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.

We're back home after a trip to Kentucky. We took John's car, and I had not realized how accustomed I had become to my own car until I took the 4 hour ride in his. So uncomfortable! Thank goodness Evan slept most of the way, each way, or the trip would have been even more intolerable. I interviewed for a position while down there, and it seems favorable. It would have a very nice schedule associated with it (Read: No more 12-hour weekend nights). I'm keeping my fingers crossed. The plan is, if offered the position, to relocate so we could be closer to John's family. That way, should he get the MOS he wants in the Army and has 54 weeks of AIT, I could stay and work, all while having relatives close to help with Evan. Who knows, though? I am most likely giving this all too much thought.

Domestic Hell

Picture this...You have a very stressful career where very ill people rely on you. You have a child who you swear is a male version of Veruca Salt of "Willy Wonka" fame. You have a husband you have to keep motivated on a daily basis, and just about every responsibility in the home rests on your shoulders. Do you have the mental image? Good!

Now picture this...Keeping in mind the above-mentioned lifestyle, you find yourself home alone. The male Veruca is safely in the hands of a competent child care service. The man has been successfully motivated for the day and has left for the gym. The largest of the day's tasks have been completed and checked off of the to-do list. So here is my question: What would you do???

I have candles lit, and thus the house smells like a freaking apple orchard. Other than the hum of laundry equipment, the house is silent. I have just started reading a great novel which I would love to pick up right now. I need to blog. So where is the problem?

The problem is that house is so messy that a stranger could possibly mistake it for an abandoned crackhouse! There are dishes piled on the counter, and a dishwasher full of clean dishes that are begging to be put in their place. My kid's playroom resembles a city dump. I have been off since Monday morning, so why is it like this? Better yet, my husband's only responsibility in life is to PT twice a day, period. Why hasn't he done this? The first question, I can answer by explaining that laundry has consumed my days and nights for three days. Yes, there was that much of it! about 15 loads! Now I have about 24 hours before my work week starts again (less if you figure that I must sleep at some point) and I am going to have to scramble and slave if I want to have a reasonably habitable home by the weekend. You see, I have taken a much-needed and well-deserved DAY OFF this Saturday for the big game. I refuse to be thinking about dirty dishes or laundry while I watch said game, or my neurotic self will be thinking about those things instead of how badly OSU is beating Michigan.

All of this has caused the gears in my brain to rotate clockwise or counterclockwise. I don't know which, as one should never have to figure how the cogs in my brain operate! And part of me, albeit teensy-tiny, makes me believe that I can lick the role of Military Spouse quite well. The only responsibilty the Man fulfills is of the seasonal variety, for which I can pay a neighborhood kid twenty bucks to perform---lawnwork for the chick who is allergic to grass and trees and anything that is green. As it is right now, I thrive on the moments when the Man and Kid are out of the house and I don't have to vacuum circles around them. It is hard to get the dust and lint off of sofa cushions and fluff said cushions when there is a 180-pound man laying on them. It is very difficult to get laundry finished when said Man returns from the gym, leaving a small heap of sweaty gym clothes and a wet towel on the floor next to an empty hamper. ( If you are a Man or know a Man, I do not have to explain this---it is beyond the capabilities of a Man to actually aim for the hamper!)

I know that it is inevitible that I will revisit this post months from now, when Man is likely to be deployed. And I will weep because he is nowhere to be found. I will miss the heap of sweaty clothes on the floor by the hamper or the imprint of his rearend on the sofa where he always sits. I will lament over my ability to watch a chick flick without a pop-up reminder flashing on the screen for some random Man entertainment like wrestling or Jerry Springer.

But as for me, right now, I am in my own little domestic Hell. So while Man is gone and Kid is gone, I will blare my chick music (of which I am not permitted to listen while Man or Kid is present) and I will clean their home. Then this weekend I will watch as my football team beats Man's football team to a pulp in a home that smells of Pine Sol and carpet freshener!

Business as Usual

Nothing new going on on the homefront. The man is still in the re-enlistment process, and has learned that he needs four waivers. Long story, y'all. (Ha! I DID retain some Kentuckyisms!) The kid is still rotten. I am still busy as all hell. School, work, exams, keeping the man encouraged. And I have been working on care packages for some of our men over there. Sorry, not much to report.

Ouch!

John started complaining about his knee hurting a couple of weeks ago. He had kneeled down on our son's bedroom floor to pick up some toys and took a Hot Wheel right in the patella with all of his weight. I figured it was just bruised. He kept running 3 miles a day, and I would make him ice it when he got finished. After two weeks of this, with no improvement, he saw a doctor. It turned out that the reason it wasn't healing is that he has been running on the edge of a road that is uneven. What has caused the pain has been the uneven surface causing his knee to take the impact in a way that is not normal, and the bones that join at the knee have been knocking against each other. Ouch! Other than that, all systems are go! Everything else is perfect, and he has lost 3 more pounds since Sunday! Go, Baby, Go!

Blah

I am at work, and suppose I am to be doing something that can be considered productive in the eyes of the Hospital. Instead, I am sitting with a large mug of hot cocoa in front of a computer screen and trying to blog. But my mind drifts to John. The small things he does that tell me, without words, that he really does love me. A quick sniff of my hair when we hug. His big man-hand on the small of my back when I walk through a door before him. These little things are us. What will I do without those tiny moments on a daily basis? Will I adapt? Or will I painfully miss them every moment of every day until he is with me again? Is there anyone who can give me the answers or do I just have to wait and discover them for myself? You know, this morning, when I returned home from work at 0700, I sat on the sofa beside him, my head on his chest, feeling his heart beat, and I started to tear up yet again. Without looking at my face, but simply with the twitch of a shoulder, he can tell I am either crying or attempting desperately to avoid crying. And he said "If you don't want me to go, I won't go." I wanted so badly to shout, "Yes! That is what I want. Stay home with me. Don't go! Be here with me where you are safe!" But then I remember how happy and motivated this has seemed to make him, and I can't do it. If he is going to stay a civilian, he must do it because he wants it, not because I could not suck it up and let my grip on him loosen enough. So I cry. I cry where he will not see me: in my car on the way to work, at work in between patients, at night when the house is quiet with sleep. Then I allow myself enough time for the tear tracks to vanish before seeing him again. He will never know, if I can help it.