Museum, Mongolian and Good Fortune

Poor Jake gets so bored. I feel sorry for him...but not so sorry that I relish leaving the room and dealing with this:


You wanna know what's worse? Crawling along in this parking lot, realizing...you missed your turn...and that it would cost you at least an extra thirty minutes of drive time. Awesome. It was about this point that I asked Jake if it would be OK with him if we just stayed in the hotel room the rest of our trip.



Drive with Aloha, my eye. I've got your Aloha, right here!



We finally made it to our destination, The Pacific Aviation Museum.



Pshhh...this map makes it look so much easier.



If only every road led to our destination this way.



What displays they had were very well done, but the museum was much smaller than we imagined.



I mean, this looks like just one wall in Jake's room.



After the aviation museum, we went back to the room to wait for Heidi's call. She had offered to take us to Hickam AFB for Mongolian BBQ tonight. What a beautiful location. (Unfortunately, my camera was not cooperating and would not focus properly...I think because of the steam...but you get the idea.)



Brandon is Jake's age. Jake immediately relaxed and enjoyed visiting with him...and Brandon was so considerate...all of the kids were...in helping Jake with anything he needed. It was such a lovely evening and I'm so grateful to Heidi for making the effort...with 6 of her kids!



Oh...and I can't make this stuff up. This was the fortune from my cookie. While not actually a fortune by definition, I think it was pretty apropos, don't you? I know I will never forget Heidi's kindness.

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!

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.

The Saga of Jake's Feet...Pt. 1

Jake hanging out with Chester, after his turn at piano lessons.

About two years ago, we started noticing that Jake walked strangely. Other people started noticing it, too. Also, he was wearing out his shoes in an unusual way...basically, the insides would sheer off so the soles of his shoes were slanted inward.

We set up an appointment for him to see the podiatrist. He agreed that Jake was not walking normally, and told us he was extremely flat footed. He took some impressions to order a set of custom orthotics. When those failed to improve his feet, his wife (also a podiatrist) cast his feet for a more precise measurement. We gave this set of orthotics about nine months. By this time, he was going through a pair of shoes a month, and could not spend much time on his feet without pain. He went from being an active kid, running around the neighborhood...to a kid who spent most of his time indoors. When Jake became a Boy Scout a year ago, he had an extremely difficult time with the hikes. A five mile hike sent him to bed for a couple of days. An hour of racquetball with the Scouts meant being out of commission most of the next day.

In November, we contacted podiatry to set up another appointment, and learned that since there was a new podiatrist, we'd have to wait FOUR months, because Jake was now considered a new patient. I threw up the BS flag. Jake was not a new patient, the Dr. was a new (to us) Dr...and whatever kind of coding they needed to do with their whacked appointment system was irrelevant to us...we were not waiting another four months to be seen. Of course, I didn't use words like "BS" or "whacked"...I just thought them...and asked to be transferred to the head nurse, and firmly but politely listed the steps in my proposed course of action, including getting Cliff's command and the patient advocate involved. Only then did the nurse review Jake's record and found the magic words, "good candidate for surgery." {Thank you, Doctors Frank!} Based on this information, we were able to get in two weeks later, and the Dr. went off of the other doctors' recommendations.

Since we are limited in some medical services here, Jake would have to be sent to Hawaii for the surgery. Four months later, we are finally making our way across the ocean for his appointment. It's a bit of an odd arrangement, though. Since the type of surgery Jake will receive is "surgeon specific," the podiatrist could only give us a brief overview of three possibilities...but very little info on what would be involved as far as recovery, etc. Also, we have to be prepared to stay for weeks, but we may very well be only meeting with the surgeon for an initial visit, and turn around to come back to Okinawa and wait to return to Hawaii for a future surgery date. It is so weird to be going into this blind on so many levels.

Well today, it got weirder. Since we are supposed to leave on Monday, we were instructed to come into the aerovac office today at 3 to pick up the airline tickets. We knew something was wrong as soon as we walked into the office. Apparently, 30 minutes before we got there, the Air Force decided no more aerovac tickets would be issued due to the precarious nuclear situation in mainland Japan, and the fact that all flights from Okinawa were routed through there. We asked to be sent through another country and they said they weren't prepared to do that. We had waited SO long to get this surgery consultation...at this rate, we'd be waiting at least another 4 months, setting back his recovery into the next school year.

I won't drag you through all the "firm but polite...with a hint of desperate" dialogue that followed...including their admission that only the Air Force was adopting this policy, not the other branches of service...and the fact that we were welcome to buy our own tickets and go on our own (so it's safe if we drop our own money, but not if the military pays for it?!). The pieces just weren't making sense. Finally, we left with our e-tickets, and the admonition that although travel through mainland Japan was not recommended, I was an adult and could make my own choice. {THAT'S what I'VE been trying to say, thank you very much.}

So now we are on our way...hopefully. Still a little gun-shy after today's adrenaline-filled meeting, where all of our progress went flashing before my eyes. I'm just praying they won't change their minds about letting me make adult decisions before Monday. After our horrendous experience with government travel back in October, where Cliff almost didn't make the plane, I am all too aware of the fact that government-purchased e-tickets can easily be turned off.

Here's hoping we're Hawaii bound come Monday morning!

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.

Sweet Anna

This has been on my fridge for a little while now, and before I took it down to put it in my scrapbook, I just had to share it with you.

Anna is my friend, Lisa's daughter. I met them when Anna was two or three, and was her Sunday School teacher at the base chapel for about a year. She is a sweetie pie...and a spit fire...don't mess with her!

Anyway, Anna loved Brownie and was always asking her mom if she could come over to see her. I was so touched that she'd try to make us feel better with this. I'll always treasure it.

Breath of Heaven

As I was driving up the hill to my house today, this is what I saw. I had to pull over to get a picture. We have some pretty dramatically beautiful skies here on Okinawa.

Was it a coincidence that "Breath of Heaven" was playing on my CD player? Regardless, I loved the divine reminder of God's beauty which surrounds me every day.

April

I can't believe she's gone. Ever since I received the news back in March from April's husband, I've known this day would come. Ever since I read and googled those words from his email, "stage IV pulmonary adenocarcinoma," I've opened every Caring Bridge update, wondering if this was going to be the one...but today, even before I opened it, I knew.

Back in late February, April had been kind of scarce on Facebook...not unusual considering she had started back to school and her husband had deployed to Afghanistan. I didn't think much of it. Didn't know of the acute symptoms she had been experiencing that sent her to the hospital. Even as I read Glen's email in March, I was alarmed that he had been sent home, but was not immediately thinking the worst...there could be lots of reasons they'd send a Marine home, right? As the reality sunk in as I read his words, "most aggressive form" "late stages"...it was hard to then transition with him as he wrote of "standing in faith" and "right to be healed." I was still reeling and screaming in my head. I immediately got on my knees. Actually, I think the first thing I did was email Cliff (who was on an exercise in Korea) and my chaplain spouses group and asked them to pray with me for this Marine family...then I got on my knees and did the same. And continued to pray for a miracle.

I prayed in my usual way, as we've been instructed...for His will to be done...and for the courage to accept it...but added my own pleading for it to PLEEEAAASSE be His will that she live...that she get to continue to be the amazing wife to her husband, the fabulous mother to her four young children, the friend everyone felt lucky to have. But even as I prayed, I knew that was not always his will. Sometimes fabulous, angelic mothers die. Sometimes it's His will that fathers come home too soon for their families' liking. I knew this. I've experienced it in my own family. But I couldn't help praying and thinking this was entirely unfair.

I wanted to have as much faith as April...I really did. She had SO much faith...but I've known that about her ever since we met 13 years ago. So many of our conversations centered around faith. Although we are both Christian, we belong to different faith groups. Her journey to Christ was similar to mine, though...troubled upbringing, muddling her way through to find Him in adulthood. But where I am boisterous and sometimes bossy by nature, she was gentle and meek...quick to smile, slow to judge, and absolutely sparkled from the inside out. I can still hear her gentle voice in my mind (a tender mercy) as I go over some of the conversations that we've had. I remember calling April after receiving the phone call telling me that another good friend of mine (who I had just been chatting with at church the day before) was in the hospital, having discovered her full term baby would be stillborn. I was hysterical. April said, "let's pray for them right now"...and when I started but could barely even speak through the sobs, she took over, and lifted them up in the most beautiful prayer, right there over the phone...a prayer which also lifted me up and gave me the strength to do all that I could to help this friend through grief and funeral details.

Considering how much her example has helped me in my life, it is ironic the way we were introduced. I was supposed to be helping her. She was referred to me through an autism early intervention support group. Her two year old daughter was newly diagnosed with autism. Even though we lived in the same neighborhood, we had several phone conversations before finally meeting in person. Talking to her and being with her were just so easy...it's hard to explain. She was such a patient mother...one of my first examples of home schooling, too...as she was also home schooling her oldest daughter through all of this.

During those years, she and I were both truly in the thick of it...each having 4 babies pretty close together, Cliff worked full time and was in grad school full time. Glen also went to school at night...and did an unaccompanied tour over here to Okinawa at one point. We were both navigating IEPs, neurology, Regional Center...on top of our already challenging lives as Marine wives.

We shared our beliefs with each other. One of my favorite April memories involved me locking myself in the bathroom to get away from my rowdy kids while I answered her questions about the Articles of Faith of my church. She was sharing with me the similarities with her own Pentecostal beliefs (the faith group she had belonged to when she started going to church...she was then attending a non-denominational Christian church).

Another story took place after she had moved a few hours north (during her husband's Okinawa tour). Some LDS missionaries had knocked on her door. Now, she was not looking for a new church, she was happy with her own...but she said she let them in because she knew they were from my church. She told me that during their visit, they had offered to help her with anything she needed. She asked them how they felt about hornets nests. The Elders set up a time to come back and get rid of the hornets. What April wanted to know from me, was if they really just wanted to help her, or if they were going to be disappointed when she didn't join their church. I assured her that they truly did want to help her, that in fact, service was part of their mission. I also told her I couldn't promise they wouldn't be disappointed...but that I knew they most of all just wanted to help her. Still to this day, I love that visual of those Elders fighting the hornets in their quest to serve my friend.

There are other stories too personal (or even sacred) to share here...but just know that she was such an example of patience, forgiveness and long-suffering. She was simply amazing.

I stopped trying to understand the "why's" a long time ago. Some things are just impossible to reason out. But like Nephi, even though I do not know the meaning of all things, I DO know, without a shadow of a doubt, that our Father in Heaven loves his children. All of us. He has the power to use all circumstances for his purposes, even when they are not evident to us.

I also know that I will never think of distance quite the same again. A trip from coast to coast? After dealing with an entire ocean...no biggie. How I wish I could get in a car and drive to her funeral right now. Even better...how many visits would we have gotten in between March and now? She only lived about four hours away from where we were last stationed...but she moved there from across the country after we had already moved to Japan. Such is life in the military...but I still can't help feeling ridiculous for just taking for granted we'd have another opportunity to be stationed together. I was just sure that we would...that we had plenty of time.

After all is said and done, I know it doesn't matter whether I mourn in California or on Okinawa. It's more important that I continue to pray for her family, and have faith in God's plan...and gratitude for the lessons she taught me.

See you in Heaven, April. Put in a good word for me, K?

Our life as a dog family

My favorite picture, ever.


Since the last post was already so long, I felt like I really needed to do write what I wanted to say in two parts. The other post talked about her death, but I wanted to talk about her life, too.



This was our second Christmas with Brownie.

We adopted Brownie in August of 2001. As a 3 year old dog, she found herself being picked up as a stray by the animal shelter in San Diego. She had been there for two weeks when my friend Leah and I dropped by to look at another dog entirely. When that dog turned out not to be a good match, the handler asked what we were looking for in a dog. All of the dogs looking for homes were pictured on a giant display board. When we told her the traits we were looking for (patient, durable, able to accept a lot of affection, not a barker, a good therapy dog for a two year old with sensory issues) the handler looked them all over and pointed to our {then nameless} Brownie. She said she was the best behaved dog they had there, but people were leery of her breed. Leah mentioned Rottweilers were used extensively in pet therapy...so I said, "Bring her out so I can meet her."



This is Cliff's homecoming from his first deployment to Iraq. She made such a fool of herself over him.


I don't know if you believe in love at first sight, but I tell you...it was. I just fell in love with her. (I still remember that moment.) We went to a visiting pen and the handler showed me what she was trained to do. I was amazed watching her obedience and affection. She had Brownie down on the ground on her back, pinching her paw-pads, pulling her ears...and she just soaked all of it in like it was a good time. The handler said, "I would have bitten me by now...I'm really pinching her hard." Brownie could sit, lay down, stay, fetch and shake on command. (We later taught her others, like 'roll-over' and 'wait' and 'high-five'.) She was in perfect health and had obviously been well loved. I called Cliff to bring the rest of the family to meet her, and they were sold, too. We brought her home that day and have loved her ever since. We chose her name unanimously on the ride home. The Stuarts love brownies. We make them a LOT. Only, Stuart brownies do not have nuts in them. In place of the nuts, we substitute a bag of peanut butter chips. Brownie's eyebrows reminded us of little peanut butter chips floating in brownie batter. That's where her name came from.



She was really good at finding the comfiest places to nap.


Our entire identity changed. We were now a "dog family". We bought all kinds of cheesy, personalized Rottweiler paraphernalia...signs, doormats, windchimes, Christmas ornaments. We became familiar with every dog park and dog beach in town. The groomers knew her by name and when we called for her monthly bath appt, the response after asking "What is you dog's name?" was always, "Awwww! I LOOOVE Brownie!"



Balboa Park Dog Park. One of our favorites.


She helped children (and adults) get over their fear of big dogs. Once, a very aggressive 5 year old ran across the room, leaped into the air and landed on Brownie, knees first. (It's no wonder this child had been bitten by a dog before.) Brownie yelped louder than I've ever heard, jumped up and ran across the room...but did nothing to the child. We always said Brownie reminded us of Nana on Peter Pan...or even Carl in the "Good Dog, Carl" books. I really think I could have left her in charge of them and they would have been fine. She would try to tongue-bathe the kids, even sometimes pinning-down arms or feet to keep them from escaping while she did the job right.



Life is just better with a dog.


Brownie loved the trampoline. On doggie playdates, she'd jump up on it, leaving the other dogs to stand there protesting her superior look. If the kids were on it, she'd jump up, too...and just lay there enjoying the freedom of the bounce. I've never seen another dog do that.



Poor thing. Desperate for her own bed, but the cat's will have to do.


Brownie wasn't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. She was prone to wander (although this did get better as she settled into the idea that we were her forever family). She knew how to open screen doors with her nose...and how to climb furniture and punch out window screens. We had to be careful how close the trampoline was to the fence, because she'd use it to bound into the neighbor's yard and out. She would always come home (or we'd get a call from someone saying, "I think I have your dog"). And every time we found her, she'd duck down in shame, walking slowly toward us, knowing she'd done something wrong. We do think this is probably how she ended up at the shelter in the first place. Her previous owners probably just got tired of looking for her.



The kids brought Cliff breakfast in bed for Father's Day. Anytime there was excitement in the air, she could sense it and had to be in the middle, so of course she had to jump up on the bed with him.


I think Brownie would eat anything but frozen broccoli. But she would never try to take it while we were looking. She was the sneakiest, smartest dog I've ever known. If I saw her pass my room headed down the hall, I knew I'd better check on her quick. She would always be on my heels, laying right by my door...if she passed by, it meant she was casing the joint...making sure we were all occupied before she went "in for the kill" on some forgotten about food left on the table. We had to keep the trashcan shut in the pantry, all counters cleared and nothing left on the table for a minute. "You snooze, you lose" was her motto. If we forgot and left the pantry door open and left the house, not only would she shred the trash, but she'd help herself to whatever dry goods she could tear open, too. Lasagna noodles? Ciao! Pearled Barley? ByeBye! Seaweed? Sayonara! If we came home and she wasn't at the door to greet us, we knew what that meant...we failed to properly secure the house and she was hiding in shame.



Our last Christmas with Brownie.


As maddening as her antics were at times, I couldn't stay mad for long. They were small prices to pay considering how awesome she was in every other area. She never barked without reason...and by reason, I don't mean someone ringing the doorbell. She barked once or twice a year...usually startling us into remembering she could make noise. She loved other dogs...loved to play. And even though little dogs were often afraid to see her coming, they didn't need to be. She would adjust the level of her play to the size of the dog. She was so gentle.



She would follow me around like this all day.



She was my constant companion...following me as I went about my day...from the laundry room, to the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, you name it. She just wanted to be with me. She made us feel safe. Through four deployments, she was such a comfort to all of us. There was just something about her presence. She didn't pester...other than her calm "pet me, you'll feel better" nudge she was famous for. She would just be with you. She was happy to be with us anywhere...whether that be a 2500 sf home, or six months in a 27' travel trailer...back in the USA, or across the ocean in Japan, she didn't care...she was happy with her people.

I don't know when I'll stop thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye, lying in a big furry heap, only to realize it's just a discarded jacket. I don't know when the impulse to secure the pantry and counters, before I leave the house, will stop. I don't know how long I'll think I hear her tags jingling down the hallway...or when walking by the dogfood section in the store will stop being so painful. But I am grateful I can still see her big brown eyes and adorable eyebrows in my mind...and that I can remember how her fur and her squishy neck-rolls felt. I am grateful for the imprint she has left on my heart forever.

You love who you serve...this is true. Before we got a dog of our own, I couldn't imagine having to pick up poop, or dog vomit, or torn-up bags of trash, or deal with constantly vacuuming shedding hair. I once had someone express thoughts about why anyone would want to sign up for any of that. But when it's your own dog, it's different. When she is a member of your family, you deal with or overlook the bad because the good is so worth it. You see the difference she makes in you children's lives...and through serving her, you learn to love her more than you thought you could love a furry thing, ever.

I'm so grateful to Brownie for turning us into dog people. I know we're better for it.

Chaplain Seminar Banquet

Like I said, we get to our hotel room Thursday around dinner time. We were so exhausted, and as I mentioned in the last post, the altitude had done mean things to my feet, so I HAD to lay down. We decided we'd just nap for a couple of hours and then go to dinner. Who were we kidding? Neither of us had the strength. We found ourselves setting goals like, "We'll get up for the last half hour of dinner in the concierge lounge." That didn't happen. Then, "We'll just go down and eat in the restaurant about 8." Neither of us moved. Then, "They serve dessert in the concierge lounge until 10...we'll go up at 9:30." Nothing.

So, we slept until about 3:30...and we were both wide awake and starving. Finally, at 4:30, we got up, showered, and were waiting at the lounge when they opened for breakfast. Because of our escorting responsibilities this year (which I'll go into later) we didn't have as much free time as usual...and that's usually very little, anyway. Sine we wouldn't be able to do our usual Sunday dinner at my dad's (we wouldn't really get to spend any time with them until the following weekend) we decided to see if he and Garrie were available for lunch. Lucky for us, they were. They aligned their lunch breaks so they could both meet us at Applebee's, and we had a very nice time. It was so great to see them and laugh with them.

All too soon, we had to head back to SLC to get ready for the opening banquet of the Chaplain Seminar. Let me tell you, though...it is the most awesome night. We all gush about how it's our favorite, because we know we will be seeing so many people we love, for the only time of the year we get to be with them. My heart just skips a beat when I see lovely faces like these:


Let me tell you, these women are incredible. I love them so much.



There's never enough time to say all we want to. They always end up shooing us off the 26th floor at the end of the evening.



Some of our dearest friends. Oh how I love these people. We will be friends forever. We've been in this together from the beginning. We are raising our kids together, even though across the miles.

It was a very special reunion this night, though, because before this, we didn't know if we'd be seeing Brandon here again. He suffered a brain hemorrhage several months ago, and his chances of survival were so slim. We had braced ourselves for the reality of this, while spending many hours pleading with our Father in Heaven to spare him...trying to have the courage to accept whatever His will, but at the same pleading that it please, please, please be His will that Brandon live. (I know, that's weenie, double-talk...but there you go. A little glimpse into the depth of my faith sometimes.)

While he was in ICU, I woke up every morning and the first thing I did was check Facebook for an update (which Amy was SO wonderful to provide to us almost every day, even while she was in the throws of dealing with all of this and their five children). Some days I was jubilant and hopeful, some days I pleaded, "No! You CAN'T take him...please!" But I knew that sometimes it is His plan that people die. Even when they have a loving spouse who will be devastated, even when they have little kids who need them. I've seen it in my own family. I've given up trying to understand why...but even in my lack of understanding, I know that Heavenly Father loves every one of us and uses all circumstances for our good. Still. I just couldn't believe this was what was supposed to happen. We are so grateful that Brandon has made a miraculous recovery. Grateful beyond words.

So, I'm sure you can understand why, when I saw them, all I could do was hug them and weep. I can scarcely think of them without getting emotional. We are blessed with some fantastic friendships, that is for sure...and it is through the trials which we share...even if only from a distance...that those bonds have grown stronger.

Like I said, they had to chase us out of the banquet room...we could have gone on for hours...



Here we are, ears popping with our rapid 26 floor decent. Felila is telling us to get ready to jump at the bottom (which was a sight to see...a bunch of grownups in uniforms and dresses). I tried to take a pic, but we were just a big blur, darn it.

Tomorrow, General Conference will begin, and in a blink, four days will have passed and we'll be saying our goodbyes once again. It's so unfair. Every year I try to soak in every moment, to see if somehow I can make it last longer by being more conscious . It doesn't work, dang it!