Fake Green Grass

As Hubby gets packed to leave us for several months, and I swallow another round of pills to fight my condition, I keep asking myself, "Why are we getting put through this? Has God forgotten about us here???" We pray every night for people we know who are hurting, or who have new babies blooming in their lives and it makes me wonder if anyone is praying for us and if they are, why God isn't listening.

I remember as a child I thought God lived in our neighborhood. He lived in a white Capecod house with black shutters; most importantly, He had that plastic green grass on his front porch. Every single time we would go by that house I would say to myself, "Hi God, it's me again!" To my seven year old mind that was God's house.

Today I was driving home from having tea with some friends, one of which has lost her husband to a brain tumor in recent weeks. I thought again, as I navigated home, "Why has He forgotten her? Where is HE?!" I was pretty mad. I mean, I am no angel, but my husband going to war and me having Trigeminal Neuralgia is pretty brutal on the heart and mind.

As I drove along the same route I always take, there was a big yellow truck in front of me. One that I see occasionally in my neighborhood, and one that was driving as slow as can be. Normally I would fly down this road, but this truck was keeping me at a snail's pace. As I stared at the back of this truck, I started looking around me. To the left of me was a little gray house. On the front porch of this house was bright green plastic grass.

"God has moved down the street from me!" thought my seven year old self. But my thirty-five year old self thought, "Does that mean something? Or is it just a coincidence?" Oh, how I want to believe that God has moved for me. Oh how the mind of a seven year old wouldn't even question the appearance of bright green plastic grass.

Squished

The next few days will be so hard to get through. Between my meds and Daddy having to leave, I hope the kids will be able to cope. But I think kids are like playdough at this age. You can mold them into shapes and stick all kinds of different colors into them and, unless they are left out and forgotten about, they will remain soft and ready to play....just with a new shade of color. Hopefully I am correct about that.

My sister is going to come over to help me over the weekend. I still can't drive anywhere since I am completely zoned out during the hours of 10-3pm. I realized this morning that I haven't left the house in several days. My sister suggested (jokingly) that I get put on the Meals on Wheels list and I wouldn't have to cook for the kids! All joking aside, I don't know how I will handle this once Hubby is gone. I guess I will have to do everything after 3pm.

I will be the Vampire Mommy. Stumbling around Kroger trying to beat the clock home...before my next dose is due. It is like the dark Cinderella and the kids are my mice. Everyone says I look normal enough when I am out and about with the meds kicking in. But I feel completely not-normal.

I feel like someone was squishing me, mixing up my colors, leaving me under the kitchen table...and I am a lumpy ball of gray just waiting to dry up...until after 3pm when I am ready to be me again.

And the Award Goes To:

Last night was horrible. The pain started at 5pm and didn't leave until midnight or so. I tied an ace bandage around my head with an ice pack jammed into the left side of my face for some minimal relief. I couldn't even say goodnight to my kids. Conor was calling for me and I couldn't even go upstairs and talk to him.

I want to know why. Why did this happen? I am so tired of it. It has been four months of chronic pain. And every article or journal or medical website basically says: try these four or five things and if they don't work....sorry.

So in the midst of my pain I watched--through squinty eyes--the Oscars. There is nothing more that can get you fired up than watching the Oscars while you are doubled over in pain with an ace bandage tied to your head. Yes, yes...you all are wonderful playing cops and oil tycoons and queens. You all look so lovely. What a wonderful life you all have.

Me?

Oh, I like dressing up and playacting. I act like my husband isn't going to war. I act like I don't have a crazy disease that no one seems to know how to fix 100%. I act like I still have plenty of time to lose the baby weight. (Never mind that the baby is 10 months old now). I act like I don't feel horrible about asking my friend, whose husband has been gone for six months and who has three small kids, if she can pick up my children from school because I can't drive anymore.

Shall I go on? No? You have a party to go to?

Eventually I turn the televsion off. I don't want to watch the beautiful people anymore. I have to change my icepack. It has turned to slush and my thoughts have literally been squeezed out of my mind.

I truly hope tonight fares better. If only there were another awards show on.

Does Spiderman Wear Underwear?

My four year old son is obsessed with wearing a Spiderman outfit that I gave him. Which is good because last year at this time he was obsessed with wearing various princess costumes. Now I have to pry Spidey off of him in order to get appropriate clothing on him to go to Walmart or church. Today I was in the midst of this and noticed he wasn't wearing any underwear. I asked him why and he replied, "Mommy, Spiderman doesn't wear underwear!" I had no retort to this. Except to state to my son, "Yes he does wear underwear so you have to." To which he replied, "How do you know Mommy?" At this point I was almost dropping my ten month old, the three year old was managing to toast her picture -- don't ever get a step stool for the kitchen-- so I just went with it. "Fine, don't wear any" and I stomped away thinking:

Semper Ubi Sub Ubi

That is the only sentence I remember from my years as a Latin student. I felt like yelling that at my four year old. It would have gotten the same reaction that "because I said so" gets. A stare, a stomp, and a slam of a door. Maybe if I start speaking in Latin my kids will start listening to me. Because then they'd have to figure out what I was saying. I will try anything at this point.

Does anybody really know if Spiderman wears underwear? Can you email me and let me know so I can win the argument next time?

Quite the Night

Well I survived another night of severe pain. I had to walk around the house-- serving dinner, cleaning up after dinner, getting the kids to bed-- with an ice pack ace bandaged to my face. My four year old son started crying when he saw me. My husband is picking up a lot of the slack (almost all of it)...which is great but he is supposed to be leaving soon. We just keep waiting for the meds to kick in full time-- not just during the day.

I ended up sleeping alone last night due to, I am sure, the sounds of the ice packs moving around as I toss and turn. My dreams are quite vivid (last night I dreamed that my Dad and I were driving around, got lost, and ended up on a ferry to nowhere. Then, same dream, I was riding bicycles in my childhood neighborhood and ended up at my Dad's old office -- do I want to be a kid again??? YES!) and I am sure I act out during my sleep. Who wouldn't with all of the drugs in my system.

I am a bit worried that if/when Hubby is gone, I won't be able to hear the kids at night. He is always saying that they "cried out" and I NEVER hear them. Scary. I used to be up at the slightest noise. Now....nothing gets me up.

So I wait until four o'clock and see if the signs of a bad attack are going to hit me. That is my witching hour. If I can make it to six or seven, I know I am in the clear. If not...

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

One of my favorite poems..."The Second Coming" by Yeats. Never heard of it? Here it is:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Second_Coming_(poem)

How the War affects My Teeth

Yes. The war affects my teeth. My jaw. My tongue. With so many injured guys coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan there is no Pain Management or Neurologist available to Dependents (i.e., me and my kids). The doctors are devoted only to the injured soldiers. So, for the last four months I have sat in the Emergency Room on various occasions holding ice packs to my face and trembling from the pain. I literally got lectured at by some male nurse as he took my vitals. He told me "you need to figure out who is going to manage your health care." I just stared at him and started to cry from the insanity of it all.

Thanks. Really, so helpful. We "dependents" get bounced around from clinic to emergency room and then we get lectured. We literally have to meet people in parking lots to get medicine because there are no appointments available.

The war is taking a toll on everyone. There are not enough doctors to help the families who are on the home front. I haven't seen a doctor but two times in the last four years. And one was a narcoleptic and they "couldn't find him anywhere in the hospital" Nice. They had to reschedule my visit. They couldn't find the guy.

So my teeth hurt for months because there are hurt soldiers. I understand that. Really I do. I am a soldiers wife. God forbid he gets hurt, I would want the best doctors to take care of him. But what about us?

What about the families who are home and fighting our own battles? Doesn't it affect the soldiers too? Knowing that if their wives, or kids get really sick or hurt...there isn't anyone to help unless you go to the ER several times until someone finally takes you seriously? Doesn't that make for distraction on the front?

My teeth hurt. My heart hurts (my husband is leaving in a matter of days) and I am incredibly mad that we are treated this way.

Skull Crackin' Fun

I should have known it was going to be a day of contrasts. We left the house with big, fluffy snowflakes falling around us and darkness surrounding us. By the time we got to Vanderbilt, the snow was gone, the sun was up. By eight-thirty, the Neurologist was having me walk toe to toe across the floor.

Yes indeed, it is Trigeminal Neuralgia and we can go two ways. We can try meds until I can't it anymore, or we can just skip on ahead to surgery. Surgery of the head. Meaning, they will cut? drill? slice? a hole into my skull and move my brain over to reach the Trigeminal Nerve and place a Teflon disk in between the nerve and the pesky blood vessel that has been the cause of all of my pain. Hmmmmm....meds please.

I mean, when they say "move your brain over" where exactly is it moving to? There doesn't seem to be a heck of a lot of "moving" room in there. I guess they just squish it like a sponge. I just hope they aren't squishing a real important part of my brain. Like the part where I keep my memories. The math part...well they can basically extract that part. I have never been able to get much out of that part of my brain anyway, so squish away doc!

With Hubby deploying to God Knows Where, I don't think I want to have "brain moving" surgery. But if the meds stop working, or worse, never work at all....I will have to sign up for the surgery. I can't live with the pain. But can I put my kids through Mommy in the hospital, Daddy at war?

Oh the timing of it all.