Thank You Is Not Enough

Today is Memorial Day.
I guess the impending retirement for my husband is making me sentimental of all things military, or maybe I get this way every Memorial Day and don't realize it, but I am very grateful today.  I spent the day, just the girls and I as My Husband is currently out of town trying to find a new job, thinking over and over about all the people I know who have served.

I thought about my grandfather who served in World War II.  He fought under General Patton, and when his unit was over run by German forces, he was forced to play dead.  As if that wasn't enough, he had to be totally still and silent as someone ran a bayonet through him to be sure he was really gone.  He survived, though and came home with a Purple Heart for his trouble.

I thought about my own father, who served in Vietnam.  I called to ask him again what medals he received for his service, so that I could tell our girls about him.  I ask him to tell the the story one more time of how he received is own Purple Heart, the one he won't wear, though I know it well.  He was out on patrol, and a motor came in screaming in.  He started running for camp as fast as he possibly could.  It wasn't fast enough.  The munition exploded behind him and sent him flying.  He wound up with shrapnel in his legs and was awarded a Purple Heart.  He believes, though, that he isn't deserving.  It isn't that he wasn't injured, but he did nothing heroic, and he doesn't feel this his injury deserves the same award as the men and women who have lost arms, and legs.  He feels what he went through is nothing in comparison, and shouldn't be treated the same.  I respect that, though I respect the Purple Heart he was awarded as well.  He still has some of that shrapnel in his legs, and from time to time some works it way out.

I thought about my husband, who is trying his best to find a new position in this world.  I thought about how thankful I am he didn't take after my family, and end up with a Purple Heart of his own.  He has served so faithfully for the last 20 years, and I am so proud of all he has given in support of this nation.

I thought about a friend who lost her husband a few years ago, and how her life has changed.  I remembered him.  I remembered the phone call telling me that the crash we were all waiting to hear about was him.  His flight.  His helicopter.  Spending part of that night at her house, just standing there, all of us that could get there.  Not knowing what to do.  I remember mobilizing our moms group, and taking so much food every day she had to tell me to stop.  When I think of it all, my heart still breaks for her, and their children.

Other faces flash before my eyes.  People I knew of.  People My Husband knew.  People that left so much pain behind.

They gave all.

Great-full is not even enough of a word.  I doubt very seriously that there truly are words that would ever show the depth of my appreciation.  I try my best to use all the words I can to explain to my own children what today is about, not food, or beach trips.  Not grilling, or anything like that.  Today is about memories.  Today is about gratitude.  Today, is about thanks.  For without those brave men and women, we would not be the nation we are, imperfect though we may be, we are still great.  Without them, we wouldn't be at all.
So, thank you, to everyone who has ever donned the uniform and to those who were left behind when the ultimate price was paid for that freedom.  Thank you.  For all that we are, thank you.

Hurry Up and Wait

Being a military spouse, I would say that I have spent a great deal of time playing the waiting game.  In between trying to get orders, deployments, moving, and everything else we do, it seems like waiting is what we do most.  I really thought that when we started to transition over to civilian life, that would change, but in fact, it seems to be at its worst.
My husband has decided to go into law enforcement.  He wants to be a police officer.  I totally support him in this.  I think this is a great career move for him.  He is totally dedicated to the idea, and having spent the last decade as a military family, I think the lifestyle will be more like what we already know.
Since he was deployed until close to the end of February, we have been working on getting him a job since he came home.  The problem is, everything from here on out is a waiting game.  There are a lot of steps that you much go through to get a law enforcement job, much more than a normal job.  We do one little piece, then wait.  Something else, then wait.  You get it. First, we built his resume.  Then we needed references.  Pretty much all the people he works with were on leave.  So, we waited until everyone came back to work to ask to use them as references, or at least until we could actually get in touch with them since so many were traveling.  We submitted his application, and then found out we needed his diploma and things like that.  We waited for it to come in the mail.  We sent that off, and waited for an email confirmation from each city.  After that, we did some secondary tests.  Some cities we are still waiting for that step on, more than a month later.  We are finally onto the written in house tests for a few places that he must go to each location for, and in one city past that, but the wait after those is excruciating.  It takes weeks to get your test results back, and find out if you passed with a high enough score to move on.  Each an every step has a wait in between and the waits can be a week, a month, or more.

We have very little time left.  He has just under one month before we go on what is called terminal leave.  That basically means he saved up a lot of vacation days and gets to use them all at the end of his final enlistment to give us time to move and get settled in.  Of course, when you don't know where you are going, that time doesn't do you much good.  We have only three and a half months total before he is totally out of the military.  That's it.   All done.  Three and a half months is nothing when it takes up to a year to get a law enforcement job.  WE would have started earlier, but its nearly impossible when deployed.
Then, on top of all that, we have one of the largest bureaucratic oversights ever made to deal with.  When you want to apply for any job, and that job gives veterans preference, the job requires a copy of your DD214, the form military members are given when they get out.  Problem is, you don't get it until you get out.  That actually changed recently, and you can get the form, for the purposes of getting  job, a little bit before you get out.  My Husband will get his in May.  Again, we need it before May.  Each time he applies somewhere, we have to explain he is military, but active duty.  So, he doesn't have the form.  Then, he may or may not be eligible to claim veterans preference, based on the sole discretion and understanding of whomever answers that phone.  Some places have accepted a letter from the command stating that he will retire with an honorable discharge.  Some have not.  So, we wait.  Longer and longer, making it harder an harder to find a job, let alone the right job.
This all blows my mind.  You would think that being in the military, already having his government clearance, and being exactly the kind of person that any law enforcement agency would want with all the training he already has, that this would go fast, but that simply isn't true.  So, I sit here this morning, waiting, to see what we can do next.  I'm tired of waiting.  I'm over it.   I want to be able to tell my children where we are going to live in a couple of month.  I want to start looking for a house, and not just dreaming about a house.  I want to move on with my life.  Hopefully soon, because seriously, I can't wait.

The End Of The World

So, I posted a while back about it being the end of the world, as I know it.
I know that seems like a dramatic statement to make, but the truth is that our world is about to change dramatically.

Next year, My Husband will be retiring from the military.  And our world will never be the same.
I'm sad for him in some ways.  I know he wanted to stay in.  I know there are still things he would like to do, and he loves his job.  You can't ask for more than that with any career.
However, as much as I am sad for him, in some ways, I am very, very happy.

The last eleven plus years of my life have revolved around his career.  Every decision made has been affected by what he does.  Even my wedding date was changed, and our honeymoon scrapped when a catastrophe struck, and his school schedule suddenly changed.  He left me 3 months pregnant with The Big One to deploy to the middle east in support of the operation in Iraq.  He came home just before she was born, but we didn't get to live together again because of schools and things until she was 15 months old.
We have moved more times than I have fingers to count on.
My body has been corrupted by the military medical system, and I will live with that for the rest of my life.
I could go on, but suffice to say, everything in our lives has been controlled in one way or another by his occupation.
No more.
There will be no more deployments after this one.  I thank God for that.  I don't know if I could do this again.
I'm not just glad to be done with all that for me.  I'm very thankful that my children will have their father back.  No words can express how happy I am about that.
They have missed him.   We have missed him.
I don't know what he will be doing yet, or where we will be going.
Our future, for the first time, is wide open.
He can choose a new career that he hopefully will love as well.
We can live anywhere we want.
Most importantly, we can be together.
I know the next year or so will be tumultuous.  I know it will be scary and exciting.  I know it will also go by  very fast, but I look forward to it, and all the changes it will bring for us.
Wish us luck in our new lives, trying to learn to be a civilian family like the rest of the world finally.

Glitter is the Devil

I have three girls.  I know this.  I should be ok with all the gurly things that come with that must estrogen.  We have naked Barbies littering rooms, and I can deal with this.  We have Little Pet Shop bins overflowing with tiny little funky eyed animals, and I think it is fine.  And while I absolutely love fun craft projects that my girls adore doing, I have to say that I have reached my limit when it comes to one thing: Glitter.
Glitter is the devil.
I have started to hate all things sparkly, and believe me, we have a ton of it.
For her birthday, someone gave The Big One a jewelry box.  This is no ordinary jewelry box, though.  It is a Velvet color yourself one, like those posters we all used to have at just her age.  The cheap black velvet with the crazy drawing taken out, so that you can color it to your hearts content.  Her box even takes it a step further with glitter glue and wait for it...sequins.  Yes.  Sequins, velvet, and glitter, oh my.  Its the ultimate little girls fancy material project.  And I abhor it.  It isn't so much that I hate all the glittery goodness of the box itself, it really comes down to one thing: will the glittery things end up all over my house.  The answer is yes and therein lies the loathing.  I may not hate it as much if we didn't have The Littlest One.  She is here, though, and I have to be protective of her in her tiny, I will put anything in my mouth, state.  Her big sister loves her, sometimes a little too much.  So, The Big One play with the box, washes her hands as is the rule, and then plays with The Littlest One.  No matter how much washing she does before hand, there always ends up random glitter on the baby.  Usually in the froward, hair zone.  That alone is enough to hate the stuff, before I even think about the fact that I am always cleaning it off the floor, the counter tops, and my poor dining table.  I even made the rule that it all has to stay in her room now, but it doesn't seem to prevent the sparkles from ending up all over the house.

To add to the glitz that bejewels my carpets, both of The Bigger Girls have clothes with glitter on them.  That would again be all fine and dandy, if the glitter actually stayed on them.  My dryer lint could often be used to make an barely there top for a Vegas show girl.  I will admit that I could control some of that by simply not purchasing the clothes with the glitter, but being a girl myself, it is really hard to pass up a little girl's t-shirt with  a skull and cross bones made of glitter, especially if the bow on the top is of hot pink glitter.  I can only have so much self control when it comes to clothes like that.

So, here we all live, in a sparkled out house that seems to be as girls as possible.  I supposed I shouldn't complain too much, though, as least as I stated before, I am a girl.  I imagine it is much worse for My Husband, who has to live in the land of all things girly.  I know he goes to work with glitter on him sometimes, because I often find it when he returns.  My hope is that somehow, some of that glitter ends up on the inside of his helicopters, because heaven knows, they could use a little glitz and glam.

A Funny Little Note, She Called It

Yesterday, I had a one week appointment at my OB's office to have the staples removed.  That isn't really fun, and they put a ton in there, more than 20, but in all honesty, when you been through all I have been through, its kind of a cake walk.
So, My Husband, The Littlest One, and I all loaded up for my appointment, as I am still being chauffeured, and she needs to be close to the milk source at all times.
The appointment started out pretty normally, but it quickly took a turn for the bizarre.  As my Nurse Practitiorer took out her folder with all my notes, she said she had "a funny side note" for us.  I would venture that it is probably just me, and my medical luck, that has things like this said to them, because "funny side notes" about your medical history probably really aren't funny.
She said that when the Drs, either the surgeon or my OB, who were working together, opened me up, one of them noticed a piece of foreign tissue.

I'll stop there and let you process that for a moment.

Not knowing what it was, and only that it didn't belong, they sent it off to pathology to be processed.
That didn't sound good and made me a little anxious.  I was ready to get to the funny.
Then, when she told me what it was, I wasn't ready for funny after all.
When the results came back, they found normal tissue, and in that was either mesh or gauze.
No.  Seriously.
Somebody left something in me.
Now, if you have ever heard my entire birth story from The Big Little One (aka The Middle One), you know I had one of the worst birth experience ever.  It was horrible.  Had I been at a civilian hospital, my actions afterward would have likely involved consulting an attorney.
As a direct result of decisions made there, I have had to have all of these extra surgeries, and will always have something extra in me keeping my body together.
Now, somewhere, someone left something in me.  My last surgery to attempt a repair was about 3 years ago.  That means that piece of what ever it was had been floating around for that long.
Awesome.  Just awesome.
Not so sure if that falls in to the "Funny Side Note" category to me or not, but it definitely is great fit into my already screwed up birth story.  I guess I should just be thankful for the permanent ounce of weight loss the Dr's gave me, and move on knowing there will be one less lump hanging around on my belly.

Hey Congress, You Get to Tell Her

Today, I am writing what will probably be my most hate filled, and immature letter ever to my elected Congressional representatives.  I'm taking a cue from all those angry people who called in to the call center I used to work at, the first year that Toys R Us did online shopping (yes, I was there, and no, please don't speculate on my true age because of it).  So many orders did not go through for Christmas, and we had to deal with the parents.  I will never forget the calls we took where the parents would demand that we tell their children Santa won't be coming.  We weren't even the ones who caused the problems, we were just the messengers, aka customer service.  Congress, and be sure that I mean the entire of those elected, not just a particular party or particular house, are actually the ones who have continuously failed to do their own job, and because of that, as of midnight tonight, our pay, the pay for those who fight and risk their lives to keep our nation free, is vanishing.

We had decided to wait until my husband would be home from yet another training mission that forced him to miss The Little One's birthday, one of the many his job and commitment have forced him to be away during, to have her a belated birthday party.  We realize now that he may not be here next year, and wanted to give him that small opportunity to actually be a participant in his own child's birthday festivities for once.  I'm pretty sure that he has missed more birthday's for his own family than he has been here for because of his job.  So this, for us, was a big deal.  It certainly was for him, and for our daughter.  Now, though, because of your inability to work together on BOTH sides, your overall objective to only allow your own extreme fiscal idealism, and refusal to compromise, we have no choice but to cancel that party.  You see, My Husband and I discussed it, and because of the fact that we don't know how long this pay freeze will go on, and when he will start getting regular paycheck again, we felt it fiscally irresponsible to have a party that we would certainly overspend on, with no money coming in, or at least not knowing when it would start coming back.  Yes, we understand that eventually we would get paid again, but we just don't know when, and have no intention of floating our entire lives on credit until then.  Perhaps you, those who write the budget, should take some pointers from us.

I wish we were still being paid, and getting paychecks while this freeze goes on.  After all, my husband and those who stand beside him and work with him, have fulfilled and continue to full fill their obligations to their job.  They are all still training, deploying, fighting, serving, or what have you, and haven't failed to perform their basic job functions as you have.  Yet, you will continue to get paychecks while we, who make a pittance of what you do, don't.  I hope you are proud of yourselves for showing the world how much better and more important you are than those who serve in uniform.  I hope you feel good about yourselves when you lay down at night, and think of those who will be frantic to pay their bills, or even feed their families, something no member of the military should ever need to worry about.  I can't even imagine the anguish of someone stationed overseas, in a war zone, worried sick about whether or not his family was able to buy groceries, and being unable to even check on them.  I know I certainly could not sleep with that on my conscience.  At least, for us, at this point, it only means canceling a birthday party, but one that will cause great heart ache, as there will be no more time to reschedule after this, than you can imagine.
So, in line with many angry parents before me, you tell her.  I've already broken my husband's heart in our discussion, and I don't have it in me to break the heart of a now four year old little girl as well. So, email me, and I'll give you our phone number.  You tell her that she can't have the party her daddy promised her before he left.  You tell her she won't get to have a birthday party with him again probably until he retires, and that because you just couldn't do your job well enough, her parents had to cancel it.  Tell her it was your fault.  I'll gladly take a picture of her face the moment you tell her, her eyes filling with tears, so that image, along with many others, can fill your mind when you lay down at night.
Unless, of course, you would like to collectively do the right thing, and defer your own pay checks to those that serve so that our lives can continue on as normal, as they should.  I'm pretty sure, though, that I won't be getting that email offer.
When you get my letter, I really hope an aid passes it on to you, and you actually get to read it with your own eyes.  You should.  More over, I hope you read lots and lots of angry letters from parents, military personal, and citizens who are fed up with the way Congress is operations, and just won't take it any more.
This rant is certainly not over.

Support The Troops In the Yummiest Of Ways

The Girl Scout Council here in San Diego has a fantastic way to support our men and women in the military.  It happens to be one of the nicest, most wonderful ways to do something for the military that I have ever heard of, and its called "Operation Thin Mint".

Operation Thin Mint is program that lets anyone donate Girl Scout Cookies to our deployed troops.

When I think of our men and women serving overseas, my heart breaks sometimes.  I know how much they miss their families.  They miss this country.  They miss everything about home.  I think about some of the situations they live and work in, and how vastly different they are from what they know here.  I think about her terrible the conditions are in some of those camps for them.

I love to find ways to make things a little brighter or better for those that serve.  I want to brighten some one's day, and make them feel a little less homesick.

To me, there are few things in this world that are as American as Girl Scout Cookies.  Seriously, don't they rank just below baseball and apple pie?

So, the idea of being able to directly donate cookies to those serving abroad just sets my heart all a flutter.  I mean, this is such a great way to send a piece of home to someone who can really use it.

The program is super easy, too.  You give any girl scout that is participating the program the cost of one box of cookies, $4 for us, and tell them it is for Operation Thin Mint.  They mark it down, and a box of cookies is donated to the troops.  Just like that.

How cool is that.

The Big One loves it, too.  She knows how much it means when we send her daddy cookies when he is deployed and wants to give that to every person in the military that she can.  She would like to really help this program, and set herself a goal of 100 boxes to get to the troops.  If I could afford all 100, I would do it in a heart beat.  I love it that much.

To make it even better, you can even send thank you notes with your box.  Girl Scouts will gladly accept, and encourages, people to write little "thank you"s to go with all those cookies.  The idea of being a part of a pallet full of Girl Scout cookies with thank you notes is fantastic to me.

As if this program needed to be any better, the whole price of the donation is tax deductible.  Ask any Girl Scout about it and they can help you with that.

So, you get to support our military, support your local Girl Scout troop, and take a tax donation.  This to me, is the ultimate donation program.

If you, or anyone you know, would like to donate cookies to the troops, please contact me, or check with your local Girl Scout council about donating.  Help us to help the troops by sending in thank you notes, and buying a box in honor of every person you know who serves.  Make the day a little brighter for someone who does such an incredible job.

Prime Example

People joke about how inefficient the government is.  We all know its true.  When you get smacked in the face with a prime example of just how ridiculous things are sometimes, though, it still manages to shock you.

I am still embroiled in the fight for health care.

Today, I spent the most inane day chasing a fictitious person or department that I think I have ever spent, and to no avail.  I think my time would have been better spent buying lottery tickets or chasing the end of a rainbow to look for a pot of gold.

Actually, my chase started yesterday.  I called my insurance, Tricare, again, to check for a change in my status.  There was none.  I ask specifically who I needed to speak with at Balboa, as the number on my referral paperwork didn't answer.  I was told to speak with the "Referral Management Center", but they had no number aside from the main appointment line to give me.  Fine.  I can go from there.

I called the number on my paperwork a few more times to no avail.  Instead, I opted for the Quarterdeck.  For those who don't know, the Quarterdeck is the main reception desk, if you will, at any command.  Balboa is a military command.  I called and the the typical answer that sounds like "Wahwahwah..whahwahwhahwawawah..Sir or Ma'am".  In reality, each command says the same thing when they answer the phone.  They state the name of the command, their name and rank, that it is a non secure line, and ask how they can help you, "Sir or Ma'am".  All I ever understand is the "Sir or Ma'am" and I know that is my cue to start speaking.   I told the Quarterdeck person who I was looking for, and was put on hold.  She came back, ask again, and put me on hold again.  After a bit of a wait, a man answered, and I only got the Sir or Ma'am.  So, I assumed another person sitting at the desk picked up, and I just started talking again.  Turns out, she had transferred me.  I still don't know where, but this guy must work somewhere she thought I should be talking to.  After I told him who I was looking for, he put me on hold.  He came back and ask me exactly what I was trying to do because he couldn't find any department labeled "Referral Management Center".  After he sort of understood, he put me on hold again.  We did this questions and answer session followed by a hold period about 4 times.  After the second, I could hear a female voice trying to assist him when he came back on the line.  Then, we hit a break through.  He realized what I was trying to reach, and told me he knew that they existed, and where they were located on the (very large) campus, but he had no name for the department or phone number.  I ask for the location and was given building 6, third deck, aka third floor.  Finally, they came to the realization that there was no further information they could give me.  They only had the location, and were never going to be able to find the phone number or name of the department.  That was it.  That was all I was going to get.
  
 So, today, armed with that mother load of information, a paper copy of my referral, and the anger of a wet hen, I headed down there to clear all this up.  The whole family went.  I felt it prudent to take someone with me, and with that someone being My Husband, the kids got in on the show, too.  Once we got there, my husband pulled up as close to building 6 as possible and let The Big One and I out while he went to park.  We go in, and head to the third floor.  We step off the elevator, and immediately my day gets worse.  The entire floor is children's mental health.  Now, had it just been mental health, I might have thought it was a dig at me, and may have even stayed to chat at that point, after all someone needs to know that Balboa is creating additional patients for that department themselves.  However, it wasn't.  Not to be deterred, I went to the reception desk, and told them that the Quarterdeck had sent me there, and who I was looking for.  They were a bit perplexed.
They conferred for a minute and decided it was just a little screw up.  "Oh.  Its the 4th deck that you need.  All that admin stuff is up there."
So, The Big One and I got back in the elevator and she hit 4.  I texted My husband to tell him he could then find us on the 5th floor.
The door opened, we got out, checked out the signs, and I think my blood pressure raised 10 points on either side.  None of the offices listed seemed to be what I was looking for.  After all, I have no name, but I was hoping I could figure it out.  Again, not deterred, I had to find someone to ask.  There was no receptionist, only individual offices.  So, I peeked around the corner to speak to whomever was in the break room.  I again explained the whole deal.  If you read my blog much, and are familiar with my struggle, you might be able to guess what she told me.  I needed the 5th floor.  That department must be there.  Of course they must.
We headed for the elevator.  I repeated my last text with the 5th floor change.  There was a reception desk.   I ask the lady there, who looked completely confused.  She took me to an office where Woman 1 sat.  Having the story down pat, I quickly explained what I needed.  Woman1 said she couldn't help me, but was going to take me to someone who could.  WE went into Man1's office.  Man1 said that wasn't his department, but that he knew who I needed.  Across from his office was Woman2 and Man2.  Woman one goes in there, starts to look up the info that I need with Woman2, as Man1 discusses the whole thing with them.  After a while, Man1 gives up, but not the two ladies.  They went to town trying to figure it out.  I was amazed, they actually kind of got what I was trying to do, and were determined to help me find the right people.  After, no joke, 25 minutes of ridiculous phone calls, they finally found the right department.  They had a name, location, and phone number.  They were amazed.  They couldn't believe it had been that difficult for them to find.  Turns out, the department was in building 6, but floor 2, right before construction started.  Since their floor was completely closed for renovations, they had moved to a building all the way across the campus.  They had also changed their name, to Utilization Management, but must not have put that out too well.

Now, as an aside, I want to point out that it was difficult for them, and they work in that system.  They actually know people, faces, and positions, and they were getting a terrible run around trying to figure it out.  How am I supposed to be able to navigate this system if even the people who work in it can't?

Woman2 was speaking with someone, and said that I was standing right there.  She handed me the phone.  I got on the phone and ended up speaking the department head.  I had to explain my self for the zillionth time.  She understood and told me she couldn't help me.  She pulled up my information, and the way the man I last spoke with in December, who scheduled appointment for Balboa, had closed out my referral, she couldn't do anything.  They had said to have me start a new referral 4 weeks out for my delivery.  That won't work for us.  I might have organs falling out of my body by then.  She told me that I needed to go to the surgery department, get them to fix it, and release me.  If they couldn't, we needed to start all over again with a brand new referral and hope that Balboa didn't screw up.  As long as I talked to her before Balboa got to the referral, she could take care of it.

Wow.
Just wow.

They really only know how to screw things up, and not to fix it.

I did go over to surgery, and to sum up, the man who made the appointment took notes, because he didn't understand what I as saying medically, and said he would speak to the department head.  If the department head agreed to release me, he would let me know the next day.  That's it.  That's all that can be done.

All that time, all that effort.  Just to wait for a phone call.   Tomorrow morning, either he calls me as promised, or I will call him, and his department head, or whom ever else I need to.  If I need to throw in an Admiral somewhere, so be it.  Let's just get this party started.

I know this has been a long post, but thanks for sticking with me.  You see how much time government inefficiency waists.  Had they not been such screw ups, we could have all been done with post and moved on already.  In fact, I think my coffee is cold and I need to reheat it now.  Just More unnecessary waist of our resources as a result of government bureaucracy.

I So Should Not Be Surprised

So, I posted that I got my medical records, which is great.
Problem is, they aren't correct.

Reading through those records, I was shocked to see just how riddled with inaccurate, incorrect, and biased information they were.

There were little things that were misleading.  There were big things that were incorrect.

Little things like not being able to believe that I didn't have chronic high blood because I'm overweight, even though every single appointment it was fine, and refusing to believe I didn't have gestational diabetes, because fat people who have big babies must, were just the opening offences.

The big error, and the one that concerns me the most, is that if I understand how to read and compare the sight of my own abdomen in the mirror to labeled pictures of incisions on Google, the site of my incision is listed incorrectly.  That would seem to be a pretty big error to me.  Maybe not to some people, but honestly, if you can't even list the correct position that you cut, when it was such a big deal and uncommon procedure that room full of people gathered to watch, then I think we have a big problem.

I don't want to go into my detailed information right now, but let me assure you, that there were more things to make me upset, than there were to reassure me in there.

The only nice thing is that the OB I saw through the pregnancy, not the one who delivered, did mention how nice I am and what a great disposition I have.

Moral of that story; nice people finish last.  When it comes to medical stuff, mean people who push their own way, and piss off doctors are probably the ones who get the care they want, even if begrudgingly.  Lesson learned, and I suppose I won't be nice to anyone there ever again, just in case.

One Hurdle Down, One To Go

So far, we have had tow major hurdles with Naval Hospital Balboa, and getting everything we need for this pregnancy done.  One is to get my medical records, and the other is get them to drop me so that I can see a surgeon elsewhere.

Today, I got over one of the hurdles.  The whole family and I went to Balboa to get my records.  I brought my husband because I felt like I needed someone to be able to pull me from a fight pretty quickly, or at least be ready to bail me out.  The kids just got to come along for the show.

Once we got there, and found a place to park in that ridiculously over crowded area, we headed in towards where i thought records would be.  My Husband wanted to stop in the OB/GYM building and ask for it.  I told him that my records wouldn't be there any more, but he wanted to ask.  I waited outside.  I didn't even want to go in for multiple reasons.  The first reason is that I hate that place, and just being on the campus brings back horrible memories.  I started reliving a lot of the trauma I experience just being there, walking the grounds.  Another reason is that should I ever, and I mean ever, run into that OB who butchered me again, I don't know that I could maintain myself.  I expect that I would lose complete control.  I'm sure I would unleash a verbal assault on him the likes of which he had never seen before.  I just don't see that being a good situation.  Though, if I were given that opportunity, I think I would feel better in the long run.  It would be a little like confronting a person who attacked you.  After a couple of minutes, My Husband came to the sliding doors and motioned me in.  I had to go in and give them my ID.  I ask him if he had told the guy how long ago  I had been there, and he indicated that he did.  The uniformed man at he desk ask me to sit while he looked for my records.  I sat, waited, and just hoped it would all end quickly.  I think sitting in that OB/GYN waiting room was far more uncomfortable that any pap smear or other OB/GYN visit I have ever had.  Finally the guy came back to the window, and ask me how long ago it had been since I had been seen there.  When I said 3 years plus, he said he misunderstood, and I had to go to medical records.  Thanks for the unnecessary pain, yet again, people.
     We walked over to the medical records department, and the older lady behind the desk ask if she could help us.  I told her I needed a copy of my records.  She immediately said to fill out a form and it would be 10 weeks.  I immediately told her I had sent in the request twice, and I didn't have 10  more weeks to wait.  She backed off and said that I would have to speak to the young woman beside her.  I needed to sign in and sit down.  The young woman looked at me, and ask for my ID, no sign in necessary.  She wrote down my info, told me to sit, and went back to helping the older gentleman she was with.
     After a few minutes, she was done helping that man, and called me up.  She ask me again if we had sent in the request, and I told her my OB's office had done it twice, more than 12 weeks ago actually, and that I needed my record.  Another young woman came up, told me the requests were not in the system, and they would have to pull everything again.  I can't help the fact that the requests weren't where they were supposed to be.  More than likely, my complicated last name situation with both my maiden and married meant that they couldn't locate me in the system and they didn't bother on following it up.  That always happens there because my last name is technically different than my husbands, and all of my info is based on him.  Anyway, they gave me a little grief about how much of my record that I needed, and then started to work, not telling me that I could sit and wait, or how long it would take.  They ask for my ID again, realized that they had the info, then just ignored me.  After about 10 minutes, the second girl came back in, and the first one finished printing.  They had my entire record ready to go in about 15 minutes.  Amazing considering that they always tell you it takes 10-12 weeks to get anything.
Regardless less as to how ridiculous it was that I had to physically go down there, I have my record.  It hopefully has everything my OB team needs so that they can begin to make some plans.

There was some good news with all of this.  I tried to get through just enough of the record immediately to see where the incision was on my uterus.  If I understood it all correctly, with a little help from google, the cut was made in the better position so that The Littlest One can stay in longer.  We were worried they may have to take her really early.  Now, with some good luck and preparation, she should be able to stay in a bit longer and be ready to come out before they take her.  We will take all the good news we can get.

Now The Battle Begins

I got a letter in the mail today from my insurance.  They were letting me know my referal went though, but with modifications.  The referal for the surgeon.  It said, as we know, that I was to be seen at Balboa.  It was also dated the same day that I got a call from Balboa.
So, I called them.  I explained why that I couldn't be seen at Balboa, and was told there was nothing they could do for me.  It was my "choice" to be seen outside, and while I may not want to be seen there, I have to go back to Balboa to get them to drop me.  Thus far, Balboa has put in no further paperwork to drop me, or push the referral on, and I am pretty much stuck.
I don't have time to be stuck.

They seem to be missing something.  My life, and the life of my child, could potentially depend on this.  This isn't funny.  While my life may be a bit over an over exageration, it is possible, and my organs are certainly in peril.
I don't think they get that I don't have time to play games.

Nor shall I.

If they want me to take on the system, I can and will.  There is no choice.  There is no rolling over.  Something has to be done somewhere, and apparently, I'm going to get it done myself.

No. No. I won't be making that appointment.

As I posted before, my OB wants me to see a surgeon.  The surgeon that has handled my hernia stuff before doesn't have privileges at the women's hospital I will be delivering at.  So, she won't be able to do it.  The OB put in a referral for a general surgeon, and I'll give you one guess who called today.

Don't need it?

Yup.  Naval Hospital Balboa.

They have the first right of refusal on everything.  So, anytime a referral goes through the system, someone there decides if they will take the case or not.  At least, that is what I was told.  Apparently, they want me now.
If you cause it, you can't fix it.  That is my rule.

Instead of having a total conniption fit, though, I just told them that this would be a problem since we needed to have the surgeon in room at my delivery, and I wouldn't be delivering there.
They guy took notes and will call me back.

This better be the end of it, because you can believe that no Dr there will ever be touching me again.  Ever.
I've been violated enough by one Dr there.  I mean, just the though of going back there to get my records makes me feel awful.  Its like visiting the scene of the crime and the fact that they turned the delivery of my child into something that feels like a crime really pisses me off.  I mean pisses me off. What should have been one of the most beautiful, memorable experiences of my life, was taken from me.  There certainly was a crime.  I was robbed of the joy and love that should fill my memories of that day.  While having my child here is wonderful, the day she was born, and the aftermath, will never be what they should have been in my memories.  I live the with physical pain of what they did every day of my life, and I will for the rest of my life.

So, the idea that they would even think that I would ever come back there is beyond laughable to at least ludicrous.

No.  I won't be making that appointment.  Ever.

I don't want to go all Mamma Bear here. I'm going to stay positive, and not make rash plans.  Just know that I will mean it when I say I won't be there.  From the bottom of my heart, one of the organs that didn't get screwed up by them, I mean it.

Moving Sound Good In Theory

Currently, we live in military housing.  It wasn't my first choice, and still isn't sometimes.  Military housing can be a little crazy.  You have all kinds of people, of very mixed ages, living smushed right on top of each other, and I really mean smushed.  The community I currently live in is very new.  About 7 years ago, they tore down the 700 homes that were here, and started building.  In fact, when we moved here 6 years ago, they were under construction and hadn't even started about half of the community. The thing is, they built back almost a thousand homes in the place of those 700.  So, were really talking tiny, but tall, town homes.  I live in a three story home just to fit the three bedrooms we now have in.  So, when you can practically answer your neighbor's phone for them, there can be difficulties.  Not always, but it happens, especially when you have the neighbors we had who partied until 2 am right below my bedroom window every night.

Occasionally, there are also benefits.  You need benefits. One of the nice things about living in military housing is that if your family grows, you have the option of getting a larger house sometimes.  We are exercising that option.  I am not keen on the idea of a three story with a new born, the girls sharing a room, and being on the third floor by themselves.  We could do it, but I don't really want to.  Instead, we went into the housing office, and because we are willing to move around the holidays, they were actually able to offer us a 4 bedroom house on the spot.  That is very rare around here.  I spent a day going back and forth between housing, trying to find a better house than the one they first offered us, as it was on the only really bad street we have in this community, and backed up to a dump.  I lucked out.  A house diagonal to ours, on our street about 30 pace away, was also available.  We took it as fast as they would give it to us.

This also means we have to move as fast as possible.  Around the holidays.  The idea of being in a home that is better laid out for us is fantastic.  I just wish there was a a way to have it instantly happen.  I would use one of my three Genie wishes for this if I could.  A blink or nose wiggle and have it done would be awesome.  I'd give my eye teeth for an "Easy button" about now, too.

Instead, I'm waiting right now for a pre-move out inspection, which will tell me what all I need to fix before we move.  Since we are also moving within housing, they is the one where they really approve our move.  They pretty much want to get in and make sure we haven't trashed the place before they let us move to another place.  That makes sense.  The down side is that I am not able to do much, and I stress incredibly about how much I need to do.  Remember, I am emotionally unhinged.

Then come more packing, cleaning the new house, bumming anyone we can get to help us move, cleaning the old house, and then settling in at the new place and unpacking.  All with my physical limitations, and two monkeys as The Big One is out of school for a month.

I suppose this is just another thing we will get through.  In a few weeks, we will be all moved into our new place, settling down and getting ready for The Littlest One.  It will be nice when it is all over and I go from 4 bathrooms to clean to three.   I'm sure I really will be glad in the end, but until then, everyone hold on, and get ready for the moving storm coming.

One Decade Down

Today is my 10th wedding anniversary.

It is a pretty big deal. I have spent about a third of my life with the same person, sharing everything. We have had hard time and easy times, good times and bad times. We are here, though, through it all, together, to mark the big 10 year anniversary.

This also makes a different sort of anniversary for me. Today marks ten years that I have served my country in my own way, as a military spouse. This is just as big of a deal as hitting the decade of marriage. Ten years ago, when I said "I do", I also said "I will". I said that I will be there, when he is gone. I will take care of our home, and everything in it, when he suddenly leaves. I will go through our pregnancy alone, him leaving after we found out, and if I had to, I would even deliver alone, though thankfully we avoided that one. I will be a single parent when I have to, and learn to deal with that, even if I don't like it. I will try to comfort my children and make them feel ok, even though I know how much it hurts to be left behind when they leave. I will take care of the home front, because that is my job. I will be here, sending you positive vibes every day of my life, willing you to come home to use, safely. I will stand behind you, love, and support you, even when I don't like what comes my way, where it takes us, and what you have to do for your career, because I am a military wife.

That "I will" stands just as firm today as it did 10 years ago. Still today, and everyday, I, and every military spouse and family, give above and beyond the call of duty to do their part. We know, this is who we are, and what we do. We serve in our own way, each and every day.

I am proud today. I am happy to have survived the last decade together, and look forward to the next, no matter what it brings.

On this Memorial Day

I don't tend to delve into copied and forwarded Internet fodder. However, my loving husband sent me something that is anything but simple Internet fodder.
It is beautiful, poignant and well worth sharing to everyone I know, and even those I don't.

So, on this Memorial Day, please, take a moment to read this, and even read it to your children, as he ask me to read it to ours.

---

The Commissioning of PCU New York will take place on November 7th, 2009 at the Intrepid Museum Pier 88 South, Pier 86 North New York City, NY, 10036, USA.

Finally, some of what we lost returns, The USS New York, LPD-21, will parade into New York Harbor on Monday, November 2nd of 2009 for what will undoubtedly be the Commissioning event of the century. No other ship in world history carries the same sentiment and import this ship possesses. In her bow is 7.5 tons of World Trade Center Steel, on her decks are the best and brightest crew this nation can produce and in our hearts, the hopes and dreams of a nation that will not be kept down.

Remarks by Deputy Secretary of Defense Gordon England
Christening of LPD 21, 1 March 2008, New Orleans, LA

Today is a day of reflection, remembrance and resolve. On the day the towers fell … all Americans were New Yorkers.

Some people still question why terrorists killed 3,000 people of 60 nationalities that day. I’ve concluded that they killed 3,000 because they did not know how to kill 30,000, 300,000 or 3 million, but they would have if they could have … and they are still trying.

This is not a war of our choosing. This is not a war we can ignore. This is not a war that will end if we walk away from the battlefield.

This fight, brought to our shores that day, is a struggle that will require strong, steady and sustained leadership with the enduring need for a strong military … and ships like NEW YORK.
A ship’s name is important. Ship names provide a legacy … and for the Sailors and Marines who sail in those ships ….they are a source of strength … and inspiration. This ship … stands for “life, liberty … and the pursuit of all who threaten it” and will ensure that we NEVER FORGET … 11 September 2001. They will take the fight to all who threaten peace and freedom.

The ship’s motto [Never Forget] was inspired by President Bush. I remember well when the President came to the Pentagon on 9-12 and met with the Pentagon’s senior civilian and military leaders. The Pentagon was still burning. In the conference room, you could smell the smoke and jet fuel … and feel the soot in the air. Security was high, and the military was on full alert.

I recall the President telling us to Get Ready … to get the military ready. He stressed that this war will be fought on three fronts … diplomatic, economic and military, but that the military must succeed for the Nation to win. He said, “This will be a long war – not like removing a mole, but like removing a cancer.” He said that the country needed to move on and resume life as normal, but that we, who were charged with the defense of America and freedom, could never forget what happened on 9-11. The President said, “I will never forget”. He then went around the room and looked everyone squarely in the eye and said, “Never Forget … Never Forget.”


Memorials are intended to remind us and on this Memorial Day – let us remember those who have gone before us and have given their best. Let them continue to inspire us to give our best as well. And, lastly, be reminded of why we do what we do.

God Bless America,
Chaplain Cartus Thornton