends. I long for conversations that aren't ended by a bad internet connection or a blast from a mortar. I just want the simple things back. After seeing what I can do on my own, I know I'm capable of many things and taking care of myself and my child, but that's not the way I want it. Life is a lot more fun when you have someone to share it with.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Good intentions and high expectations
I have taken a very long hiatus in blogging. I had this grand plan of blogging my way through adventures in Alaska and a year long deployment. I remember the last serious blog I wrote was filled with excitement at the possibilities that awaited us in the Last Frontier. I had good intentions when it came to what I would be doing as an Army wife, as a mom, as an EMT. I had drive and motivation and only high hopes for the next few years. I look back and think how I let myself fall into a naive state of mind that left me wide open for disappointment. This is what happens when you start forgetting who you are, and when you expect too much.
These past two years have been quite the journey; albeit not at all the journey I envisioned when the plane landed in the Golden Heart City. The first thing I did wrong was to make plans before I had anything to go on. On post housing- impossible to get into. A year long wait with an 18 month old and a large dog just wasn't going to do. After spending a month in temporary lodging, with no real renting possibilities, we decided to get serious about buying a house. If you understand Basic Allowance for Housing, you will understand that people who rent out their houses know exactly how much to ask for because it is usually the exact price of the BAH of the clientele they are looking to attract. Paying your own mortgage is cheaper and is better for your credit anyway.
When we walked into this house, my jaw dropped. I literally had tears in my eyes and couldn't speak. It was the kind of moment like the one when you try on your wedding gown and you just know it's the one. This house was THE ONE. My dream Alaskan house. A gorgeous, log home with a huge yard in a small town in a quiet neighborhood. My spirits were lifted after being bummed about not being able to live on post. I could DEFINITELY survive here.
The moving trucks came and the control freak came out. After 8 moves I had a system and I had it down to a science. Kitchen first, baby's room next, living room, dining room and on and on...in a matter of days I was ready to repaint the horrendous bathroom that was a bandaid brown color. And so, Alaskan life began.
It is true what they say about the first winter being the worst. There were people who had lived here many years telling me that once you had survived that first winter, you were an honorary Alaskan. I remember thinking, yeah right. I'll never get used to living here. It was cold and dark and I mostly just remember thinking how much I hated it. My grandfather had passed away and I was lamenting being here. After spending a month back east at home with my family and friends I swore I wasn't coming back. With an upcoming deployment I knew I would be safe in Pennsylvania. I would be able to work and have support and be somewhat comfortable in my old world. Then I thought of all the things I would miss if I chose to do that. I had gone home for the first deployment, I knew what that was like. I had said "see you soon" to DH when I was in my second trimester and didn't see him again until Little Tink was two months old. What would I be teaching my daughter if I couldn't buck up and get through our second deployment in the place her father was stationed?
So we returned to the subarctic and endured our first winter with lots of illness and a concussion for me...note to anyone living in or visiting Alaska in the winter: It is NOT important to look cute when there is ice on the ground. Uggs keep your feet warm, but YakTrax or ugly boots with good grips on the bottom will keep you from cracking your head like an egg. Things were not going well and with every bought of strep throat, pneumonia and eventually the return of my heart issues, I was getting more and more tired of living somewhere I had to try so hard and be cooped up so long. There just isn't much to do with a toddler when you have air quality advisories and dangerous temperatures. I admit, I didn't try very hard. I had stopped trying with friends and I had all but given up on making this the best experience of a lifetime. After finding out the only way I could be a practicing EMT here was to volunteer and not make money to pay for the daycare I would need for Little Tink and attend at least two evening training sessions a month, I was frustrated. I couldn't possibly do that because I refuse to pay someone else to put my child to bed. Add another slam to myexpectations. Every corner I turned I felt myself being brought down lower and lower by limits and things turning out completely opposite of how I intended them to. Instead of getting out of my own head and making things happen, I accepted defeat and sunk down lower. Not a good place to be in when you're facing a deployment, eh? I agree.
For some reason I let self pity and my disdain for the Army after living with Air Force life for so long (DH is prior Air Force) dictate my attitude, my thought process and my decision making. I didn't care that I had pushed almost all of my new friends away, I didn't want to be a part of a life that I thought was bringing me down. Instead of taking responsibility I thought, "It must be the Army's fault. They have no regard for families, no concern for the well being of their soldiers, and absolutely no class." Bitter and cynical much?
When you let yourself stop caring, when you forget who you truly are, when you let bad overshadow the good, you are only asking for trouble. Looking back there are so many things I would've, should've, could've done differently that would have changed the direction of the fate of our Alaskan tour. I can now stand up and accept responsibility without living in a state of self pity, but I can't help thinking how wonderful it actually could have been.
Lessons learned: Not everyone has good intentions. No one should ever just be given your trust because they are supposed to be trusted. When you are at your lowest point there are always people who will look to take advantage of that, get a good poker face. Give people just enough that they are able to know you, but are unable to break you to the point of not being able to recognize yourself. Always take responsibility for yourself. That is one of the most important things I have put into practice in the past 8 months, and oddly enough it came from a parenting seminar. I can't control what anyone else does, how they feel or think. I can only control my actions, my thoughts, and how I react to my feelings. Choosing to rise above how absolutely low I thought someone else MADE me feel was one of the best things I have done in a long time.
Here's where we let go of self pity, kids...Are you ready? Stand in front of the mirror, look yourself directly in the eye and say, "You know what? I screwed up. I am a human being and I acted like one. I'm allowed to make a few mistakes and I'm allowed to not be perfect. I got hurt, move on and choose to learn from it instead of crying over it." There, isn't that better than hating yourself for being completely normal?
If it weren't for the horrible things, I would not know exactly what truly wonderful people I have in my life. Once you share what seems so unspeakable to those few people closest to you, and they surprise you by saying "It's ok, we love you and are still here for you', you know exactly who will be in your life forever. That is something I would never wish away. Finding out who will stand by without judgment, with only love and forgiveness in their hearts is one of the most valuable things to come out of something you find so horrific and life altering.
So now that I am finally letting people see the light in my eyes again, I am able to move on. Onward and upward...I heard that somewhere, probably from the ever so witty DH. I realize with all of my explanation of how I ruined what should have been a wonderful, once in a lifetime experience, I seem like a downer, but stick with me, I promise to only get better. The coldest place I have ever been can hang on to the coldest person I have ever known. I'll remember the midnight sun and take all that is beautiful and wonderful about Alaska with me.
As far as good intentions and high expectations, I plan to stay realistic. Things are going to work out the way they are going to work out. I can go into everything with a positive attitude and have good intentions, but I am only in control of me. No expectations except that I will do better, be better and get better as time goes on. So here's to making the last few months in a gorgeous place the best ones yet.
These past two years have been quite the journey; albeit not at all the journey I envisioned when the plane landed in the Golden Heart City. The first thing I did wrong was to make plans before I had anything to go on. On post housing- impossible to get into. A year long wait with an 18 month old and a large dog just wasn't going to do. After spending a month in temporary lodging, with no real renting possibilities, we decided to get serious about buying a house. If you understand Basic Allowance for Housing, you will understand that people who rent out their houses know exactly how much to ask for because it is usually the exact price of the BAH of the clientele they are looking to attract. Paying your own mortgage is cheaper and is better for your credit anyway.
When we walked into this house, my jaw dropped. I literally had tears in my eyes and couldn't speak. It was the kind of moment like the one when you try on your wedding gown and you just know it's the one. This house was THE ONE. My dream Alaskan house. A gorgeous, log home with a huge yard in a small town in a quiet neighborhood. My spirits were lifted after being bummed about not being able to live on post. I could DEFINITELY survive here.
The moving trucks came and the control freak came out. After 8 moves I had a system and I had it down to a science. Kitchen first, baby's room next, living room, dining room and on and on...in a matter of days I was ready to repaint the horrendous bathroom that was a bandaid brown color. And so, Alaskan life began.
It is true what they say about the first winter being the worst. There were people who had lived here many years telling me that once you had survived that first winter, you were an honorary Alaskan. I remember thinking, yeah right. I'll never get used to living here. It was cold and dark and I mostly just remember thinking how much I hated it. My grandfather had passed away and I was lamenting being here. After spending a month back east at home with my family and friends I swore I wasn't coming back. With an upcoming deployment I knew I would be safe in Pennsylvania. I would be able to work and have support and be somewhat comfortable in my old world. Then I thought of all the things I would miss if I chose to do that. I had gone home for the first deployment, I knew what that was like. I had said "see you soon" to DH when I was in my second trimester and didn't see him again until Little Tink was two months old. What would I be teaching my daughter if I couldn't buck up and get through our second deployment in the place her father was stationed?
So we returned to the subarctic and endured our first winter with lots of illness and a concussion for me...note to anyone living in or visiting Alaska in the winter: It is NOT important to look cute when there is ice on the ground. Uggs keep your feet warm, but YakTrax or ugly boots with good grips on the bottom will keep you from cracking your head like an egg. Things were not going well and with every bought of strep throat, pneumonia and eventually the return of my heart issues, I was getting more and more tired of living somewhere I had to try so hard and be cooped up so long. There just isn't much to do with a toddler when you have air quality advisories and dangerous temperatures. I admit, I didn't try very hard. I had stopped trying with friends and I had all but given up on making this the best experience of a lifetime. After finding out the only way I could be a practicing EMT here was to volunteer and not make money to pay for the daycare I would need for Little Tink and attend at least two evening training sessions a month, I was frustrated. I couldn't possibly do that because I refuse to pay someone else to put my child to bed. Add another slam to my
For some reason I let self pity and my disdain for the Army after living with Air Force life for so long (DH is prior Air Force) dictate my attitude, my thought process and my decision making. I didn't care that I had pushed almost all of my new friends away, I didn't want to be a part of a life that I thought was bringing me down. Instead of taking responsibility I thought, "It must be the Army's fault. They have no regard for families, no concern for the well being of their soldiers, and absolutely no class." Bitter and cynical much?
When you let yourself stop caring, when you forget who you truly are, when you let bad overshadow the good, you are only asking for trouble. Looking back there are so many things I would've, should've, could've done differently that would have changed the direction of the fate of our Alaskan tour. I can now stand up and accept responsibility without living in a state of self pity, but I can't help thinking how wonderful it actually could have been.
Lessons learned: Not everyone has good intentions. No one should ever just be given your trust because they are supposed to be trusted. When you are at your lowest point there are always people who will look to take advantage of that, get a good poker face. Give people just enough that they are able to know you, but are unable to break you to the point of not being able to recognize yourself. Always take responsibility for yourself. That is one of the most important things I have put into practice in the past 8 months, and oddly enough it came from a parenting seminar. I can't control what anyone else does, how they feel or think. I can only control my actions, my thoughts, and how I react to my feelings. Choosing to rise above how absolutely low I thought someone else MADE me feel was one of the best things I have done in a long time.
Here's where we let go of self pity, kids...Are you ready? Stand in front of the mirror, look yourself directly in the eye and say, "You know what? I screwed up. I am a human being and I acted like one. I'm allowed to make a few mistakes and I'm allowed to not be perfect. I got hurt, move on and choose to learn from it instead of crying over it." There, isn't that better than hating yourself for being completely normal?
If it weren't for the horrible things, I would not know exactly what truly wonderful people I have in my life. Once you share what seems so unspeakable to those few people closest to you, and they surprise you by saying "It's ok, we love you and are still here for you', you know exactly who will be in your life forever. That is something I would never wish away. Finding out who will stand by without judgment, with only love and forgiveness in their hearts is one of the most valuable things to come out of something you find so horrific and life altering.
So now that I am finally letting people see the light in my eyes again, I am able to move on. Onward and upward...I heard that somewhere, probably from the ever so witty DH. I realize with all of my explanation of how I ruined what should have been a wonderful, once in a lifetime experience, I seem like a downer, but stick with me, I promise to only get better. The coldest place I have ever been can hang on to the coldest person I have ever known. I'll remember the midnight sun and take all that is beautiful and wonderful about Alaska with me.
As far as good intentions and high expectations, I plan to stay realistic. Things are going to work out the way they are going to work out. I can go into everything with a positive attitude and have good intentions, but I am only in control of me. No expectations except that I will do better, be better and get better as time goes on. So here's to making the last few months in a gorgeous place the best ones yet.
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