The C Word (or Why I Have Rule #1)

So not long after I started my little blog, I began realizing that I should set some rules for my self. Of course, this realization only came after saying a few things I wished I hadn't, but hindsight is 20/20. While my rules are few, number one is certainly the most important: Don't write about a problem until after you've solved it. Some of you may disagree, explaining that sharing your current predicament with the world would give others the opportunity to provide an unbiased perspective on the situation. While this is true, I can't agree that it's helpful. Just because something works for someone else doesn't mean that it would work for me. And while I could say that I wouldn't let others opinions influence my choices, I'd be fibbing. Once you read something, especially when it relates to you on some level, it's stuck in the back of your head and will be recalled whether you intend to or not.
That being said, now on to why I've been on hiatus. It wasn't a problem, per say. More like a situation. One that I was having a little trouble dealing with.
Right after I had Bonnie, I went in for my post-baby removal (she was removed, not spit out) and had the normal girly tests done, only the results didn't come back so normal. So they did biopsies and discovered that I was in the early stages of cervical cancer. Since this is a military facility, they are very vague and not helpful when it comes to offering up explanations of findings and such. So naturally, I went home and googled the heck out of it. At the stage I was at, it was very easy to get rid of with something called a L.E.E.P. procedure (I'll spare y'all the details). Chris and I had already remedied the hyper-fertility problem, so since we didn't plan on having more little imps running around, there should be no reason to not do it, right? WRONG. Before I could even get a call back from my doctor after leaving several messages, I got a letter from the OB/GYN department saying they decided on a course of action . . . or lack there of . . . and that they'd see me in a year to see if I'd progressed. I finally reached my PCM (primary care manager for those of you who are lucky enough to not have government-run insurance) and she said that TriCare (government-run health insurance) won't allow any procedures until you've reached Stage 1 and are sent to oncology. The girly doctor department is so backed up with post-deployment pregnancies that being seen once a year is about as good as they can do. So can I get a referral to go off post? Nope. Can I get a second opinion? Nope. Can I pay for an off post doctor to do a second opinion myself? Well sure! If you have the money (which I didn't) and if you're prepared to get the door slammed in your face when you come back to Madigan. Apparently, Madigan (or maybe this is all military medical facilities) doesn't take too kindly to us not liking their diagnosis and going elsewhere on our own dime. They absolutely WILL NOT consider any and all anything from an outside physician. Period. So I waited my one year. I went back in, had another biopsy and guess what . . . I got worse. Not bad enough to warrant treatment of course, but bad enough to need to be seen in six months rather than twelve. Yay. So helpful. So I waited again, got yet another biopsy (considering the location I'm sure you all can assume how NOT FUN these appointments were), then got the same news again. Getting worse, but not bad enough for treatment and not fast enough to need to be seen anytime soon. At this point I'm begging them to please just take all the girly parts out. They're all messed up anyways and I don't need them anymore. Of course they would absolutely not even consider this. Because after all, I'm only 29 . . . with three kids . . . and a messed up cervix . . . and I may change my mind and want to have even MORE kids. So dumb.
(Side note: Why in the world is the military not encouraging sterilization? They won't allow anyone under 26 to be "fixed" no matter how many kids they have. They won't allow anyone under 30 to be "fixed" if they only have one kid and are content with that. They won't allow single parents to be "fixed" and they will pay for you to get a boob job to attract a mate, they'll pay for you to get in vitro fertilization if your mate can't do the job, and they'll pay for you to get gastric bypass and psychotherapy when said mate bails on you for gaining too much baby weight . . . . but they won't pay for preventive medicine . . . so stupid. Ok, off my soap box)
So anyways, somewhere in the middle of all this, my PCM had prescribed something to fix my other girly problems (told you they were all messed up) and come to find out, one of the side effects of that particular medicine is that it can accelerate the growth rate of cancerous cells. Genius. I'm sure you're all jumping off your chairs to go sign up for Obama-care.
Long story short, the last time I went in for yet another biopsy, the doctor's tone made me realize that it finally had gotten bad enough. When the lab results came back, she called me to confirm the assumption and to let me know that oncology would be handling my appointments from now on. And that I'd finally be getting that procedure I'd been asking for. I think she was a little put-off by my not upset-ness. After all, I'm supposed to want to NOT have cancer . . . and to continue with the uncomfortable biopsies every three to six months for ever and ever. No thank you.
Get worse to get better, that's what I'd been telling myself for some time now. But I wasn't better. I was actually much, much worse. I woke up the next morning with horrible stomach and chest pains, aching in all my joints and my hands were shaking like I hadn't eaten in a week. Poor Chris didn't know what to do with me. I didn't feel sick, so I didn't want to go to the ER (since with government care you can't get a same-day with your PCM). I just felt like the whole world was collapsing down on top of me. Apparently, there's something called Sudden Onset Hyperactive Stress Disorder. It's what happens when a person copes well under constant high levels of stress but experiences a "trigger event" (my cancer call) that causes a break. Like a normal person's panic/anxiety attack times 1,000. Come to find out, constantly needing to control the chaos is actually a bad thing. My new life motto needs to be "Let it be."
I got over my ordeal in a couple days, constantly repeating in my head that I had to get worse to get better. But I still had to tell my mom, among other things. Then the "Welcome!" letter came from the oncology department. That was so weird. Like they have to be friendly but serious. I deal much better with sarcasm and inappropriate jokes. So anywho, that's where I've been and what I've been doing. Making the day to day more important than what's going on inside. Going on field trips with the kids, putting together Annabelle's bridging ceremony for Girl Scouts, going to my favorite little beach, Solo Point, with the whole family, taking lots of pictures. I know what I have is not near as bad as most I'll see when I go up to oncology in a couple weeks, but it's still a big deal to me. My procedure is July 14th. The kids will be in Texas with Mom and Dad suffering from heat exhaustion, Chris used me as an excuse to get off work so he'll be bringing me fresh fruit and keeping Bonnie busy. I plan on milking it for as long as I can : )

Get worse to get better . . . . and get better, I will.

My best friend and biggest supporter : )

Homeward Bound . . . kind of

After being married to the military for the last eight years, I'd have to say that some of the biggest stress factors are the unknowns. Knowing you'll have to move, but not knowing where to or if there will be housing available and what the cost of living is (realistically). Knowing he's deploying but not knowing where to or for how long. We've had one very big unknown weighing us down for nearly a year now. Knowing Chris would be leaving the military, but not knowing when he'd be done with the disability process or how hard it would be to find a job and where that job would be. We knew what we wanted out of his future place of employment and where we'd soon be calling "home," but were we really going to get to be that picky?
Excellent news came last week in the form of an interview. Chris had applied for a job with Saint David's in Austin, TX and had been contacted by two different facilities there who were apparently fighting over him : ) He got all kinds of nervous when he found out he'd be flying down for an interview. Regardless of how much I tried to calm him down by insisting that they wouldn't be spending all that money flying him down, putting him up in a nice hotel and getting him a rental car if they weren't seriously considering him for the job, he was still a wreck when he boarded the plane last Thursday. So much so that he nearly made himself sick and spent all of Thursday afternoon and evening passed out in his hotel room.
Friday morning came around and my day started off horribly. My phone died in the middle of the night so I missed Chris' phone call before he left for his interview and I slept right through Bonnie's 8am doctor's appointment. It was a beautiful day, so of course both kids wanted absolutely nothing to do with school and what I was trying to teach them. Just when I thought all hope was lost and I was about to give up on the day all together, the phone rang.
"You're moving to Austin!"
After all that stress and worry, Chris' interview went swimmingly. Everyone loved him. In fact, they liked him so much that they drew up the papers right there on the spot so that he could take them home to me (I love people who value the wife's opinion). We couldn't be happier! Finally some things can be moved from the unknown to the known column. And how appropriate that we'll be heading to the Seattle of the Southwest. A city with a passion for the arts and culture but with the down home feeling you can only find in the Lone Star State. While we still have no ETS (end time in service) date, just the fact that we're knowin' where we're goin' is enough for me : )
Plus, I'll be able to say y'all without someone looking at me funny and saying, "where are YOU from?"