Shields

And just like that, he's gone. The gray bearded man driving a green minivan just whisked my husband away as if he was just running an errand. Off to the airport and out of our lives for a year. The kids did a lot better than I thought they would. The oldest just nodded solemnly at the whispered last words his Daddy spoke as he held him close. The youngest clutched his Daddy Doll and said "I miss you" over and over. The middle, in her usual way, tried to make light of it all, giving her Daddy a quick hug and a giggle.

Me? I was running around trying to find a fat Sharpie marker for his duffel bag, water bottle for his trip, and cash for the cab. It is amazing how time just sped up in these, our last few hours together. One minute we were celebrating the last day of school - last Friday - the next, it's 0940 and the gray bearded cab driver is standing at my door waiting to take my husband away. 

I know I should have said something profound to my husband. Something Military like. "Come back with your shield, or on it" like those Spartan women would cry out to their men before they left for battle. But I'm not that tough a woman. Nor could I cry out "Come back with your duffel bag, or on it" since, really, that is all he has right now.  I know when he gets to where he is going, they will provide him with "shields." I've seen the gear from the last four deployments. Bullet proof vests, helmets, guns, etc. But as he walked away from me and our life all he had was a duffel bag. Not so dramatic as the Spartan warriors. Everything now is under the radar. Shielding the families from things we don't really want to know about.

So many thoughts ran through my head as he pulled away, down the street and around the corner. I should have thanked him again for working so hard on the pergola. He wanted to keep his family in the shade, out of the sun -- opposite of where he will be for the next year. I wanted to tell him that I loved him one more time -- just in case. I wanted to make sure he was wearing his scapula and dog tags with the St. Michael Medallion that will lay on his chest, protecting his heart, his soul. Did he remember the Joan of Arc statue that my youngest picked out for him? Did he remember the Patrick figurine (you know, from Spongebob Squarepants) that the kids wanted him to bring? Did he remember to kiss us enough...did we tell him enough that we love him?

My last words to him: "Come home to us." I've said it numerous times to him. Too many to count in this last decade of Military life. I push out the "what ifs"  and the "I don't think I can do this" thoughts that currently are racing through my unguarded head and heart.

Why are shields more important than helmets? Why protect the heart instead of the head? To ask a Spartan warrior from thousands of years ago, you'd know that the helmet protects the self, while the shield protects the common good of all. 
 
My husband, my shield...come back to us. And don't forget to bring Patrick.

Thrones

So yesterday was Mother's Day. And in the usual spirit of my family, the kids were terribly excited. We were going to see an exhibit of Princess Diana -- surprise Mommy! Isn't that exciting? Yes, I was surprised and excited. For two reasons: One, I really wanted to go see that exhibit and have for a while (I was only two years old-- ok nine, can't deny my age-- when she got married and still remember being transfixed watching her on the television) and Two, I was stunned that my husband came up with this gift.

He isn't good with gifts. I've gotten cash before on Mother's Day past. I've gotten a Happy Happy Headscratcher on my 30th birthday. I've had Christmases with no filled stockings. He just doesn't get it. And I can't really hold it against him. He had no women in his life to show him these things. My mother in law died when my husband was twelve. With four brothers and a Dad, he was left to his own gift-giving devices. Considering what he received as gifts through his late childhood, I can't blame him for screwing up here and there. I think he and his brothers gave his Dad a ladder that they made with wood they found one year...you get the idea. His going away to college gift was an alarm clock (which we still have and use). So, gifts were not at the forefront of his life. And neither was a Mom. 

This Mother's Day the children were asking a lot of questions about Sharon. They wanted to know why I never got to meet her, why they never did. I told them the truth -- that she died when Daddy was young and she never got to know Daddy or their Uncles either. It breaks my heart that this happened to their family, and to ours. The kids never knowing Sharon, and she not knowing them. Of course, she is remembered as a Queen/Angel/Best Mother of All Time to my husband. Luckily, her mother, Hubby's Grandmother, approached me when he and I were engaged and filled me with the following knowledge that has helped me get through a lot of eye-rolling moments with my husband: "Those boys thought of their mother as an Angel...as perfect! Well, she wasn't. I just thought you should know that." Thank you Sally. Seriously, you have saved my marriage in many ways with that one statement. Sharon will always be the Queen in Hubby's eyes, and I am perfectly fine with that, because I got a glimpse of her through her own mother's eyes, she was just like me...not so perfect. 

Just like Princess Di...and just like how my Mother's Day ended up being...not quite perfect.  We got to the exhibit and it was essentially sold out. Hubby had not bought tickets beforehand and was really embarrassed. And yes, I did pout (as did my daughter -- she wore a tiara and everything!) but then I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least this year he had a plan. A flawed plan, but a plan non-the-less. It wasn't cash. Amen.

The kids kept calling me Princess all day yesterday, saying "Mommy, you are our Princess today!" and in the back of my head I was thinking, I'll definitely be the Princess tomorrow as I prepare for the colonoscopy. I will be as close to my personal "porcelain throne"  as I can be as I chug the disgusting concoction they force you to drink allllll day long the day before the procedure. And, from what I hear, the bathroom and the throne within it will be my little home for about twelve hours straight. 

Just a Princess and her throne. The day after Mother's Day. Timing is everything. 

Mass

There is nothing worse (ok, there are) in the world than seeing blood coming out of your body where there shouldn't be. When this happened to me, I went right into the land of denial. Hmmm...that's weird....on with my day. 

But when it happened four more times that morning, I realized that it was beyond "weird" and something needed to be done...and by someone who might know what to do (rather than me-- or say...google.) So, I boldly attempted to get an appointment with my Primary Care Physician (and yes, I can hear all of the scoffs and laughter from my fellow military wives) who apparently left the clinic some months ago. And no, they haven't found a replacement for her yet. So...no doctor. Really? None? Can't you find somebody that will look at me? I'll even take my narcoleptic doctor from the last Duty Station (unless they still haven't located him...in that case, let him rest.) 

At any rate, no doc....so off to the ER I went. With my four year old in hand. Scared, in slight pain, but more feeling like, "what a pain in the arse this is!" How true these words will become in the next few hours.

I won't go into details. No one needs to hear about them...and I certainly don't want to relive them. Let's just say I was battered, bruised, poked, prodded and left out to dry. Literally. My forearms look like I am a heroin addict. I think I must have been the very first patient of the young nurse that tried to get blood from me. Seriously, bruises the size of index cards.

The good news: You're not pregnant! 
The bad news: You're going to need a colonoscopy! 
Wait...whuh? Where they stick a....and they put a ...and whuh? 

I am completely stunned. My husband is about to leave for a year and you are telling me there is a mass in my ass? Seriously? If it weren't so true, I'd be laughing right now (ok, I did laugh..mass in my ass...I still giggle every time) 

I know we all basically have the same body parts. We ALL will have to get colonoscopies one day (yes, you will too)...but I really didn't think it would be needed so soon. I'm still (somewhat) young. I haven't felt any differently in the last few days. (I'm still the same neurotic person I've always been) So what the heck is going on with my body? 

The ER doc says not to worry too much. I say, "whatever doc" and let my imagination take me where it wants. Which is not Disneyland. It's Cancerland. And Cancerland before Deploymentland is not a good combination. Why does my body have to overreact to every deployment? It's like a two year old having a tantrum: "I don't want you to go to war, so I am going break down!" or "If you go, I am going to have Trigeminal Neuralgia or, or, or CANCER! So there!" 
So, yes, I am heading in for the one thing that most people don't even like to think about, let alone read about (so apologies are in order if you haven't stopped reading by this point).
 
The saga continues...and this is what it is like getting sick, stressing out, and finding blood where there shouldn't be. Welcome to Gettingoldland.