Doing The Right Thing

July 17, 2012

Grandpa Bill with Patrick, Baby Coree and Troy 1997

What a whirlwind week.  We received the news of Bill's passing, and it sent us on a roller coaster ride...both emotionally and logistically.  I've read somewhere, or heard it said (or maybe both) that grief is magnified when you've been estranged from a family member who passes away.  It sounded reasonable to me, but I never really gave it that much thought until I was watching my husband try to navigate through it.  I don't have anything to compare it with, since I've never lost an immediate family member (estranged or otherwise) but it makes sense.  It adds another whole dimension to the process.  Instead of looking back on fond memories and loving bonds, you have heartache and regret.  There is no closure.  The relationship won't be "fixed" in this life.  It drudges up old wounds...and the complexity of the situation makes casual conversation about the passing difficult...and unfortunately, since getting a family back to the USA from overseas to attend the funeral involves a ton of conversation, it wasn't always pleasant this week.  

We learned first hand that the less you say, the better.  A heart-felt, "I'm so sorry for your loss" is really all that's needed.  Sympathy cards are awesome.  Probing questions are not helpful.  I told Cliff the next time someone asked if he and his dad were "close," he needed to answer with, "No, but thank you for reminding me that my dad was an alcoholic who never really had the capacity to love me, who shut me out of his life, regardless of my attempts to reach him."  I know people mean well, and I'm certain I've said plenty of dumb things myself, but it was a lesson to me to try my best to think about the possible answers to the questions before asking them.  It hurt my heart SO much to listen to him try to field these kinds of remarks graciously.  On the flip-side, I appreciated SO much those who were so kind and reached out to him, encouraged him to go to the funeral, and bent over backward to make sure it happened (even though Cliff is covering three jobs this summer...which meant others would have to pick up lots of slack).

Anyway, for the first few hours after we got the news, we didn't even think we'd go back for the funeral.  We didn't know if there was going to be a funeral.  His dad's wife was completely bewildered, her sister was trying to help from Alaska, Cliff was trying to help from Japan.  It was just madness.  Because of the time difference, we were making lots of late night and early morning phone calls.  We were trying to figure out what family members could come and when, as well as the details of the arrangements, the obituary, travel, etc.  Most family members didn't think they'd be able to attend, but as the days went on, things started to come together.  Schedules were rearranged, hearts were softened, plans were made, and Cliff put together a funeral from across the ocean.  I was in awe.  It would have been easy to bow out.  In addition to all the other factors (which would cause most anyone to give him a "free pass" from involvement).....we live on the other side of the world, for Pete's sake!  But in spite of it all, he did the right thing, and poured his heart into the arrangements.  Even though his dad wasn't a member, the local LDS ward where his dad lived was so generous in offering their help.  We were overwhelmed by their kindness.

So, tomorrow we start our journey to make the best of things.  Will there be family drama?  Psshhh...we're counting on it.  But we're also counting on the healing that gathering with loved-ones will bring...with people we won't even have to say a word to, because they'll get what a giant, soup-sandwich the whole situation has been, and they will help share the emotional burden.  Most importantly, Cliff will do his best to honor his dad the best he can...and have no regrets about it.

I've sure missed hanging out with this guy

This past several weeks have been so crazy for me, but they've been just as crazy back home. I felt so guilty leaving when I did. As Operation Tomodachi was kicking into over-drive here, I left with Jake (leaving Cliff to manage the other three and their busy schedules) indefinitely. Cliff's boss left for the US for a conference and leave for several weeks...leaving him to manage working 14-16 hour days doing his part in the coordination of the relief efforts, while trying to handle things on the homefront, too. I did my best to try to stay connected with the kids via Facebook and email, but it's just not the same. I so wanted to be able to be that support and sounding board for Cliff when he came home at the end of a long day, especially under the current, stressful circumstances. It hurt my heart not to be able to be there for him.

The kids don't seem to have suffered much. There were some tough times with school stuff where I felt one of them really needed me here, but all in all, they did fine. One of my Visiting Teachers from church asked Patrick during Seminary carpool, "I feel bad that I haven't done anything for you guys...could I bring you dinner?" To which Patrick replied, "No, we are doing great! My dad bought all kinds of good food! White bread, toaster strudel, Chef Boy R Dee..."

It made me laugh when she recounted the conversation, because I could totally see Cliff walking into the commissary with the purpose of getting the most easy to prepare, most kid-desired food possible to last the rest of my absence. The kids knew a good thing when they saw it...and who wants to risk the Relief Society bringing over something actually nutritious?! (Now it's back to wheat bread and non "shelf-life" food. Mom's home. Bummer.)



Today was a real treat. We just had some mundane errands to run...but how lucky am I to have this man to run them with? It's SO good to be home!



We managed to squeeze in this lovely tempura and miso lunch at a Japanese restaurant in Jusco (Aeon, whatever! I'll never get used to their new name. Just like it took years to make the switch from Price Club to Costco...and I will NEVER call the Wild Animal Park "Safari Park." Won't happen!)



Even as we sat here with this wonderful meal in this cute little restaurant, things were different. We were more quiet than usual. I think we were kind of struggling to reconnect after fighting separate battles for the past almost-month. I know in the grand scheme of things, what we had to endure was nothing compared to what some people handle on a daily basis. Certainly nothing compared to what the people of Sendai are dealing with. We've had WAY longer deployments, and we've dealt with medical issues, too...so I'm not exactly sure what made this time so hard...except that I wasn't home. In the five deployments Cliff has done, the two that were preceded by a move were the hardest. There is just something about being settled that makes things easier to bear. Obviously for us, home varies greatly. It's wherever the Navy sends us, it's whatever structure happens to house our little family at the time...but having our family split in so many pieces, each of us dealing with our own battles just compounded the stress, I think.

At any rate, it's so good to be back home again. It sure makes one appreciate the little things, like grabbing a quick lunch in between shopping, getting keys made dropping off kids, etc. I'm sure we'll be back to normal in no time.

Patrick on the Today Show!

Oh my goodness, they really DID make it on the Today Show!


That's my baby's tongue on National TV!



And I see he purchased an "I heart NY" t-shirt to replace the "I only like NY as a friend" t-shirt I gave him for Christmas.



Here's a clip of the gang chatting with Al. I have watched it over.and.over.

Mrs. Deakins has been sending nightly emails to all the parents, recapping the adventures of the day. In all the other school trips my kids have taken, this has never happened before and I appreciate it so much. It helps me to still feel in the loop, even though I'm not at home, either. Just one more example of why Mrs. Deakins is da bomb! I can't wait to hear all about it from Patrick! I wonder which one of us will get home, first?

Conference Weekend

The past three days have been totally low-key. Our lives have pretty much revolved around Jake's pain medicine schedule. Three days of leg elevation down...three more to go. I feel so bad for him...he gets so uncomfortable having to lie flat on his back. He's tried going to either side, but the cast rubs on his ankle bone. It seems like this will go on forever, but I know it won't.

Jake hates the oral pain meds. He can't stand the loopy feeling. Pssshhh...I wish he could share, I could use some loopy right now! But no, I need to stay conscious to be able to fetch our meals and such. Jake gets really anxious whenever I have to leave. Traffic can be bad and there is nothing close by, so I feel really bad when I have to leave and so I try to rush back, but it still feels like forever to him. Luckily we have a little fridge and microwave. I try to only leave once a day.

I've become addicted to OWN (The Oprah Network). What will I do when I have to return to the world of AFN channels? Oh Oprah, I will miss you. Between her programming and "The Hunger Games" series that Jenn lent to me for the trip, I've managed to stay occupied.



Lucky for us, it is Conference weekend...which really lends itself well to just laying around watching TV. On one hand, we were very lucky to be in a US time zone so that we could watch it live. If we were still in Japan, we would have to wait until next weekend to watch the rebroadcast at church, or try to stream it over our slow Internet connection on the Mac. On the other hand, since we are in the Hawaii time zone, that means we have to get up at 6 AM to watch the first session. Since I'm kind of a night owl lately, that didn't go over too well. I went in and turned on Jake's TV and told him it was on, but I'm pretty sure he slept through both morning sessions. I probably slept through half of them. But I was awake for both of the afternoon sessions and they were great.

My favorite two talks from this conference:

Richard G. Scott-He spoke on the blessings of eternal marriage and developing unity through trials. I have a love/hate relationship with this concept. On one hand, I know it is true. When I look back on the experiences Cliff and I have had in our 20 years, I know that the trials strengthen our bond. On the other hand, sheesh, sometimes I wish life could be a bed of roses. He also told the sweet story of caring for his sick child through the night, and when he died unexpectedly a few months later, how grateful he was to have the precious memory of holding and caring for his son during that night. It made me think of this whole experience with Jake (and the one we had 12 years ago). Even in all the craziness, I'm grateful to have the opportunity to care for him.

Lynn G. Robbins-He started off his talk with the famous question, "To be or not to be" and then went on to talk about "to do or to be" I loved the part where he asked, "Can a child ever be checked off as done?" Sometimes, I can't really think about this concept because it makes my throat start to close up. Parenting is never done...even when you're a great-grandparent. Someone recently told me, "You're only as happy as your least happy child." Oh, this is so true. When I start to think of what the future could potentially hold, with four children raising families of their own, I realize I will never be able to check them off as done. I just pray they make wise decisions...the most important being with whom they will raise their own families. My favorite part was his analogy of "Parenting 101" vs. "Parenting 505." When kids/teens bring challenges with their choices, it's hard not to think of those challenges as a burden. But when he asked, "With which child will your patience, long-suffering, and other Christlike virtues most likely be tested, developed, and refined? Could it be possible that you need this child as much as this child needs you?" It really made me think of things differently. Not that I'm looking to have my patience and long-suffering challenged, believe me!

I look forward to getting the Ensign so that I can read the talks I dozed through. Heaven knows, with no Oprah network, I'll have enough reading time on my hands.

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!

World Peace and Inner Rage

Warning: This post is kind of rantish. Normally I like to keep it shiny and happy here (with the occasional mommy breakdown). If shiny and happy is what you are after, you may want to skip this one. My intention is not to offend anyone...(well, anyone other than the whiny, progressive, clueless elitists of which I write.) but I realize my tone here might kill your buzz, regardless. Fair warning.

I've been kind of an emotional wreck today. It's a combination of things, I'm sure...Cliff being gone, the cold, rainy, gray day outside, etc. (and by etc., I'm sure I mean hormones). Before I continue, I'd like you to read a couple of articles:

First, this one. It's short. I'll wait.

Then, this one. It's longer...but please {if you love me} read it. It means that much. I'll still wait....




You back? Thanks for reading those. Maybe now you'll better understand my frame of mind, and the ranting which will now commence.

After reading the first one, I just felt rage. Well, rage, and like I just wanted to throw up. I'm serious. What the expletive is wrong with our country? Or at least with the elite "progressives" in it? I have to say I am a political moderate...I have friends all along the spectrum whom I love dearly and AGREE WITH to some degree or another, I'm sure...but can we not all agree that someone who sacrificed a whole, healthy body and normal life for the freedom of your whiny, elite, progressive behind...deserves some respect?

Listen, you don't have to agree with bringing ROTC back onto your campus...but what these snot-nosed kids did was absolutely shameful and pathetic. {Nevermind that ROTC is a fantastic, self-supporting, leader-developing program...which would help to mold and shape *the very same low-income individuals you claim that the military preys upon*, into the leaders of the future. I hear complaints about how the officer ranks are so lacking in diversity...well here's a missed opportunity to remedy that! ROTC produces leaders.}

And while we are on the topic...let's take a look at the issue of the military "preying" on low income communities. I thank my LUCKY STARS for my (almost) five years in the Navy. It was life-changing. I am not exaggerating when I say it changed my destiny. {Not the least of which was meeting and marrying my husband...BUT THAT'S NOT EVEN WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!} When I joined the Navy, I WAS one of those low-income people mentioned on the sign in the picture! I was recruited out of an inner-city neighborhood, thank you very much! I had ZERO prospects for college...and about as much self-esteem. Since I'm laying it all out there for you guys...here it is...I BARELY graduated high school. I had to go to night school to get enough credits to graduate. I had no money, a part time job at the mall and divorced parents, neither of whom could afford to put me through college.

But I'll tell you what I did have...I had a legacy. Like the beautiful (and pitiful) quote in the second article..."Service to and sacrifice for the nation have become a legacy affair for a relatively small number of families." But even at that, this legacy really meant nothing to me, until I did something to claim it. I entered boot camp with not a lot of prospects, no direction, little self esteem, but a desire to follow in my grandfather's big footsteps. I left boot camp with the realization that I mattered...that there was a big world out there, and that I had the opportunity to invent myself in it. And I did...boy did I ever! If I had stayed where I was, I can promise you...the ending (or at least the journey) would have been much different.

This same scenario happens each time a Sailor (or any service member) graduates boot camp. She becomes part of something bigger. He is exposed to people from all walks of life and learns to work with and appreciate their differences. I realize I'm romanticizing something which is much grittier, but at it's very core, this is the truth. What the heck is wrong with that? I resent being painted as a victim. I resent being presented as someone who was preyed upon or taken advantage of by the military because I had no other options. NO...I was given THE GIFT of options by the Navy, thank you very much. THE GIFT of learning just how capable I am...that no one else gets to define me but me. It's an amazing thing that happens within the walls of that open squad bay. The process of having your "old self" stripped away to nothing so that the "new you" can be built back up.

{Trivia: I remember a friend from high school telling me how sorry she felt for me that I was missing out on the "college experience" she was having (up the street from her childhood home). I didn't have the heart to tell her how sorry I felt for her (and still do) as she is still trapped in the same town by the same family whom she allows to abuse and define her. I might be having a different (and extended) college experience...but I'll take the life-altering lessons the Navy gave me, PLUS the money for college...over frat party life any day.}

{More Trivia: I think this is the main reason I loved my job in military education so much. I got to see these young Sailors, who were just like I was, who had come from similar circumstances and joined the military to "be somebody"...and I had the privilege of helping them to become even better. They were serving their country, and I got to help them through the process of letting their country return the favor with an education. Sweet work, if you can get it.}

Am I ignoring the fact that some of these service members pay a very high price? That some lose limbs? Give the ultimate sacrifice? Absolutely not. I can't even fathom what it is like to make that sacrifice...or to love someone who has made that kind of sacrifice. But I would rather myself, my husband or my child die FIGHTING for something better, than so many other options out there. There are FAR worse things to lose a spouse or child to than death...especially death in the service of something greater than yourself.

In the second article, it was like Adm. Mike Mullen expressed the thoughts I had years ago but couldn't even find words for, when he said, "I worry that we could wake up one day and that the American people will no longer know us and we won't know them." or when Ike Skelton said, "Those who protect us are psychologically divorced from those who are being protected."

Like a horrific flashback, it brings me back to a time in the early days of OEF and OIF, where we were experiencing deployment after deployment...where the price our family was paying was high...and it felt like people were just going about their daily lives, completely unaware of what our reality was. Like we were living in a different country within our own neighborhoods and schools. I found myself tiring of having to muster polite responses to their platitudes. If I had to hear "we support the troops but not the war" or "they just need to bring them all home" in those pitiful, condescending tones, directed at me {their token military friend}; from one more complacent, San-Diego-BMW-driving, quasi-peacenik...I was going to forget my manners. It felt SOOO wrong, that I should have to endure that. To say goodbye to my husband again and again, to steel my kids for the pain and uncertainty ahead, hold our whole world together until he returned...and "play nice" with my "progressive" neighbors who obviously had no idea (or didn't care) whom or what provided them the luxury not to worry, while they thought their progressive thoughts. I can't explain it...other than to say it was soul-crushing on days that I allowed it to be.

So today, I find myself very reflective. Wallowing a bit in that challenging experience...feeling so much empathy for those still in the thick of it (both on the front lines, and trying to hold down the home-front for their families). But I also came to the realization that it is easy for us here on Okinawa to forget that so many military families are still living this experience in their communities back in the USA. It hit me that we don't have that problem here. We are surrounded, day in and day out, by other American military families. Not all of them are in the military...there are civilians (school teachers and asst'd. contractors) but they are all still part of the same basic mission. We all pretty much "get it" with few exceptions. I realized that this was another benefit of living here that makes it hard to want to leave....but isn't that a sad statement? That we would "feel the love" here on foreign soil, more so than in Anytown, USA?

Anyway, this is just one example of why I shouldn't read the news while Cliff is gone. I need to stay focused on doing what I need to do. I really don't normally dwell on these thoughts...it's much easier not to, but whenever I read articles like these, I can really let my emotions get the better of me.

God bless Anthony Maschek, The Kelly family, and all of our service members and their families who are currently fighting the fight, or who have already paid the price for us in so many ways. I promise, I will never forget.

"Freedom is not free, but the United States Marine Corps will pay most of your share."---Ned Dolan

Thoughtful Birthday Surprises

Going to the post office is usually a highlight in my day. Well, only when I'm expecting something. Which I am, a lot of the time, since we have to do a lot of online shopping over here. I think I've already told you about the yellow slips of cardstock they put into our mailboxes when we have a package (dubbed, 'golden tickets'). When I get one in my box, I usually know all the possible things it could be. Birthdays and Christmas can yield unexpected surprises, though.

The Lovely Lisa and I usually exchange Bday gifts. She has impeccable taste that can be difficult for me to match. I always know whatever she sends me will be a great find, and this year was no different. I can't wait to try out my new silicone baking mats...and the personalized paisley post-its and other stationary is just my style. (She is the stationary guru, I swear.)

I got another package that was totally unexpected, however. It was from another one of my awesome friends, Michelle. Here's a picture of her and her beautiful family, which I unabashedly stole from her Facebook:

I met Michelle here on Okinawa. She was my visiting teacher, and I can't even begin to tell you how lucky that made me. Let me tell you when I first fell in love with her, though. I didn't know her that well, just a bit in passing at church. Then her husband was called to be our congregation's Branch President. When she got up that first Sunday to bear her testimony, she had known about the calling for about a week, I guess (it's always kept a surprise for the rest of the congregation until it's announced). She got up, and choking back the emotion said "It's been so awesome praying for you guys all week" and went on to tell us about the love she felt for us. Emotion came over me like a warm blanket and I couldn't fight back the tears, because I could feel how much she really meant it. She had me at "we've been praying for you guys," but went on to demonstrate her love and selflessness in so many ways. I would seriously hear her name at every turn, in relation to all kinds of people from church...those her age and not, with kids her kids' ages and not...and from all different military communities (which, for better or worse, can tend stick to "their own kind").

She helped me in ways that only she even knows about. It was like she was an angel sent to me just when I needed her (even though it was obvious I wasn't the only one she was serving). It was small things like "I remembered this awesome poetry writing book for middle schoolers I used while I was teaching, I thought you might like it for Jake" to sharing good finds in "hippie food," as she calls it...which we shared a love for...to helping me process really gut-wrenching stuff that nearly consumed me (which I won't blog about, because...mostly, they're not really my stories to tell here).

So it should not have surprised me when she went out of her way to send me this little surprise:



I ripped open the box while I was in the post office parking lot. As soon as I saw this little, gold bag...I knew what it was...and the tears started to flow. Luckily, I came to my senses and grabbed the camera...



And when I saw the tell-tale, criss-cross pattern on the top, it was confirmed...



They were my favorite (favorite isn't even strong enough of a word) DARK chocolate, Key-lime truffles from Godiva. Three of them. I don't know if I can express how much I love these things. They are like the perfect flavor combination. I buy Cliff a $25 box of dark chocolate truffles for every gift-giving occasion, JUST so I can have the two of these that the box contains (secret's out now, I guess. Sorry honey).

But the sweetest thing is, Michelle remembered this little detail, just from me mentioning it one time...and went out of her way to send me such a small, but special thing....JUST like all the thoughtful things she did for me while she was here...which is really why I was crying...because it reminded me of this...and how much I miss her. You know, moving is part of military life...we just do it and accept it...look at it as collecting friends along the way...but in this case, I felt like we were robbed because their orders here got cut WAY short, and now they are back in the USA. It felt like we were just getting started...but something tells me we'll be friends forever, just the same. I've learned to never say never, because I've been proven wrong before. We just may end up in the same town again someday. Aloha 'oe...until we meet again, my friend. I want to be just like you when I grow up.

The Eagle Has Landed

Oh my, have the years passed quickly from this...

To this. Last night was such a special night, I'm still reeling and can hardly even express my thoughts. I'd imagined what this night would be like, and even sometimes wondered if it would ever come. But through several moves, lost and found records, periods of personal apathy and gung-ho enthusiasm, leaders who were lost and/or apathetic to leaders who were awesome and above-and-beyond...from dysfunctional programs to programs so amazing you wish everyone had the same...Troy arrived at this night, his Eagle Court of Honor.

Knowing they put on a great party, we booked a banquet room at the Butler Officers' Club. It was also an added bonus that it was right down the street in case we forgot anything, not to mention it was WAY easy for people to find (everyone knows where it is) so we didn't have to draw sketchy maps and pray people found the little sign for our church in the dark. Since we were planning in two weeks*, an event that usually takes about 2 months to pull together, it was a HUGE deal not having to worry about any of the food, dishes, set-up, clean-up or other logistical details.



We had so many wonderful friends and family attend and participate in the ceremony. There were various teachers and leaders, and even the Commanding General of the Wing came out, which was very touching. Our friend and Branch President was the Master of Ceremonies and he did such a fabulous job. He asked all the right questions and got every detail squared away before the ceremony. It probably helps that he's in the awards business in his day job as a Marine, too. Did we call that one, or what?



Dan, from the Far East Council, also came and opened up the ceremony for us.

Then, boys from our troop, representing each rank in Scouting, explained what the badge of their respective rank represents, to demonstrate all the ranks Troy had to pass through to get to Eagle Scout. They all looked so sharp!

I love these boys! And not just my own...they are all great young men.

Bro. Kiser came and gave the Eagle Charge. He is over Scouting for our church district, and lends such enthusiasm to the program. When we read the script, we knew we wanted him to do this part. He explained all of the requirements Troy had to meet...the things he now knew how to do...now that he is an Eagle Scout. He did a great job of including all of what was so beautifully written in the script, combined with his usual, Brother Kiser humor and enthusiasm.



Here he is encouraging all the other Scouts to follow the same path. It reminded me of last year, when the Scouts were planning for their first High Adventure trip. It was scheduled for the same three-day weekend as the school's winter formal dance. This was a big deal for the high school Scouts. They only get three dances a year. They were thinking it was an unfair choice, yadda yadda. My boys came home from church and said that Brother Kiser told them, looking back on his life, he doesn't remember the details of one dance he attended in high school...but he remembers every single High Adventure he ever went on, and that the experience would be life changing. I think he pretty much sealed the deal. Every one of those boys chose the High Adventure over the dance. We love Brother Kiser.



This is the part where the video screen came down and we played this video of Troy's journey to Eagle Scout in four minutes. Luckily, I got all my tears out while I was making it, and was just able to enjoy it along with everyone else.

{Trivia: When Troy watched the video as I was burning it to DVD, he chuckled and said, "This video makes me look a whole lot cooler than I am in real life." I thought that was very insightful of him. Not that I don't think he's as cool as the video, but that the video was composed of little snapshots of his life, experiences he has tried, some a few times, some for a year, some for longer...but not that he is a master of everything it featured.}



Then the MoC called these two Eagles (his sons, BTW) to escort Troy up to the front.



And Scoutmaster Cory shared some of Troy's accomplishments in Scouting.



Brother Neal, the Young Men's president, shared some of the future expectations of an Eagle Scout, to remind Troy that it doesn't end here...



And then Scoutmaster Cory led Troy, and all the other Eagle Scouts present in taking (or renewing) the oath of the Eagle Scout.



Look at these awesome Eagles in the Eagles' Nest!



Can't forget the MoC...he's an Eagle, too.



Then I got to pin on Troy's new rank, and he gave me my mother's pin and these beautiful, patriotic roses, and (my favorite part) a hug and a kiss.



Dad gets a father's pin, a handshake and a hug.



Then Troy got to present a pin to the mentor he had chosen. Brother Neal really went above and beyond in helping Troy to achieve this goal. During the times when Troy got lazy or thought it was just too hard, Brother Neal was there to get him back on track. We will be forever grateful for him.



But we couldn't forget Brother Miles back in the IV! After having kind of a rocky start with a dysfunctional Scouting program early on, both of our boys really lost interest in Scouting after leaving Cub Scouts. When we moved out to the IV, we learned that Brother Miles (also an Eagle Scout) had contagious enthusiasm for Scouting (even if understated compared to the uber-enthusiasm of Brother Kiser). He talked about Scouting wherever he went, was always volunteering for different events, even when he wasn't officially called as a leader. This was the kind of guy that, during Scout camp, would drive up the mountain, the 2+ hours to camp when they needed a second leader (it was usually just Cliff who was able to go since he got more vacation than most, being in the military) just to have to turn around and head back to work the next day and repeat. He believed Scouting was the answer to most of the ills of society, and the more I see, the more I believe he is right. Anyway, Troy wanted to also present Brother Miles with a mentor pin, to recognize the impact he had on Troy's desire to give Scouting another chance, and for all the help he gave him in getting to the rank of Life Scout (the rank Troy had when we moved to Okinawa). Brother Miles was officially recognized in the program, and Troy will be sending him his pin. (Thank goodness the BSA allows you to buy extra.)



Then the time was turned over to Troy. I knew he'd prepared a few words, but I thought it would be very few. He thanked the club, the leaders, friends and family, his parents, etc.



He encouraged the other Scouts to push through and become Eagles, telling them it was all worth it. He even shared his strategy of preparing an epic sandwich (step by step) whenever they had a daunting task (like an Eagle packet) ahead of them. It was hilarious and had us all roaring.



As I sat there listening to him, I was just overwhelmed. And it wasn't the usual weepiness like at graduation...it was something different entirely. I was so full of joy and pride, I thought I might burst. I was sitting there listening to how naturally he shared his thoughts, with his trademark quiet confidence, soaking it all in...thinking, "Wow! He really is a man now!" And I didn't feel the slightest bit of angst about it. It was just all good. I was thinking, that even if Troy Stuart wasn't my son, I'd still really like him as a person. I am so grateful to be his mom.



Brother Neal presented him with a memento from the troop...a pair of Shisas with a name plaque on the front. That will be a keepsake, for sure.



Can I just say that this is one of my favorite pictures of all time? What an amazing group of boys and men.

{BTW...Thank you, Brenda, for taking on the photography duties (and Sarah for taking on the filming duties) so that I could just enjoy the evening.}



The awesome Eagles.



Get a load of that flair around my neck. And we're not even finished, yet.



I heart this family.



The catering dept. came up with a perfect, Scout-friendly menu. Mini-sandwiches, spring rolls, chicken skewers, nacho cheese and chips, and everyone's favorite...taco rice cups. They were a huge hit. Whooda thought?



There were also assorted cookies...yum!




And just good ol' water to drink. It's really all about the food.



My friend, Leigha, did this cake. Is this an epic cake, or what?



I knew she did good stuff, and I pretty much gave her carte blanche with this. She did not disappoint. I hope the other boys get their Eagles before she leaves the island just so that she can do their cakes, too.



And you know what they say about Scouts? They are trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent...



And hungry!



Troy did the honor of cutting his cake.



And was very kind to share all the fondant goodies with the other Scouts. It was all edible. They were in heaven.



I was bummed I didn't think to ask for photos of everyone before half the people were gone. At least we have the video of the evening, though.



Cute, cute kids from the 'hood.



Fresh Patrick of Bel Air



We love the Bantas!



Luckily, I caught Brother Kiser as he was headed out the door...



Otherwise, we might have missed out on this shot entirely. And that, my friends, would have been a crying shame.



We drove the .02 km back to our bunker, I put my beautiful flowers in the vase on the entry table, and we collapsed into bed. But sleep was elusive, as I knew it would be. Cliff and I are both extreme extroverts, and an event like this is our crack cocaine. I hate that we can never sleep after parties, especially meaningful events like this one. I replayed the night over and over, mostly the good parts, but some of the "shouldahs," too. I finally did fall asleep, but woke up at the usual 5 AM, with a headache and in a panic. I don't know exactly where it came from, maybe because it's the next big milestone we have looming on the horizon, but more likely it was the questioning (and shock) last night, from some of our friends (of another faith) who had no idea we will not see or hear from Troy for two full years, other than calls on Christmas and Mothers Day, once he leaves for his mission. I've always known this, but the reality that he'd be leaving in six months hit me very hard this morning. Six months is nothing...and although I wouldn't have it any other way, man it's going to be hard. He's just such an important part of our family, not to mention a lot of fun to have around. So I laid there, trying not to wake up Cliff with my crying, but I did anyway. Luckily, he's gotten used to the mood swings over the years, and just quietly stroked my hair. So much for no-more-weepiness. I've watched the video slideshow three times today already, if that tells you anything.

I just want to finish this post by saying how grateful I am for the Scouting program. As I sat there looking around the room last night, at all the righteous men who are brought into my boys' lives through this program, I thought, "Who wouldn't want this for their boys? Who wouldn't want this kind of mentorship to help them navigate the trappings of this life?" It's worth all the hassle, all the lost blue cards, the ripped Scout pants, the patches sewn and re-sewn. It's worth the nagging and frustration.

I also have to add how grateful I am for my husband, who was not a Scouter...did not grow up with it in his life or see the importance of it. It was me who felt my life experience would be less if my boys did not become Eagle Scouts, not Cliff. But just the same, he took off work three years running for the week of Scout camp to give them (and their friends) some of their best experiences, it was Cliff who has been on countless hikes and campouts, in every condition, put up with all kinds of indignity...because our boys having these Scouting experiences is important to me. Just one more reason I love him with every fiber of my being. He is the best.


*You aren't allowed to start planning an Eagle CoH until you receive the official paperwork from Scout Headquarters saying your Scout has been officially deemed an Eagle. We didn't get that paperwork until mid January. Due to upcoming travel plans for several family members for school, work and surgery...if we didn't do this right now, it would be May before we'd be able to pull it off. By then, Troy's missionary prep will be in full swing, and we didn't want to just put a check in the box, since this is really a big deal. So we opted to just skip on all the dignitary certificate-and-letter-ordering hoopla (the thing that takes the most time...we will do it after the fact) and pay out the nose for the catering. It was SO worth it, though. They took care of every detail. I think we'll do the same for the other two, even if we have plenty of time, just because it was so awesome.