A Goodbye Post

So much has happened. A brain tumor resulting a lost job and a lot of turmoil. Financial ruin. 3 crashed computers. And we almost lost it all. So what happened to me? Why did I disappear? Well, after the 3rd crash, I could not get a new system due to financial resources. I applied for every job I could and got the same response." Why should we hire you? You got fired from the only RT job you have had?" Because my employer broke labor laws by kicking me while I was down and terminated me while on FMLA for a brain tumor? Nope, not good enough. I was just about to give up. As a matter of fact, I had started to call temp agencies and see if they had any clerical positions available in the area. Anything for money. We were on the brink of losing everything. Then I just made a call to a hospital I knew about from living in Greater Cincinnati. I asked if they were hiring and they said yes, that they desperately needed therapists. I didn't even fill out an application or send a resume. I did those things after my interview. A week later, I was not only employed, but employed at a better facility with a more challenging environment. Now? I love my job. I have just completed the six weeks of departmental orientation they make clinical personnel complete to ensure I know what I am doing. Professional respect is automatic because of the credentials I carry. It is a difference like night and day. I just purchased a new computer and a new SUV. A Dell with enough memory that I do not need to worry about crashes, and a Ford Explorer, respectively. What is going on with my husband? Well that is a long story. He never did hear the results of the waiver for reenlistment into the Army. The recruiter dropped the ball, and when John, after months of no results, finally went over his head, the recruiter got upset and stopped working on it for him. Evan? Well, the kid just started 1st grade. He is doing wonderfully with the academic nature of the work. He had outgrown crayon drawings and baby books a long time ago. Each paper he brings home, from math to English, to spelling, are all perfect. He is still my pride and joy, my soft spot, my biggest downfall, and the source of those white hairs that keep popping up on my head. And we are moving. From the time John and I left Cincinnati, in 2000, I have wanted to go back. It's home. It will always be home. We've lived in Southern Kentucky, and we have lived in Southeastern, Indiana. I have given each of those places my all. But they are not where I belong. And John and Evan...well, they belong with me. For the first time in a long time, I am at a place where I have the ability to go back home. I was afraid to try it before. John and I know that city life can be cruel. If something were to happen and we were to need help, there is no place to turn. But we have been battered and bruised by the other places we have been, also. And we made it through. Together, without anyone else. So we are going to go back to Cincinnati, together. This time around I have an awesome job, and things will be different. I want to see the city lights reflecting in my son's eyes. I want him to grow up with museums, zoos, libraries at his fingertips, and cultural diversity all around him. I want the place that has been a part of me all of my life to become a part of who he is also. So why is this goodbye? When I started Constant Upheaval, it was my way to cope with the idea of my husband going back to the military after being married all of these years. This was my way to vent and speak about what was going on in my life without my words, views, and emotions influencing the decisions John had to make for himself. I no longer need that outlet. Is the military out of our life for good? Never. First of all, the Marine in John is as much a part of him as Cincinnati is of me. I can do away with that no more than the fact that he is a little older than me or that he has brown eyes. And I am so proud of him. Of all of the work he put into reenlistment. I have never seen him work so hard since the first time I laid eyes on him 8 years ago. And I have new respect for his status as a veteran. My husband served his country, and served her very well. I also have more respect for the military families out there. I can honestly say that through the involvement with various support websites, I got a glimpse into the life of a wife of a service member. I just did so with my husband by my side. I will never do these women the disservice of saying that I know what it is like to wonder if your loved one is even alive while thousands of miles away in a war zone. I didn't live through that. That experience is their way of serving their country. But I did worry about John's future safety, knowing he was making a career choice that could result in his death. These men and women of our Armed Forces will forever be in my hearts. They have truly been the most amazing people I have met. There may come a day when I am a service member myself. Before John said the words, "Andi, I want back in. I want to do my part in this war.", I was toying with the idea of a commission in the Navy to be a physician. There are some very impressive programs out there that are hard to pass up. But I also have opportunities to do that as a civilian. So when John told me what his goal was, I gladly stepped away from that so he could go after what he wanted. Now, I have the ability to do it again, and I just might. This would be off in the distance. I have to get myself in shape, take my MCAT and finish my biochemistry degree first. Would I want to do it? Yes, now more than ever. I have met the families of our military, and I can think of nothing more noble than taking care of these men and women. I never did know if I had any readers here on Constant Upheaval. Whne the new computer was set up in the house, I was eager to get back to blogging, but it had been so long that I had forgotten my email and password I used to set up the account. On the old computers, it was set to automatically sign me in when I told it to. I thought my blog was lost forever, and so I started a new blog. Then I remembered the password, but the new blog was already in the works. Which one should I keep and which one should I close? I had a dilemma. But then I thought about it. Constant Upheaval is set up as a milblog. It just did not seem appropriate to continue now that John is not reenlisting. Plus, with the changes in my life, it seemed more fitting to start anew. If, and I mean a big IF, I have any readers or followers, the new blog is called Bending and Not Breaking, and I hope to see you there. Otherwise... Goodbye, Friend.

0300?

I was awakened by two different things this morning, both of which are extremely aggravating. The first was this awful dream I had about John and the military. He had reenlisted, gone through the Warrior Transition Course, as planned, and was almost finished with AIT when he called me and said he had gotten orders to ship to Afghanistan. So I was going to have to go without seeing him for two whole years. But then I hear this shrill screaming outside our apartment. It was 0230 on a school night! I was worried it would wake Evan. It didn't seem to be a "help me" sort of scream, but rather a we-are-morons variety of scream. I waited for it to stop, and when it did not, I went outside to check. This may have been a mistake, seeing as I am blind as a bat when it is not dark or in the middle of the night when I am half asleep. But then I stumble my groggy arse out without glasses. I think I cussed out someone I did not know. I still have no idea who it was. I hope it was not a neighbor I am friendly with. I guess I won't be anymore if it was. So now I am sitting here, fully awake. I have been since 0300. It is now 0542, and I have already brewed coffee, had a cup and getting ready to fill 'er up a second time. I have managed to eat breakfast ( mmmmmm, Cheerios) and get my morning supply of nicotine. Lets' start the day!

My Holiday Season

In case you need to know where I will be:

• December 17th: Work/ Pack
• December 18th: Pack
• December 19th: Pack/ On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 20th: Move/ On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 21st: Work 7pm-7am
• December 22nd: Work 7pm-7am
• December 23rd: Work 7pm-7am
• December 24th: Work 3pm-11pm, Our Wedding Anniversary
• December 25th: Travel to Kentucky, Christmas with In-laws
• December 26th: Return trip from Kentucky, On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 27th: Off, Nothing planned
• December 28th: Work 7pm-7am
• December 29th: Work 7 pm-7 am
• December 30th: Work 7 pm-7am
• December 31st: New Year's Eve
• January 1st: New Year's Day/ My Birthday

Randomness= The State of Being Random

Warning: Long, boring post of miscellaneous crap!

We started the process of searching for an apartment several days ago. I was very upset by the entire process. Every apartment in a 50 mile radius around our house is based on income. So I would call these places, only to be laughed at because my income is too great. So what do people do? I would think that substantial income would be desirable in a prospective tenant.

So when all was said and done, the last place I called had no income guidelines. We ended up securing a 3 bedroom townhouse right down the street from where I work at the hospital.

The moving process is going to be high on the suckage scale. With the exception of two days, and of Christmas Day, I have no days completely off. Christmas Day will be spent with John's family in Kentucky, so that is out the window. Some of those nights, I am only on call. However, when I am on call, I am pretty much grounded to my house. The wrath of my boss would be upon me if I was needed and could not be reached.

So here I am, completely devoid of time, and have to pretty much just open up the front door of the new place and fling the boxes into the house. But the clencher is that we have had ice and snow, rain and sleet all weekend. Right now it is fifteen degrees out there, so there is no hope of anything thawing in the near future. I am going to have to move in ice skates, which is not cute. I am certainly not graceful enough for this.

All of this stuff that has been going on has kept me from the pool. And with my work schedule the way it is over the next couple of weeks, I do not foresee it getting any easier to make time in the water a part of my daily routine. I am debating on whether I should suspend swimming until after the New Year. After all, there is a lot going on, with John's struggle with reenlistment reaching a conclusion soon, the moving, the weather, my schedule. I am afraid that I am using all of this as an excuse.

Something With Sprinkles On It

First of all, this picture is not mine. I found it online with the caption "The worst birthday cake ever", but it seemed appropriate for this post, and made me laugh. I have been off of work for nearly two weeks, barring the 3 hours I was required to go in to the hospital to recertify my basic life support. I have worked the past two nights. Nothing extreme--just my run-of-the-mill twelve hour shifts. But for some reason my poor feet are screaming. I am exhausted and stressed. I had a patient that was circling the drain all night last night. I came home this morning and went straight to bed as-is. Translation: I took off my coat at the door, kicked off my cute pink Crocs, and landed in the bed. I was still wearing my scrubs, my badge, and even still had my stethoscope around my neck, until I turned over in the bed and felt it tugging on me. I slept for the normal few hours, then woke up and transferred to the sofa. The house is a wreck and the Kid is running rampant, telling me he is hungry. The lunch provided by his father, while more than adequate, was not what he had in mind. So here I am, wanting nothing more than an hour of peace. I want this hour so badly that I would willingly exchange my arsenal of expensive designer handbags for said hour. Instead, the kid is dancing around me in circles, chanting that he is hungry and he wants something "with sprinkles on it". I stagger to the kitchen and think for a moment, then brandish a Little Debbie cake. It is sweet and chocolate, and has the requisite sprinkles. This does not apease the Kid. He goes on to inform me that he wants the sprinkles that are in the cabinet. He is referring to the supplies I bought to make a chocolate cake while at the grocery store a few days ago. He wants me to bake a #$%^&* cake. He wants me to do this NOW. The man has forbidden the baking of something with sprinkles on it, telling the Kid that Mommy is tired, that she has spent at least the past 48 hours taking care of cranky sick people, that she needs to relax and therefore is not going to bake a cake for him. I tried to reason with the Kid, telling him that I will bake the cake while he is at school tomorrow afternoon, after I have recovered from another twelve hours. This is not acceptable to the Kid. He wants the cake now, and I am in Hell because I will not give in. Why am I writing this? This is the standard struggle of the working mother. My poor child is deprived of a cake becasue I have a career. Nevermind that, without said career, there would be no money to purchase the ingredients for the now-infamous cake. This makes me wonder how other mothers do it. I think it is because for three days a week, I am out of comission for my family. During those three days, it does not matter if laundry is piled to the ceiling. I cannot do anything about it. The trade-off is that they have me for the other 4.5 days of the week. Undivided attention. Most mothers work a set shift 5 days a week, get to spend a few hours with their children daily, then have the weekend to do whatever they want. Instead, my family gets most of me. So why in the world could the Kid not want something with sprinkles between Monday and Friday???

Happy Thanksgiving!

I doubt I will be posting anything for a few days, so Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! The plan looks like this: tomorrow run errands in the morning, then pick Evan up from school, and head to Kentucky for the holiday. I will be back this Friday, as I have to work this weekend. No rest for the wicked!

For Me....

This is for me, and only me! It takes some convincing, though, and I don't think that should be the case at all. When John started this whole endeavor of reenlisting, we already had gym memberships. The problem was that the gym we were using had Nautilus equipment and nothing more. So while we are still paying for that membership, we found it justifiable to join our local YMCA. This way, we have access to all of the features that were offered at the old gym, but we can also add to the equation access to indoor and outdoor tracks for running, classes galore (aerobics, swimming, karate for the Kid, etc.). But the thing that got me the most excited was that there is this enormous heated indoor pool for my use! Why would a pool excite me? Requires some background info.

I was never athletic. I was always the nerd that did well in school. My junior year of high school, a friend persuaded me to join the swim team, and so I did. I have always loved the water. I kept it up the rest of my high school career. I was by no means going to win an olympic event, but I could do it. And it did things for me that I cannot easily explain. I felt better about myself. While I will always be on the larger end of the spectrum, everything was toned and taut. The smell of chlorine reminds me of that to this day!

So here I have access to these resources and have not used them once! My son has. My husband certainly has. But I have not. And I have this need to do something for myself for once, which is mingling with the fact that I am not happy with the way I look after seven years of marriage and motherhood. So this is a way of taking care of myself.

The first thing I have to do is locate a competition suit for fatties. If you have not had the joys of wearing any type of performance swimwear, then I need to elaborate. They are designed for comfort during workouts. Racer backs to keep the fabric off of your shoulders, preventing friction. High cut leg openings for the same purpose. And tight...very tight to make you all sleek and streamlined in the water. In other words, they hide NOTHING. I am not relishing this task. And for this purpose, they don't tend to make them for fatties. Swimmers are not usually fat, for one thing. But this swimmer is. I have located said suit. Plain black---yay! Black at least is slimming a little bit, though I doubt it will make a difference. It is on hold for me to pick up during my run-of-the-mill housewife errends tomorrow. If I add a cap and goggles to the equation I am set!

The problem is that I feel guilty. It is as if my doing this for myself will somehow subtract from how much is available to my overindulged child and spoiled husband. Heaven forbid I spend seventy bucks and a couple of hours a day on myself. Please don't be mistaken. John is all for it. He knows I need and want to do this. And as it is right now, we are mismatched. He is cute and fit now, and I am....well, NOT. So here I go. Maybe by the end of his first deployment, I will be as fit as I used to be.

Freak-Out Mode

The pic has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that I am sustained by caffeine and nicotine at the moment. I'm actually freaking out! The start of October has marked the start of the new fiscal year for the Navy, and John has continued to drop weight like mad! So next week, he is supposed to negotiate the nitty gritty with the recruiter and plan a date for MEPS.

As for me, I cannot get this sinking feeling to go away. You know the feeling that something is about to happen that you need to stop, but can't?

Well, this is the frame of mind I am in right now, at this very moment. If I am gonna interfere with John's re-enlistment, now is the time to do it. The problem is that I cannot tell the difference between my fear of the unknown and authentic this-is-not-a-good-choice judgement. Until I can tell the difference, I just feel as if it is my job to not interfere with my man's career choice. Instead, I should just be supporting him. I am afraid my entire world is going to be thrown into a state of complete disarray, which is not a good feeling for a Type-A personality like myself. What about my job? Is someone really going to come forward and help me watch my son for 12 hours a night, Friday though Sunday? Are there sane individuals who will voluntarily surrender their entire weekend in order to watch my son? Furthermore, I don't know how long I have to plan all of this, as we do not have any definite dates, or even a ballpark figure.

Stupid video games are not helping improve my state of mind.

Here lately, my dear JohnJohn has been playing the Medal of Honor series. I watch him and wonder if he is going to be okay. His response when I tell him I am worried is "Oh My GOD, Andrea, a video game is not real life, for crying out loud! I will be fine." After all, despite what he has told his parents, he is most likely going into a combat situation. Does he still have the instinct of when to duck and when to make sure he covers all of his sides? I know I am most likely being stupid, but there is something about people shooting at a character on a game that brings this fear to the surface, and it all unnerves me quite a good deal.

And then there is You Tube....

This is a pretty big problem for me at the moment. I recently compared it to driving past an auto accident and feeling an invisible force pulling your head to look as you pass. I cannot stop myself. So I watch the videos people submit. I have wept over videos of service men and women leaving families to go on deployment, and also of them returning home. The worst was the clip of a Sailor returning home and surprising his six-year-old kid in school, and the little boy's reaction. Hey, my kid is six!

Then there is the actual combat footage of stuff being blown to bits. I watched one the other day that had the "graphic" warning on it. I didn't pay that any mind, as anything that involves the firing of any type of weapon is labeled as such. But this one was REALLY GRAPHIC! I mean gruesome. It wouldn't have bothered me, as in my line of work, I have been involved in may traumas. But as a wife who is preparing to ship off the love of her life, I had a problem with it. The only factor that helped was the fact that it was the bad guys' blood, not our boys'. But still, it made me fear for the emotional well-being of my husband. After all, how can you observe that daily and maintain a grasp on sanity?

Okay. the kid is begging me for breakfast, so I must scoot. Besides, I need a coffee refill.

20 Questions With No Answers

Are we ever certain of the choices we make, or those our loved ones make, for that matter? I am so unsure what is going to happen to my family right now.I am worried for all of us: Me, John, Evan.So here you have it. My list of questions right now, some of which do not have answers. My open wondering and pondering. My doubts, plainly put, for all to see.

Will my husband, the love of my life, the father of my son, my best friend be okay?

Will he be safe?

Will he be in Iraq or Afghanistan, or will this whole process take so long that he may be in Korea?

Is he doing this for the right reasons?

If anything happens to him, will I be able to live with the fact that I did not stop him?

How will I cope with him being absent for months or even a year at a time?

Better yet, will I be able to cope at all, let alone succeed in medical school when my husband is halfway around the world?

Exactly how long will I have to go without hearing even the sound of his voice?

How long, while deployed, will his scent linger on the pillow on which he sleeps?

Will I be able to do something as simple as pulling something to wear out of the closet without seeing his clothes and breaking down?

Will my son, a complete Daddy's Boy, be able to adapt to all of this?

If something were to happen to him, would Evan know how truly wonderful his father is?

Will I be all alone on a military base, with no one to turn to other than a young child with whom I cannot discuss anything?

Will letters be enough?

How will he remember how much we love him if we can't tell him or show it everyday?

How many birthdays, christmases, anniversaries, thankgsgivings will he miss?

How much time do I have left with John before he leaves?

After he leaves, how long do I have to wait for his return?

How can he be so happy about leaving us?

Will we make it through this?