More Hospital Craziness...and Lessons Learned

Let me start this post by apologizing for all the drama lately...but oh my goodness, this just keeps on going! I hope to be back to our regularly scheduled shiny-happiness ASAP. If you want to check back in when the coast is clear, I'll totally understand.

This morning started out bright and early. 6 AM-Rounds for the residents. I didn't sleep half bad in that fold-out chair. Neither did Jake, apparently. Unfortunately, this meant he slept through a dose of his pain meds. This didn't occur to anyone until, 6:30 AM-Pain spike. I was so grateful we weren't dealing with this by ourselves in the hotel room (and by we, I mean me). Of course, if I had been dealing with it by myself, I would have set the alarm to administer the pain meds. Just sayin'. Anyway, it was pretty brutal. I don't handle my children's pain very well. It seemed like it took forever to bring back under control, but it was such a relief when he was resting comfortably again.

After the surgeon's visit to check on him, I got the impression we'd be staying another night, just to make sure his pain was under control. The OT and the social worker both stopped by and went over his needs in those areas. I was given instructions and handouts to secure the "must have" shower chair, Jake was issued his crutches and taken on a bit of a scary trial run (with his IV catheter still in his arm)...and a rental wheelchair was ordered. At this point (just after noon), I decided Jake was probably in a good enough place that I could go back to the room and shower and change. I hooked him up with a Harry Potter movie and made my way up the hill. (Knowing there would be no parking in the hotel lot, because hospital staff also use it, and also knowing my front-lot hospital spot I had scored the night before would be gone if I left it...I opted to just walk back and forth.) When I got into the room and started to gather my things, I realized...I had no clean clothes. A much needed shower and two loads of laundry later, I was headed back down the hill to see how Jake was doing.

I logged back in and spotted the shiny new wheelchair outside his door. When I entered the room, I saw that we now had roommates. Jake was kind of upset I had been gone so long. I told him I'd be back in just over an hour and I'd been gone for three. I felt bad, but what could I do? His movie was over and the nurse had started another for him. He popped back in to check on Jake, and said that he heard we'd be headed home soon. I was confused, so he called to have one of the residents come back up and talk to us.

The {15 year old} resident arrived about 20 minutes later. She said that since he'd been fine since this morning's pain episode, he was OK to be released. The surgeon had really made it sound like we were staying another day, and frankly, I was scared that his pain wasn't going to be managed via oral medication. I explained that the OT had insisted we have a shower chair and that I hadn't had a chance to go out and get it yet and was hoping to do it while he was still in the hospital, so he wouldn't be left alone in this condition while I scoured the island for medical supply stores. Instead of being concerned about...or even acknowledging this predicament, she said, "Well, the OT didn't say anything about this in her notes." Blank stare. I wanted to say, "Yes, I'm just making this up. This entire 30 minute dialog I had with the OT, her insistence it was necessary for his safety, how Tricare didn't pay for it anymore, so I'd have to pay for it, the list of places to look which I held in my hand...yep. I'm totally making this up."

Finally, I just said, "By releasing him now, you are in effect, saying he's OK to be left totally alone in a hotel room while I not only find this chair, but while I go out and get all of our meals, since he's supposed to be in bed for the next five days with his leg elevated above his heart, other than to use the bathroom and shower. So is that what you are saying? Because I'm not thinking he's ready for that." She didn't even blink. "He'll be fine." (looking at Jake) "You're not going to do anything stupid, right?"

On one hand, I SO wanted to be out of there, on the other hand, I kept visualizing the story my neighbor told, of our other neighbor whose child had a similar surgery {same hospital}, they under-medicated him, and she had to leave her screaming, vomiting child back in the room with a hotel employee while she raced back to the hospital for adequate pain meds. This whole system just seemed so crazy! Hotels are not hospitals...and patients don't have adequate support, removed from their communities! But what did I know? Apparently, Jake was ready to care for himself.

So, the resident left and the nurse came back to tell us we'd head down the the cast room for Jake's overwrap before they discharged him, but that they had said they were pretty backed up and asked us to wait about an hour. (The surgeon had left his cast cut open, up the middle, to allow for swelling. Now they needed to wrap more of the cast material around it, to harden it into a regular cast.) About an hour later (5 PM) a nursing assistant took us down to find the cast room deserted. No one in sight. She managed to get someone on the phone who paged someone who came in and wanted to know who we had talked to. He was the ortho tech on call, and he knew nothing of this. When he looked Jake up in the computer system, he discovered that the nurse on the floor had mistakenly placed the order with (and spoken on the phone to) the casting room of the ortho clinic at Schofield Barracks...nearly an hour away...instead of the casting room of the ortho clinic downstairs in the same hospital. *Facepalm*

The ortho tech wrapped up the cast. Jake had now decided to have white wrapped over his previously chosen, hunter orange...guess he was bored with it already. It was now after 6, and Jake's foot had been down WAY too long, so we hurried out to the lobby. I fished in the pocket of my backpack where the keys should have been and they're gone. I search through all the other compartments...nothing. I mentally retraced my steps and realized, since I'd been walking back and forth between the hotel and hospital during Jake's stay...I must have left them back in the hotel. The nurse offered to call the hotel shuttle, but couldn't get a hold of them...and I was doubtful they would even come after hours. So, I determined it would just be quicker for me to walk across the hospital parking lot and up the stairs and across the hotel parking lot and back, than it would be to wait for a shuttle. I think I mentioned these stairs before.



You can't really see all of them here because they turn to the left and keep going...but there are 103 steps here. While I realize this might be someone's cardio-fantasy...I hate stairs. And when I was about 3/4 of the way to the top, I kid you not...out of nowhere it started pouring down rain. I had had it at this point, and started sobbing...and since I was also out of breath, this was not easy. I looked up to heaven, and said, "OK...what is the point of this? What am I supposed to learn from all of this?" I was just feeling kicked while I was down, and just wanted to get my kid back into his bed.

When I made it to the room, the key card would not open the door. Now I was really crying, and digging through my bag for another, and hoping I was alone in the building. I finally found one that worked. So, I started searching the room but couldn't see them anywhere. I remembered I was wearing my jacket last night, and I was betting the keys were in the pocket...only the jacket was nowhere to be found. It was now going on 6:30, and I was panicking. I called back to the ward to see if maybe I left the jacket in the room...maybe it had fallen behind something. They couldn't find it either.

So, I did the only thing I could do...I prayed and headed back down to the hospital, empty handed. I walked by the rental car to see if for some crazy reason I had left it unlocked with the keys inside (which I would never do) but it was all secure with no sign of the jacket, either. As I walked back to the front of the hospital, the nurse was waving her phone at me, saying, "They found your jacket with the keys inside!" Since it was taking so long, she had called up to the ward to get the phone number for my room. They told her I had just called, and that they had found the jacket wrapped up with the linen and someone was running it down. Hallelujah!

Just then, who should walk out the door, but the surgeon. He was very surprised to see us, but I gave him a nutshell run-down of all that had transpired, and he just shook his head in disbelief. He pointed at Jake and said, "That young man needs to get his leg up in the air...because that cast will act just like a tourniquet." I told him we were working on it, that someone was headed down with the keys as we spoke...but wanted to say, "Now tell me why it was so important that he be released tonight...AFTER business hours...leading to all this craziness?! WHO'S plan was this?!" But I was just so grateful to be getting out of there, I refrained.

As we were driving back up to the hotel, I remembered that Heidi was supposed to come visit us earlier this afternoon. I wondered if something had happened, and if she would show up, just to find us gone. I hoped that they'd at least steer her in the right direction if she did show up. Jake was really starting to feel the pain and I was eager to get him pumped with some more drugs with his foot elevated. He did not like the loopy feeling of the oral meds at all, but I was just glad to see him resting and not in pain. It was now after 7, and I had had some cookies to eat this morning, and that was it. The shower chair was going to have to wait for tomorrow, but we needed dinner now.

Just then, the phone rang. It was Heidi, apologizing for not making it down earlier...her day was pretty crazy. She asked how things were going, and I gave her the rundown of the latest misadventures. Then she said, "But...it worked out so that now I'm headed down ALONE (did I mention she has 7 kids?) and I just thought I'd pull over and call you to find out if you've eaten yet? I'm by a bunch of different restaurants." I wanted to cry. She had totally thrown me a lifeline. She listed what she saw, I picked Chili's and told her what we'd like. Then she asked, "Is there anything else you need?" I told her that the only other thing we needed was that shower chair, but that I'd just look for it tomorrow. I told her the OT gave me a list of medical supply places, but she had said that I should try Long's Drugs first, because if they had it, they'd be the cheapest option. Then Heidi said, "I'm sitting right in front of a Long's Drugs." And it just so happened, that she knew exactly what we needed, because she had had surgery and had needed one, too.

That one phone call had changed my entire outlook. I had felt completely alone...like we had been sent across the ocean to totally fend for ourselves. The "powers that be" who sent us over here, really didn't seem to care if we had a decent place to stay, or how things turned out in the end. It felt like I had to fight within this system for everything and could take nothing for granted. But after I hung up the phone, I heard clearly in my mind, "I will not leave you comfortless." Maybe no one in this big government bureaucracy really does care what we're going through or what our needs are...but someone more important does. I have a Father in Heaven who meets my needs perfectly...and he will not leave me without comfort. That, my friends...is the lesson I needed to remember (as I looked toward heaven in the pouring rain). That is the take-away number one.

Heidi arrived in what seemed like no time at all, with delicious smelling food and the exact shower chair from the picture. As much as we needed the food and the chair, I needed the spirit which she brought even more. While Jake rested in the other room, we sat at the table in mine and just talked and talked. It's hard for me to express how uplifting the conversation was. It felt like medicine. I appreciated the opportunity to get to know her (more than the breaks and wives' luncheon at Chaplain's Conference usually provide). I will never forget what an angel of mercy she was to me...and it was obvious as we discussed the events of the day that led up to her being in my room at that moment (instead of earlier in the day at the hospital) that this was no coincidence.

Lesson number two came to me earlier today. I am just a visitor here in medical purgatory. I have friends who LIVE in this world...who are never going to be done with this as long as their children are living. I can't even imagine what that is like...and I'm so grateful that my stay here is temporary.

Lesson (or reminder) number three was that God answers our prayers through other people, sent on his errands...and that all of us have the ability to be angels of mercy to others. I pray that I can be the type of angel to someone else that Heidi was to me today.

Surgery Day

Our day started out bright and early. No need to make time for breakfast with Jake's NPO status, so that bought us another thirty minutes of sleep. I was absolutely dreading going through the two-hour, pre-op appt. With good reason. I spoke to my friend Heidi about it last night, and she said it's not a pleasant experience. You are just basically shuffled around from room to room, signing in at each station to wait to have things explained to (and questions asked of) you. {Heidi's hubs is an LDS Army chaplain and we've gotten to know them through our October conferences over the years. They are stationed here.}

As soon as we arrived on the floor, I realized something. With all of the craziness in the clinic over the past couple of days...at least no one was rude. These nurses behind the counter on the surgical ward were just plain mean and nasty. I seriously wanted to ask if they were always this rude to people, or if I was just special. I was yelled at twice for standing in the wrong spot. I'm not kidding you. It's not like it was obvious or intuitive...I was just following the signs. {"Oh...I'm sorry, Nurse Ratched...this says 'check in here for surgery.' I didn't realize there was ANOTHER 'check in here for surgery.' Sorry I picked the wrong one."} When we got to the station where a nurse does the vitals and creates the chart, etc., we found out she hadn't gotten the memo that Jake was to be admitted (not an outpatient). This would mean a totally different chart and set of forms. She was obviously ticked and couldn't get a hold of the Dr. to confirm...and just got more ticked that no one would return her page. That was fun.

After several stations, Jake had his gown, robe and slippers and knew how to use them. We were finally in the last waiting room, ready to speak with the anesthesiologist. Into the room walked Heidi, her husband, and a military Sr. missionary couple. I can't even tell you how wonderful it was to see their shiny, happy, friendly faces. What a blessing! Right behind them came the anesthesiologist, so they waited while we met with him. He was absolutely delightful. Jake couldn't stop cracking up at his iPod playlist. I'm guessing because the music was right off the set of Soul Train, and he was Caucasian and obviously not even yet born in the 70s. While Jake found it amusing, I was thinking, "I could seriously be friends with this guy."

When we came back into the waiting room, Lee (Heidi's husband) mentioned there was a meditation chapel just around the corner. We went to the counter to tell Nurse Ratched and Co. that we were just going to go around the corner to the chapel for a few minutes, and she went into overdrive with "WHERE are you going? WHAT is the patient's name" in a tone usually reserved for someone who has just thrown your bike in a ditch. I couldn't help it, I turned around to Heidi and said (so anyone could hear me), "Do you see what I was talking about?" Strangely enough, her demeanor changed...as if I had just held up a mirror to her behavior.

In the chapel, we were able to shut out all of the craziness, rudeness and anxiety...and just focus on peace and each other. Lee and the Elder gave blessings to Jake and me, which was so helpful. Cliff had given us blessings before we left, but with all that had transpired, it was so nice to be brought back to center again. After a few minutes, they left...promising to come visit again tomorrow...and Jake and I made our way back to the waiting room. About 15 minutes later, a nurse came to lead us to the OR.

This is where Jake started to panic. "I'm not ready for this...I'm not ready to give up walking yet!" Hearing the panic in his voice was heartbreaking...but we had come this far, and needed to just push forward, so I just stayed calm and told him he could do it, it would all be OK. Jake got gowned-up and climbed into his bed to wait for his turn. In a matter of minutes, the surgeon came out and talked to us for a few minutes. Then the anesthesiologist tried to start the IV. Even though they had put patches on his hands to numb the skin, Jake panicked some more at the thought of the needle. He offered to give Jake the mask instead, but warned the gas had a very strange smell. Jake wanted him to describe the gas, but he had nothing to compare it to. {Jake later described it as a cross between BO, diesel fuel, onions and cilantro.} Then Jake wanted to know if he was going to dream. Then he asked how many people were going to be in the room.

By now, I'm getting the feeling Jake is just looking for ways to stall. He opted for the mask, and then the anesthesiologist asked Jake if he wanted ME to scrub up and accompany them into the OR and wait until he's asleep. I know Jake really doesn't need this, but of course, he agrees to the suggestion. Unfortunately, by this point it's after noon, I haven't eaten anything either, and I'm starting to feel sick. The thought of being in the OR makes it worse. I've just been waiting for them to wheel him in, so I can eat something and take something for my headache before I start dry heaving.

Luckily, Jake was understanding when I explained that I was feeling sick and needed to take some medicine, and agreed that I should just walk him to the OR door. I followed them to the point of no return, kissed him, told him I loved him...turned around and {surprise} started to cry. It was just a tension release, I'm sure. I knew he was in good hands...knew he was going to be fine and that this was for the best...but it was still stressful.

While I waited, besides getting some miso udon noodle soup and taking some Motrin, I went and got the temporary handicapped placard for the rental car, and picked up a little something for Jake to cuddle with when he woke up:


What can I say, he's not the teddy bear type.

I was only back in the waiting room for about twenty minutes when they came in to get me, so it wasn't too bad at all. Jake spent two hours in recovery...he just wouldn't wake up. It was actually not too different than any other morning. He's always been a sleeper. The surgeon said things went great..two incisions...one on the foot, one on his calf, just above the ankle, to lengthen his tendons (which should improve his poor range of motion). Jake was now the proud owner of a dead guy's foot bone. How many kids can say that?

As I watched him stir, trying to fight his way out of his sleep, I had a vivid flashback almost twelve years earlier, back to the day (a week into his PICU stay) he was finally being allowed to come out of his drug-induced coma, with the hope that they could try extubation. I was dangling a necklace, back and forth, over his hand...trying to tickle him awake. I'll never forget the moment his eyes finally fluttered open and he tried to focus on the charms and moved his hand to grasp them. When he saw me, a big smile flashed across his face...but then his little face quickly crumpled into tears (but he couldn't really cry around the vent). Back then, we were only sent about an hour away to the nearest major military hospital, for what ended up being a two week stay (although a much scarier one). Now we are thousands of miles from home for almost twice that long...but again, just the two of us.



Jake at six months, during his PICU stay after contracting Infantile Botulism.


Anyway, as he did get more wakeful, he started expressing lots of regret...wishing he had never agreed to the surgery. He was complaining about numbness in his leg (turns out he just didn't realize the cast was what was keeping him from feeling the sheets) and pain in his good heel (maybe from the way it was resting during the surgery). Finally, he was awake enough for us to head up to the pediatric ward.

They have been really wonderful up here...and it is such a relief, I can't even express it. Why can't everyone be this lovely to deal with? I'm so glad we are staying the night. When I think about having to take him home in this condition, it just blows my mind. He's so groggy and anxious. Luckily, the chair folds out into a bed that is actually comfortable, so I can stay right here with him. (Beats the recliner I slept upright in,back at the PICU). There are three other beds in the room, but we have it to ourselves, at least for now.

Goodnight!

Tomorrow is the Day...

Wow, I feel absolutely spent after this day. It's no secret...I'm not a good patient...nor a good patient's mother. In reflecting upon today, I'm reminded that there are two reasons I'm so grateful for my health and my healthy family. The first is obvious...healthy bodies allow us the physical freedom to do practically anything. But there's another reason I feel is just as big...and that's not having to be at the mercy of the medical establishment. Oh my goodness, what an ordeal. Again, I admit, I'm a control freak...so I don't do getting yanked around very well. At all.

We received another phone call this morning, this one telling us that now our two-hour, pre-op/anesthesiology appt. has been postponed until tomorrow at 7 AM (day of surgery) instead of 11:30 AM today, since they rescheduled the appt. with the surgeon until this afternoon. Evidently, that one has to happen before anesthesia. So we'll have zero chance to ask questions, receive instructions, anything, before we're headed into surgery. This was SO frustrating, but I figured we'd at least have a chance to finally talk to the Dr. this afternoon and get all the details of the procedure.

I tried to look at the bright side...at least we had a little more time to get down to the beach for the last thing Jake wanted to do before he's no longer able to get in the water.




We had a very nice time riding the waves in this thing. It was an absolutely beautiful day. It was so nice to take an hour and just relax. I had been really nervous about it...couldn't believe I had let Jake talk me into doing it...but I really wanted him to have some good memories of our trip here. We even had a sea turtle swim right up to us and pop his head out of the water for a breath, before swimming off. Of course, since I forgot the waterproof case to the dive camera, I had no camera (which is also why I only have this pic of Jake on the shore before I had to run and put the camera in the locker).

We finished with enough time to grab something quick for lunch and drive back to the lodge and rush down to the hospital. When we arrived at the counter, the receptionist said, "You'll be seeing Dr. Y"...to which I said, "No, Dr. X"...he said, "I'm confused, it says Dr. Y" To which I reply, "I don't even know him...do you mean to tell me we're not even going to see the Dr. performing the surgery? Why did they tell us to come at this time, then?" (Mind you...we are now on our third appt. time...yesterday AM, today AM and now today PM.) He told us to have a seat and he'd find out what was going on.

I was seething, tears already starting to well up. This whole thing has been such a comedy of errors....from the get go, {two years ago}...and the past couple of days have been the worst...with this whole chain reaction of screwed up appointments. I felt like just a number. {NEXT!} We had so many questions, and had been waiting so long to ask them. Other than the twenty minutes we met with the surgeon initially for him to look at Jake and decide he could help him, we've had nothing. No information. We wanted to know things like, how long is the surgery? Which method would actually be used? How long would he actually stay in the hospital? How long would he have to stay in bed? As the time got shorter, I felt more and more powerless...and disrespected. Surgery is tomorrow and I KNOW NONE OF THIS!!! The receptionist came back out and said that Dr. X was in surgery. I stood up and said, "This is ridiculous. I want to be speaking with the Dr. who is going to be cutting open my son, not a stand-in. I'm done. I'd like to speak with the Patient Contact Representative and the Marine Liaison. This is totally unacceptable."

On the way down the hall to the PCR office, I was shaking. I couldn't believe we'd gone through all of this hassle, and that these people thought it would be acceptable to just start cutting on my kid without letting us have as much specific information as we wanted. This couldn't possibly be the way it was supposed to happen. After sitting down with her and seeing the horror on her face over the way things had been handled, I knew it wasn't just me. A few minutes later, the receptionist appeared at the door and said Dr. X was there and would be seeing us. Apparently, he planned on seeing us all along and was just on his way down from surgery, just running late. Why no one else knew this, or the computer didn't reflect it, I don't know. It's too bad that this was just the cherry on top of everything else and not just isolated, or it wouldn't have gone this far.

So, this is the tense note on which we started out our appointment. Lovely! Dr. X wanted to know why I was talking to the PCR...and I said I felt like a number. I told him I thought he was a wonderful Dr., obviously very compassionate...but that while this may just be routine to him...this was a VERY big deal to us and we had almost NO information (voice cracking). I told him that while the game of appointment musical chairs was certainly frustrating, learning we wouldn't even be speaking with the actual surgeon was the last straw. He said that they {meaning the front desk guy} didn't know what they were talking about, that that was never the case...and I asked how I was supposed to know that? Anyway, as the appointment went on, the tension melted away, I got all the information I wanted and he admitted he would have done the same thing if he was in my situation with one of his kids. He apologized for all the bouncing around, but said he wasn't even aware of our existence until we showed up here last week, and had had to go to great lengths to fit us into the schedule. {I totally believe him and it shouldn't surprise me at all, but it slays me...who's in charge of this stuff, then?!}

OK...so here's a few things that blow my mind. {And I have to preface the first two by saying, I don't think this is how things normally go here. I'm very impressed with the Dr. overall and definitely want him doing Jake's surgery...I think it's just a continuation in the comedy of errors that has been our experience, for whatever reason.}

*As he's describing the procedure and mentions inserting the bone again...I ask, "Where is the bone coming from?" {Meaning...where on Jake's body.} Dr. X says, "Oh it's cadaver bone. We have it up in the lab." When he sees my puzzled face as I try to process this, he says, "Well, the chances of infection are practically nil, the chances of rejection are zero. If you don't want me to use that, then we can take some from his (I don't even remember where he was proposing because I was trying to wrap my brain around this) but that would be an additional surgery." For the record, I don't have a problem with cadaver bone. But am I the only one who thinks this is "lead-out" kind of info...not "after-thought, day before surgery" info? That's what I was trying to process...and it almost made me laugh. I tell him the cadaver bone is fine.

*As we are finishing up the appt, I mention something about the anesthesia appt the next day, and he apologizes again for us having to do it "day of," that it's obviously not ideal...but then casually says, "The only thing you really need to know tonight, is nothing by mouth after midnight...otherwise we can't do the surgery." I'm thinking, "Good to know. When were you going to mention that show-stopper?" I just let it go, though...there had been enough negative mojo in this appt already.

*They normally do this surgery on an outpatient basis. Once the patient is awake and pain is managed, they street you. I can't even fathom this. He said that since Jake was an aerovac patient, he would be admitted at least overnight, because they wouldn't send us back to the hotel with him in that condition. At least there's that!

We were totally spent at this point. Glad to have answers, but still feeling upset things had to get to the place that they did. I told Jake to pick someplace good for dinner. He decided to take up the Dr. on his recommendation:


Hawaii has sushi-go-rounds, too!



I had driven by one of these, but wasn't sure exactly how to get back. I kind of got lost and found it from the other direction, but we made it! We got there about twenty minutes before closing. That was enough time to put away a respectable amount of sushi.



Jake chose this darling, fishy, ice cream sandwich for dessert.



And the surprise inside? Chocolate? Of course not. Bean paste. Mmmm...just like home.

{Enjoy it, buddy...it'll be your last taste of anything for awhile.}

Frustrating Day...and a Lovely Evening

Jake's first pre-op appointment was scheduled for this morning. After waiting over an hour past our appointment time, someone (a nurse, I think) came out to tell us we weren't going to be seen today. This was extremely frustrating. I understand stuff happens and emergencies come up...but making us wait over an HOUR? It wasn't like our appt. was at 0700...they had plenty of time to figure out that the Dr. was going to be in surgery to tell us when we checked in that our appointment was being rescheduled. The frustration was amplified by:

(1) My being a control freak
(2) The fact that we have been sitting around for an extra week, waiting to ask the questions we've had for four months.
(3) Surgery being only two days away and I feel like I'm being cheated out of time I need to prepare. See number one.

So, they rescheduled the appt. for 0700 tomorrow, to fit it in before he goes into surgery for the day...and before the 2 hour pre-op/anesthesia appt. we have at 11:30. I asked (snidely...I'll admit), "Sooo...no chance we'll show up at 0700 tomorrow, to wait for an hour to be told we've been bumped again?" She flatly said, "No."

We headed back to the room. I fumed. And watched several episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress" and "Police Women of Maricopa County." {Jake is so happy to have his own TV, I'm sure.}

On the bright side, we had reservations for the Hale Koa Luau tonight. We left a little early to hopefully have some time to go to the Army museum beforehand, but that didn't work out because of accident traffic.



This is the picture they took as we entered the garden. Since I don't have a scanner here, I took a picture of the picture.



There were all kinds of crafts and displays as we walked in...and there was a "before show," with, Hawaiian guitar players, a tree climbing demonstration...



Yummy, fruity drinks...



And hula lessons! Like father, like son. {Ask Cliff about our honeymoon when they pulled him up on stage and made him put his hands on his hips, just like this.}



After the cocktail hour was over, we were funneled into the main stage area to find our assigned tables. The entertainment started right away.


And entertaining, it was. Not just heavy on the grass-skirts and coconuts...



Lots of muscles, too. {Hi, Cutie. Sorry...I'm already married.}



The food was all very interesting...most of it in a good way. Tried the poi, again...just in case my tastes had changed. Nope. It's still nasty.



We were each served a huge plate. Four kinds of meat. {What? No macaroni salad?} Almost all of it was fantastic.



This was dessert. I'm sorry to be a dessert snob...but this did not do it for me. Dessert either needs to involve chocolate...or crumb-top apple pie. Most every plate still had the flavorless pink jiggler on it when the server collected them.



The host was delightful. He's actually sort of famous. He had a couple of hit songs, one was a #1 hit in the 80s. I can't remember the name of it now, though. He sang it for us and I recognized it right away and it brought me back to the day.

Anyway, he went through a process to pick the couple who've been married the longest. This couple has been married 63 years! They were so cute together. They came up and danced while the host serenaded them. I was watching them, imagining being up there with Cliff, 43 years from now. As lovely as this show was, it felt so incomplete to be there without him..



I took many pictures and video clips, but won't include them all here. Just trust me, it was a great show. We had lovely table-mates from Indiana. The mom was a veteran, and she now works for the govt and was here on business. Her grown son and his girlfriend tagged along. He's thinking about leaving college and joining the Air Force. It was great to have the opportunity to tell him about my experience, how it was one of the best decisions I've made...and also go over the pros and cons of enlisting vs. finishing college and getting a commission. I hope he decides the take the plunge, either way...he seems great.



The show's finale was a very touching tribute to our military, past and present. In addition to the typical playing of service songs while people stood for their branch, for the last song, he called for anyone who had lost a close friend or family member in the military, to raise up a candle from their tables while he sang "Proud to Be an American." It was a very special experience.


Oh...and when we got back to the room? There was a message from orthopedics. They needed to reschedule that "sure thing" appt. from 0700...to two in the afternoon. *Counts to ten.*

International Marketplace...or "Special Price...Just for You!"

The shrimp are HUGE here!

We checked out of the Hale Koa today, and into the Army Lodge up at Tripler. I won't lie...it's not exactly posh. The buildings are old cement structures...but it feels just like home back on Okinawa. When we checked in at the front desk, we learned that not only is the rate about 1/3 less than the Hale Koa...but everything is included in that price, so the cost ends up being about half, overall. Free parking (HK=$8/night). Free local phone calls (HK= 50¢ ea.). Free Internet (HK=$10/night). Free breakfast, free laundry, free printing/faxing, free BBQ Wednesdays. And no fighting traffic to get the the hospital!


We are THIS close to the back of the hospital.

We went to our room and were SO pleasantly surprised. Yes, the buildings may be old, but we have TWO rooms. TWO TV's. The bed linens are much nicer than the Hale Koa's 80s-throwbacks...and the beds and pillows are HEAVEN compared to what they offered. Jake has more privacy and his own TV...which will be so awesome while he's convalescing...and I won't disturb him with my late-night blogging habit. It is such a huge blessing. I'm so grateful things worked out the way they did.

We dumped off our stuff, and headed back down to Waikiki to celebrate. Jake really wanted to check out the International Marketplace.



We were intrigued by this gold "statue." We decided to put a dollar in the hat and see what happened. It was pretty exciting.



When we came across this silver "statue" down the road, we knew to be prepared with the video this time.



A dollar is pretty cheap entertainment, I think.



We finally arrived at our destination, and the sales-pitches began. Oh my goodness, how I wanted to pinch the cheeks of all these cute Japanese ladies who wanted to offer me a "special deal...jus fo' you!" I didn't want to be insulting, but I just couldn't help giggling when they'd show me the asking price and then encourage me to "twist their arms" for a better price. ("No customah today...too windy. Bad fo' bizness. I give you special price. Today only.")



After a few good finds for the family back home, we stopped for some Dole Whip and Shave Ice...Hawaiian staples.



Then Jake was dying to do the "pick a pearl" booth. As we approached, we were asked to draw a slip out of a basket. It was a 40% off coupon. Bonus!



These are the possible pearl colors.



Jake had to tap it 3 times and shout, "Aloha!"



That must be the magic word, because he got the black pearl he was hoping for! It was actually a shade of purple. Very cool. He ended up doing this twice...the next time he got a 60% off, so it was like he bought one and got one free. Woohoo!



All that shopping wore us out and we were starving, so we headed over to the Cheesecake Factory for a late lunch.



Jake, scheming how he can go into the pearl business to make a few bucks.



I want to go back, just for these avocado egg rolls.



Yummy Orange Chicken. OK, I know American portions are huge...but this is ridiculous!



This chicken was out of this world. I was so excited to see so many fresh mushrooms...but seriously, this plate could have fed our whole family. These plates ended up being 3 meals each for us.




We could get used to this!

Do they allow beach camping here?

Beach view from Koko Cafe at the Hale Koa


Because the Stuart family motto is "Nothing is Ever Easy" (seriously...it's in Latin, right under our family crest), Cliff forwarded me an email from his command yesterday (not directed at us, just FYI for the entire, major command), including a new order regarding the aerovac program from Okinawa. It explained how people were "abusing" the program, that medical escorts weren't authorized just because someone wanted a family member present (they were only to be authorized for legitimate medical need) and then went on to explain the accepted procedure for securing lodging.

As I read it, my heart sank. Obviously, under the circumstances, Jake needed a medical escort...so I wasn't worried about that. But their explanation of the lodging process made me very nervous. The lodging options they listed were very similar to the packet of information the aerovac office at the hospital gave us. We were supposed to try all of the on-base lodging options first, before trying to find something out in town...but said we should shoot for finding accommodations priced at practically HALF of the allowable rate. Then they listed a bunch of "suggested" options for hotels in Honolulu that had rates within the per diem lodging allowance. The options were almost identical in both the order from Cliff's command and the packet of info from aerovac. With one exception...they said that the Hale Koa* is not considered government lodging for aerovac purposes and should only be considered as a last resort of the off-base options...and that travel reimbursement could be denied otherwise. (And while aerovac secures the medical appointments and the airline tickets, the command provides the orders and pays for the travel.)

In making our reservations, I followed the outlined procedures to the letter. I checked all of the on-base options first, and none of them had availability (which was no surprise...if you're going to Hawaii...you want a combination of the cheapest and safest option available, so all those rooms get snatched up far in advance). Then I went down the list of options for off-base lodging, which were not ranked in order of preference...and the Hale Koa was included. I had no way of knowing what any of the other accommodations were like...if they were in a safe area, if they were roach-infested or smelled like ashtrays. I went with what I knew...the Hale Koa. Unfortunately, they charge the maximum allowed government rate when you are there on orders (which is why the command is wanting us to avoid staying there). The thing is, once you add all the various taxes and double the parking rate...most of those other options are brought within 10 or 20 dollars of the Hale Koa rate, anyway. Making the known entity even more appealing.

I went from feeling safe and secure...to now having to worry if we were even going to be paid for this medical trip if we stayed in our current hotel reservation. We have a terrible history with {the broken system that is} government travel, anyway. We are still waiting for the last payment of over $1000 for reimbursement for a trip on orders six months ago. We've experienced first hand that "Murphy" works for the government and his law is more of an order, really...so I'm not willing to take any chances. So, in addition to checking every single on-base option AGAIN (at the rate of 50¢ a call, charged to ME, thank you very much) with no luck, I started looking at the off-base recommendations. The first one listed was a Best Western by the airport. I have driven by it. There is no way we're staying there. I learn my hunch is correct while talking to a friend who stayed there when her family first arrived here. They had several items stolen, including having their car broken into. It's no secret Honolulu has high crime...and it was not making me feel very good to think that more consideration was being given to saving the government a buck than the safety and security of my family. I mean, I know we're not here for a vacation...but the military SENT us here for medical care they couldn't provide at our duty station, for crying out loud!

So, I started looking up online reviews of some of the other hotels, and the outlook didn't get any better. Street noise, wild parties, theft, lack of secure parking, roaches. This is what our command had in mind for us. Nice. I was pretty sick over it at this point...feeling like we were sent over here alone to fend for ourselves (under already stressful circumstances), without any regard to whether we found a safe place to stay, knowing we are going into this blind. It was bad enough we were having to front all of the expenses ourselves and wait to be reimbursed, but now this? It just seemed like there should be some sort of "sure-thing" lodging close to the hospital for families who are aerovac'd here. They do have a Fisher House (like a Ronald McDonald house, but for military hospitals) but it is reserved for families of long-term, critical patients. We needed a safe, handicapped-accessible room for almost a month, for about HALF of the local, government allowed rate in order to both meet our needs and make Cliff's command happy. Pssshh...no problem, right? I prayed and racked my brain for solutions.

This morning, I started to go through the routine with all the on-base options again , in case there were any cancellations. When I called the Army lodge behind the hospital, initially I was told they didn't have availability for as long as we needed, but in talking to her and explaining our situation (including our need for a wheelchair accessible room) she asked me to hold on. When she came back, she told me she was able to get us in. I don't know how...and she assured me no one else was going to be bumped out on the street...but suddenly, we had a room as soon as we wanted to check in! We're checking in tomorrow, and it is such a relief. I can't even tell you what a weight off my mind this is. The more I think about it and the stories I've heard, it really is nothing short of a miracle.



Since we had this problem solved, we decided to grab some lunch and hit the beach.



Jake had the Sleepy-head Special (basically breakfast with a side of fries)...



And I had to most glorious club sandwich I can remember. Look at those chips...all of them almost burnt. Like a dream come true.



Jake had a great time playing in the surf. He tried snorkeling with the equipment he brought...but quickly learned the beaches here are not like Okinawa's. Too wavy. He did spot a sea turtle, though. That was cool.



He decided to build a wall of sand to stop the waves, instead.



Then buried himself, since I wouldn't.

{Trivia: Did I mention I hate sand? I do. It's dirty. I am also sun-paranoid. I firmly believe pasty-white with freckles is the new tan. So I sat, trying not to make contact with the sand, arms covered by my windbreaker, and read The Hunger Games (certain I could feel the sun burning through my SPF-50) while Jake played blissfully.}



It's a good thing I love him.



What a gorgeous beach, huh? I can't wait to come back here for an actual vacation. Right now, however, I'm thrilled to be moving to a less scenic spot, without the 30-40 minute drive each way to the hospital...and hefty price tag (that we might have been forced to eat).

I'll miss this view of the grounds, though...



Even if I won't miss the scheduled, 11:30 PM, glass-recycling dump right outside my window each night.


*Hale Koa is a military hotel and recreation facility run by Army Morale, Welfare and Recreation. There are several such facilities around the world, designed to provide nice, affordable accommodations for military families at popular vacation destinations. Rates are on a sliding scale, depending on status and pay grade. Unless you are traveling on military orders (even medical ones)...then they sock it to you. Dumpster-view rooms...ocean-view prices.