Miss B

At the risk of sounding redundant, the Smoking Room was very smoky.  Too smoky.  As a smoker, you really wouldn't have to lite up in that place.  I'm sure you'd get more than your fair share of second hand smoke if you just sat in there and took breaths.  I had to walk by this smoking area several times a day, basically any time I left my office and I remember when I'd get about 1/2 way down the hallway, I"d take a deep breath then hold my breath until I got outside.

I'd often see B going into or coming out of the Smoking Area and so quite naturally I assumed she was a smoker.  And since I was often walking by the Smoking Area and B was often walking from the Smoking Area, we had several occasions to strike up a conversation and thus, this is how I first began to talk to Miss B. 

Miss B's desk was also right outside Chief's office so before I fell out of favor with Chief, I'd often chat with Miss B whenever I had an occasion to be in Chief's office.  In fact, it was Miss B that was the one that quite often would say, "You can do no wrong in Chief's eyes.  He talks about Sergeant Dodge ALL of the time."

But you know, we now know that's not exactly true.  I did do wrong in Chief's eyes and well, I digress.

Cutting to the chase, Miss B was so often in the smoking room because her boy friend was a smoker so he'd come over on his breaks, lunch, etc. to see Miss B and being the smoker that he was, he had to you know, multi-task --talk to his girl friend WHILE smoking and so Miss B and her soldier would hang out in the smoking room.

After many casual conversations, Miss B invited me over to her house one Sunday afternoon but first she did forewarn me, she and her soldier boyfriend lived together.

Okay so I was single and pregnant.  Who was I to judge?  Miss B gave me directions to their house and we made our Sunday afternoon plans.

 

Smoking in the Boys Room

B was another interesting person I met at Ft. Riley.  She was a single secretary that worked on the second floor.-- that office right outside of Chief's office.  B was smart, very smart and probably working way under her potential.

Back in the day, the 80's day that is, the Army (and other institutions) were taking a serious look at smoking and the rights of non-smokers.  I remember back-back in the day, the 60's & 70's day, where smoking was not only widely accepted, it was almost expected in some circles.  I remember trips as a child, to my Dad's office were every desk had an ashtray and the reception area had a fancy free-standing ashtray that had a long pedestal.  Smoking was everywhere.  But fast forward back into the 80's, trying to accommodate both the smokers and non-smokers, businesses were designating smoking areas.

Enter B.

In our building, the hallway that lead down to my office, the very first office on the left was a designated smoking area.  It was just a room with couches and ashtrays and chairs and lots and lots of smoke.  So much smoke that at any time you walked by it and someone opened the door, a huge puff of smoke emitted from the room.  I'm not kidding you; when one time I peaked inside and it was as if a heavy fog descended onto the room.  You could only see the shapes of people and furniture, not any details or faces.  The room had no windows (that opened) and no ventilation.  I guess it wasn't a well thought-out designated smoking area and despite the fact that neither one of us smoked, this is where I met B.

The Getting Out

I was one complete mess but I'm standing here with no choice but to "get out".  I  paused first to pick up whatever shreds of dignity I could gather off of the floor to try and plaster them back into place before I left the room but shreds are hard to find in a sea of boxes, monitors and computers --and Chief was glaring at me as if to say, "Are you deaf?  Did I not speak English?"

I felt horrible mostly because I felt I didn't deserve to be treated this way.  I still had no idea exactly what I did wrong but there's a saying in the Army --or maybe its just one of those life sayings and its something about stuff rolling downhill, down stream---you know, something like that.  It seemed maybe that was going on - Chief got chewed out from someone that out ranked him and now he felt the need to chew someone out.

Something like that.

I started to walk out but then I decided I had something to say.  So still sobbing and still speaking disconnected words between those sobs, I said:

I - have - no - idea - what - I - did - wrong - but - I - know - I - didn't - deserve - to - be -yelled - at -or - treated - like - this - and - all - I - asked - was - for - a - minute - to - get - myself - together - I - don't - know - why - I - am - so - emotional - right - now - but - I'm - pregnant  - and - I - guess - maybe - that - is - why - but - what - you - did - was - unfair.

Chief stood there listening and his body language softened and that look of glaring anger left his face but there was certainly nothing warm or remorseful about his expression.

I turned away and walked out only to find the entire office of the civilian secretaries just sitting there in awkward silence.  They tried to pretend they didn't hear but gosh, I think the entire post heard Chief's yelling.  They tried to act like it was business as usual --but it clearly was not.

I walked back down to the first floor and went to the bathroom to get myself together before I had to go into my office.  Several people in the building saw me crying and with everyone knowing the condition of my mother, many assumed maybe she died.

Yes, I was just that upset.

Later in the day, nearing the end of the duty day Chief came down to my office.  Very stone faced, he stood in front of my desk and offered me an apology that went something like this:

Sergeant Dodge, the mistake I made was leading you to believe we were friends and maybe I treated you too casually but I am an officer and you a Sergeant and I think you got too comfortable with me thinking perhaps you didn't need to obey my orders.  I learned a lesson here and I will never make that mistake again.  Not with you, not with anyone else.  I'm sorry for misleading you.

And to that, I was thinking --

Okay well first of all, you are NOT an officer but a Warrant Officer and I'm sorry but there IS a difference.  Secondly, I was not too comfortable with you because you really flipped out over nothing.  I would have walked into that office no differently if you wore general stars on your collar or private mosquito wings --so apparently the problem here is your ego --or something like that.

But that is not what I said.  What I said was, "I never thought we were friends and I wasn't too comfortable with you."

Chief walked out of the office and that was the last time he ever spoke to me.  Whenever he saw me walking in the hallways, he'd turn and walk the opposite direction.  If he walked into an office when I was present, he'd quickly turn and walk back out.  It was all very strange and to this day, I don't understand exactly what happened but I imagine there was much more to the story than I knew.

And after all of that, I didn't even get one of the new computers.

On The Receiving End

Chief starts yelling, "Do you not see millions of dollars of equipment sitting around here?"  I told him yes and I was very confused where all of this was going.  So confused I started to think he was joking around.

So I was still hiking my way through the equipment and started commenting on how nice the computers looked, couldn't wait to get one, etc.

SERGEANT DODGE, DO YOU NOT HEAR ME?

I'm still confused but I know now he's not joking so I stop and say, "Yes, Chief.  I  hear you."  I had no idea what I had done wrong or what was wrong so I decided to just leave but to do so, I once again had to step over boxes, cords, etc.

SERGEANT DODGE!  STOP RIGHT THERE!

I stopped and turned around and now Chief was coming towards me.

HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO LEAVE?

Uh just one but you know --you never did say that.

I HAVE MILLIONS OF DOLLARS OF EQUIPMENT IN HERE.  I AM ACCOUNTABLE FOR EVERY BIT OF THIS AND I HAVE TO UNPACK IT AND GET IT ALL RECORDED AND ASSIGNED.  GET OUT!!!   GET OUT SERGEANT DODGE AND NEXT TIME I TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING YOU BETTER DO IT.  DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

Oh you made yourself perfectly clear but no, I do not understand anything about what just happened here. 

So those were just my thoughts.  I was reeling in confusion.  In those split seconds in your mind, I was replaying the entire scene trying to figure out what I did wrong.  But there's one thing I knew for certain, you don't argue with anyone that out ranked you.  I couldn't stand there and argue with Chief.  So what did I do?

Why, what any good pregnant women living under a ton of stress --I cried.  I cried and I cried and I cried.  No, I mean I didn't cry --I sobbed.  I sobbed and I was out of control crying.  The kind of crying where you just can't catch your breath.

And I think my emotion was due to what just happened but in my delicate state of pregnancy, I was also a walking emotional time-bomb so really anything could have detonated that reaction.  Also, due to my mother's illness I was also on emotional edge at all times.  This release of tears was probably as much about those things as it was the situation with Chief.

So as I'm standing there crying Chief is yelling at me to get out.  I was so out of control I didn't want to leave yet.  I was trying so desperately to breath and make myself stop crying but it seemed the harder I tried, the more difficult that was. 

You know, I was a Sergeant in the Army --there was some element of maintaining my military bearance that I wanted to try and gain before I left the office.  And walking out of Chief's office meant I had to go back out into the Civilian's secretary's work area.  So as Chief was yelling at me to leave I was trying to talk . . . .between sobs . . . .

Ch-ch-ch-ieeeee-f,  pppl-ease do-do-n't maaaa-ke me go  ooo-ut  th-th-there ri-ri-now.  Please *sob* give *sob* me *sob* a minute *sob* to *sob* calm *sob* down.  Please just  *sob* give me *sob* a minute.

Chief just looked at me and said, "Get out."

Chief

Chief was a Chief Warrant Officer that worked in JAG and for some reason, he really liked me.

No, I don't mean like that but on a professional level, he really liked me.  And in his eyes, I could do no wrong.  At least that's what everyone in JAG would say to me, "Well, in Chief's eyes, Sergeant Dodge can do no wrong."

I think he respected my work ethic and I think he thought I was smart.  And so, he kind of treated me like teacher's pet.

I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't hating it.  I worked on the first floor of our very large building and Chief was on the second floor.  I had an occasion to go upstairs maybe once or twice a day.  I probably needed to go up more often but our Legal Assistance office was crazy busy so it wasn't too often during the day I could even get away.

But those times I could get away I'd be upstairs and sometimes I'd chit-chat with the civilian secretaries.  Often times Chief would call me into his office and we'd chat --about Army stuff and legal stuff and Chief was nice to me and Chief treated me like --you know, I could do no wrong.

Until one day, I did wrong.

Computers were just coming onto the scene back in the 80's.  We used word processors and those old fashioned things --typewriters but the Army was investing in technology and so we were getting in new computers.  I mean, not like what you think a computer to be but for the 80's we were on the cutting edge of technology --complete with those monitors that took up your entire desk top.

JAG was getting issued computer stations for just about every person and Chief was in charge of signing for the equipment and assigning it to individuals, etc.  I walked upstairs one afternoon and there were monitors (HUGE ones) and computers everywhere.  Chief was in the process of unpacking them, recording serial numbers, etc.  So I walked into Chief's office, which was more like an office to an office --it was like a reception area to the Master Sergeant's office so the area was open.  It also had a doorway to this big open area where all of the civilian secretaries worked.  Back then we really didn't use cubicles but in today's work place, they probably would have been all cubicle spaces --but as it were, they were just desks in a wide open area.

I myself was an emotional walking time-bomb.  At this point, I was about 7 months pregnant, very large and very uh well ----as pregnant women can be --hormonal.  I was also dealing daily with my mother's illness, being alone, self-pity --all that kind of stuff.  So I was like a walking emotional hand grenade.

I'm very excited to see all of the new equipment.  I had been pounding out documents on a MANUAL typewriter for much too long -- I was excited at the possibility of having a real computer.  I walked through Chief's office, careful not to trip over boxes, monitors, cords, etc. and I was more focused on maneuvering my way through this mine field, especially treacherous for a pregnant woman such as myself to trip and fall, so I'm looking down at my feet (that probably were stinky but not emitting white powder) careful to watch where I was stepping and without looking up I said something very casual like, "Hey Chief!".  I did notice there was an odd silence and so I stopped in my tracks, looked up to see if Chief was paying attention.  He was so angry it wasn't just the expression on his face that told me so.  I mean, he almost had steam blowing out of his ears (like on the cartoons).  I had done or said absolutely nothing wrong or out of the ordinary and so I figured it must have been something that happened prior to me coming in.  I stood there, waiting and the longer I waited the more it became apparent I was going to be on the receiving end of that anger.

The Girl, The End

I didn't just drop The Girl like a hot potato.  On the weekends I took her around apartment hunting and we'd occasionally shop together.  Like we did before, eventually we didn't talk as much and then weeks had passed since I talked to The Girl.

Until one day she called me.  She needed me again.  Turns out, when she and her boyfriend had an apartment together they bought some furniture together and The Girl left a lot of her personal belongings in the apartment.  Now, she FINALLY had a place of her own and so she wanted to get her things and the furniture that was hers.

The problem is, the Army is now involved and like I said, they don't like cheaters and abusers.  The soldier's unit was aware of what was going on and they were taking action to both get him help but hold him accountable as well.  He was given an order not to contact The Girl --a restraining order of sorts, and since he was still living in the apartment, she was not allowed to go over there.  He was not comfortable with her getting things without him present and so it was arranged that The Girl would go to the apartment accompanied by an NCO and the guy would have his platoon leader there as well.  The two were not allowed to talk to one another -not say one single word to each other.  All communication between The Girl and the soldier were to be done through the NCO's and we, the NCO's had final decisions on things.  That's what the pair of them agreed to.

So --The Girl called me and asked if I'd be her NCO and accompany her to the apartment to pick up her things.  On the appointed time, we went over to the apartment.

I remember the soldier had more people there with him --two or three NCO's from his unit.  I was the only one with The Girl.  All of us walked through the apartment room by room and went through every single item, just about.  Luckily, they had not lived together for too long and so they had not yet accumulated too many things and the soldier did not dispute The Girl having most of their possessions.  Gracious, I mean -that was the least he could do, I thought.

I loved seeing this abuser "in check".  He liked to cheat and bully women around and here he was being submissive and controlled.  I LOVED that.  I was almost giddy with delight.

The moving out was without drama or incident.  I eventually didn't talk to The Girl much.  After our babies were born we got together.  She had a boy and was jealous of the fact that I had a girl.  One time while we were both out on maternity leave there was a huge snow storm coming and knowing she was in her apartment alone and didn't have transportation, I stopped by to see if she had food, diapers, etc. and if she needed to take a trip to the commissary.  She said she was fine.  I'm pretty sure that was the last time we ever spoke.

The soldier never did even come see her in the hospital, though he was granted permission to do so.  Last thing I heard she was taking him to court for child support.  I think he bought some clothes, diapers and baby things and had someone bring those things over to her apartment but that was all he did.  Even after the baby was born she still had not told her family.  I even once asked her if she thought about adoption but that offended her and she said, "Black folks don't give their children away."

Oh yeah, one time I baby sat for her.  After we both went back to work she had to pull duty one night and called me to ask if I'd keep her baby.  Of course I did.  He was a fat greedy little boy.  He loved to eat and loved to sleep.  I felt sorry for him.  I wondered about his future --a father that was most likely going to be absent from his life and an extended family that didn't even know he existed --not to mention a very young inexperienced mother that had virtually no support system.  Yeah, it was sad.

And that's the story of The Girl, a young soldier from Louisiana that I knew for a brief time while at Ft. Riley.

The Girl The Ex-Roommate

My new roommate situation wasn't working out so much.   She started out sleeping on the couch but it really wasn't big enough so then the two of us were sleeping in my queen sized bed but you know, that really wasn't big enough either.  It was a small (crappy) apartment and it just wasn't working out for the two of us.

The Girl didn't have a car so I drove her to work every morning and picked her up on the way home.  Sometimes, she'd hang out with a friend in the barracks and would get a ride back to the apartment.  Those were peaceful nights. 

Mostly, I just didn't like having The Girl there.

There was so little we had in common and the more I got to know her, the more I realized that we had even less in common.

And I was paying for all of our living expenses --she'd even eat all my food and not offer to buy any, despite the fact I knew she was receiving BAQ and Sep Rats (extra money each month for living expenses).  I was also incurring a bit more gas expense having to drive her around.  Then again, I'd rather she saved all of her money for that deposit and first month's rent --if she was indeed saving her money.

But I felt bad for The Girl and didn't want to put a single pregnant soldier out on the street.

So instead I offered to take The Girl apartment hunting on the weekends.  She would look but found something wrong with every single place.

And then I had it.  So one night I had a talk with her.  It went something like this:

[She had not told her family back home in Louisiana that she was pregnant, she was afraid to tell them.]

There are consequences to our behaviors and sometimes those consequences are long lasting.  You knew you were involved with a married man and you knew that was wrong.  I realized he lied and promised you the moon and the stars --that he was going to divorce his wife and you'd two live happily-ever-after; I know he deceived you.  I know that hurts and I know you still hold on some measure of hope.  Even if that was true, that he intended to build a life with you, you have to realize what a difficult life that would be.  At the very least, he would have a financial responsibility to his ex-wife and kids.  You illegally moved into military family housing and then you got an apartment with this guy --WHO IS STILL MARRIED AND LYING TO HIS WIFE.  You're young but you're also going to be a mother.  Its time to grow up, take responsibilities for your actions.  You have to think about your baby now.  In just a few months you're going to have a baby and you need to prepare a place for the two of you to live.  Also, you need to tell your family back home what is going on.  I realize how difficult this news will be to tell them but the longer you wait the more difficult it is going to be.  You need them now.  Your family can help you, support you.  That's what you need right now, you need those words of encouragement and wisdom.  Listen, this is hard for me but I have a baby on the way too.   I can't sleep well with you here, I can't really afford to have you here.  I need you to find your own place and I mean soon like, now.  This weekend.  If you can't find a place right away then you're going to have to move back into the barracks.  I'm sorry, this just isn't working out.

The Girl understood.  She said she'd just go back to the barracks.  So that next day she made arrangements to have a room in the barracks.  I then helped her move back.

It was so peaceful and nice having my (crappy) apartment back to myself.

A Roommate

I decided I was just going to let things take their natural course.  The Husband wasn't going to be able to maintain this lie for long --eventually his real wife was going to want to be reunited and eventually The Girl was going to give birth to his child and the entire situation was going to get messy --er or um, messier --all on its own.  So what I decided to do was just let the entire thing run its natural course.

I talked to The Girl much less until we finally had no contact at all for several months . . . until one day out of the blue I got a call.  It was The Girl.  She was crying and upset and she asked if I could come get her. 

So let's back up.

Just like I suspected, The Husband eventually had to move out of military housing.  I do not remember how that all transpired; if he got caught or told his wife the truth or voluntarily gave up housing --I just don't remember but he did give up his family housing and he and The Girl got an apartment together off post.

The Girl called me because she didn't know who else to turn to.  She asked if I could come pick her up and said, "I can't stay here any more."  I tell you, I wanted to help The Girl but on the other hand, I wasn't too sure how safe it was for me to go get her.  I mean, both of us were well into our pregnancies and I knew this guy, The Ex-Husband or whatever his current marital status was . . .I knew he was abusive and if he was out of control to the point The Girl needed to get out, I wasn't exactly sure what I'd find if I went there.  She assured me he wasn't home at the time and she needed to get out before he came back.

So against my (now) better judgment, I went to pick up The Girl.  I quickly helped her get some personal things together and then we left, no note or explanation to her boyfriend.  I took her to my apartment and told her she could stay with me but it was upon a few conditions:

1.  I knew what a miserable existence living in the barracks was while pregnant so I told her she needed to find her own apartment or place to live off post.

2.  She was to contact her boyfriend's commander and inform him of the situation (the Army doesn't take a liking too well to cheaters and abusers).

3.  She was to refrain from ANY contact whatsoever with her boyfriend and only contact him through his unit or attorney.

4.  If he came around or contacted her in ANY manner she was to call the police immediately.

5.  She was under no circumstances to tell her boyfriend where she was, give out my address, etc.

She agreed to all of it.  And thus, I now lived in a crappy 1-bedroom apartment with my big pregnant belly and another soldier that also had a big pregnant belly.

The Girl and The Husband

The Girl and I would hang out together sometimes.  Well, she didn't have a driver's license and so I would take her places she needed to go --like to the commissary and such.  Sometimes I wondered why The Husband wasn't doing that but soldiers can be rather busy sometimes.  I developed a relationship with The Girl which was somewhere between Mom and big sister.  The approximate 6 year age difference wasn't as a big a divide as the difference in maturity.  In some ways she acted like she was still in high school.

One day we were coming back from the commissary and I was helping her unload groceries into her house.  A neighbor was outside and greeted her as Specialist (her rank) and then the last name that was posted on the front of the housing unit, not her last name.  She said hello and tried to quickly end the conversation.  When we got inside The Girl said to me, "If I tell yo something, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

Now see, I hate when people put me in a position like that because its usually bad news --and then I'm stuck between a dumb promise and well --the need to tell someone.  You know, like when Wanda left her baby in the car . . . . so I said to The Girl, "Well I promise you can confide in me and trust me but if someone is getting hurt I can't promise I'm not going to get help."  So The Girl took a deep breath and said, "He's not my husband, we're not married!"

I KNEW IT!  I knew this was all too strange.  You don't get military housing especially that quick . .  .but wait, how did they get housing?  So I asked her.

The Girl goes on to tell me her boyfriend actually is married --just not to her.  He came ahead to Ft. Riley without his family and was going to bring them over after he got housing for them.  That's really not that unusual --sometimes its just easier for the wife and kids to stay put until the husband has a place for all of them to stay --Some families even choose to finish out a school year or --whatever.  But this particular soldier didn't just find a place to live --he also found a girlfriend and got her pregnant.  The Girl tells me this guy has something like 5 kids, which also explains why he got a 4 bedroom.

I could not believe what The Girl was telling me.  I told her she couldn't live here, "This is not your house and he is not your husband!  He is going to get into so much trouble --and you!  You could get in trouble too!  People are actually calling you by HIS last name!  You don't think you two are going to get busted?  This isn't YOUR life, this life belongs to his WIFE --if she actually still wants to be his wife after she finds out he got you pregnant but . . . . you need to move out.  You need to go back to the barracks and you --you guys need to work all of this out . . . "

She refused.  She kept giving me one e--hexcuse after another and told me she was going to stay there with him.  He was going to divorce his wife and then they were going to get married and live happily ever after.  I tried to explain to her that even if all of that was true, those things took time.   But you know, she knew everything and obviously had no problem with being with someone else's husband so . .

I was angry and frustrated and left.  I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

The Girl

I don't like to use people's names because I don't think that's exactly fair ---but in this case, I really don't remember this girl's name and thus, I will call her --The Girl.

The Girl was the young soldier I met from my unit that was also expecting and helped me to find my apartment --sort of.  She was young, went into the Army straight out of high school and had been at Ft. Riley less than a year.  She was from Louisiana and seemed like she had a rather impoverished childhood.  With her youth came inexperience and yes, how naive the young girl was.  She was at that perfect end of her teens stage in life where she absolutely had the entire world figured out, knew it all and didn't need advice or help from anyone.  It wasn't her personality, it was her life-stage.

After moving into my apartment I ran into The Girl again and she asked if I ever found an apartment, I told her yes and then I asked her and she said, "Oh well no because we got housing on post."

Well, that's kind of odd.  You see, to get housing on post you have to be married and well --as far as I knew, or at least assumed, she was not married.  I mean pregnant yes but then you know, so was I.  She didn't wear a wedding ring and I knew she was living in the barracks, which is usually only for single soldiers . . it was odd.  But then again you know --things happen.  People can get married at a moment's notice --then again, how on earth did they get housing so soon?  I knew there was a 6 month to a year waiting list . . . .

It was odd but I didn't give it too much thought.  The Girl asked if I'd like to come over and see their place so I accepted and we set up a date.

After work one day I headed over to The Girl's military housing.  In the military, often times the soldier's rank & name will be displayed outside the door.  As I was walking to the door I noticed the name was not the same last name as hers.  It did strike me to be odd but there again, soldiers often run to the Justice of the Peace, knock out a few vows and viola --they're married --changing names, getting rings --those things take time.

I went into The Girl's house and immediately noticed it was very sparsely furnished.  We sat down and chatted for a bit --The Girl told me about her plans for furnishings, housewares, etc.  I remember sitting there feeling so jealous.  She had the things I wanted.  Well, she had at least one thing I wanted and that was a husband but I was also very much coveting her military housing, so much nicer than my crappy apartment.  Even sparsely furnished, I wanted to live there.

The Girl told me about her plans for the nursery and also said they had a 4 bedroom house.  Really?  Now see, that's odd too because the size military housing you are assigned is dependent on the size of your family.  It would be a rare thing for a young married couple to get a 4 bedroom house, even if they were expecting!  Again, I'm finding pieces of the puzzle not fitting and yet, I tried to explain them away.

After chatting some more The Girl's husband came home.  As soon as she heard the door everything about her changed; her body language, expressions, sound of her voice --and she seemed to be bracing herself for --well, I don't really know what.  But again, I notice these things but I don't put them together.  I stood up to be introduced to The Husband and right away I can tell he's not happy at all.  He gives me a very cold, "Hey!" with a quick nod of the head and fake smile trying to mask his stone face.  He then looks at The Girls and says, "I need to talk to you."  VERY obediently, almost too obediently, The Girl rushes to The Husband's side and tells me, "I'll be right back."

So -this is awkward.  Do I stay?  Do I go?  Do I wait?  I just sit back down on the couch and say, "Oh, okay."  The happy newlyweds go upstairs.

It wasn't yelling or fighting or screaming or anything like that but in the distance I can hear muffled voices--voices that were yelling but trying not to be loud.  Well, not so much voices as voice because it was only The Husband that I heard.  Now I'm really feeling uncomfortable and just as I get up to leave The Girl comes down.  Her face is forlorn and she can hardly keep eye contact with me.  I felt sorry for her and wanted to immediately let her off the hook --so she didn't have to come up with an excuse or lie or whatever.  So before she could speak I said, "Hey, I really need to get going and you guys probably want to get dinner going or something.  Thanks for having me over --we'll have to do it again when you have more time."

I was trying to be upbeat and pretend that I didn't notice all these odd things and that I didn't hear The Husband being unkind to The Girl.

I left but that wasn't the last I'd see of The Girl and I'd have one more encounter with The Husband as well only next time, military police were involved.

Letters

My dear sweet, lovable, thoughtful Jerry,

I received your card today.  It is wonderful getting mail from you.  The card you sent made my day and was the favorite of all the letters you sent.

Today was a little better than yesterday.  I'm sorry my last letter was so dismal.  When I have bad days I just want to run away and be with you.  I feel safe and secure with you.

Barb is going to make me a maternity dress.  I'm real excited!  We went and picked out the material today.  Its going to be denim.  She's real sweet.

Everyone has been bugging me about reenlisting.  MSG Lane said he wants to talk to me.  They're all worried I'm going to change my mind and want a Chapter 9.

Well, its 2036 --very near my bed time.  I want to write Mom a quick letter too so I'm going ot cut this one a little short.  You understand, don't you?  :)

You're always in my love, thoughts and prayers.  Take care of yourself --I worry about you.

My love always,

Melissa & Baby

Writing Letters

I have a huge box of letters Jerry and I exchanged mostly while I was in Kansas but also over the years while he was deployed.  I decided to publish a few but they aren't going to be in exact chronological order --the box is huge and it would be much too time consuming to sort through them --but I'll pull a few here and there.

Starting with this letter.

October 10, 1988

Jerry,

Well baby, I'm happy you called me.  I hope now you feel better knowing Baby and I are fine.  You may be a little angry or upset with me for not writing but please don't stay that way for long.

I know you don't understand what I am going through with Mom.  I can talk to people about it and no one sees my grief and pain.  Its when I'm alone it all hits me.  Jerry, I know and believe the Lord has wonderful plan for all of us.  I know he answers prayer.  But, I also know he may want to take Mom.  I don't think you realize the seriousness of Mom's illness.  I just want to be prepare for anything.  I wish you be here with me.  Sometimes I just feel like being held in your arms and crying it out.  Hey Sweetheart, I appreciate your prayers and support.  Mom appreciates it too.  I love you.

Mom sent us $300 for the baby.  I bought a few things but not much.  I'll save the rest.  I'm sure there will be plenty we need.

Its getting more and more difficult to carry this baby around.  I'm so big.  I feel bigger than I actually am.  I get tired real easily.  My back, feet & legs hurt if I stand or walk too much.  Baby doesn't kick as much because he/she is getting cramped inside of me!  But he/she does move around a lot.  I kind of have a feeling baby will arrive before you do. I hope not because I need you here with me. But, in the event baby wants out early, my sister will be here so I won't be alone.

That brings me to another subject.  Jerry, please don't think I don't want my sister here while you're here because I'm embarrassed of you!  It's nothing like that at all!  In fact, I'm very anxious for you to meet my family and they want to meet you as well.  The problems is I just don't have the room for everyone here.  Val said she may even bring Mom if she's up to it.  I guess it will all work out but I just feel like I'm always letting everyone down.

Well, I'm going to my usual place --bed!  More tomorrow.

Love,

Melissa

Church

Like in Germany, finding a church was a difficult task but at least this time I had off-post options as well being able to drive --that helped.

My first pursuit to find a church at Ft. Riley was while I still was staying in the barracks.  I looked in a post guide and decided to give the main chapel a try.   I looked up the service times and the next Sunday I got myself all gussied up, as a good Baptist girl would do, and headed out to the main post chapel.  It was a bad experience on so many levels.

First of all, as I was finding out, the military didn't exactly know how to handle single soldiers.  That was very much the case at this particular chapel.  It was very family oriented --kid friendly, couple friendly --not so much on the single-friendly side.  Also, since it was located near the officer's quarters, many of the families that attended were officers.

Not all officers are bad and not all officer families are snobs but in this particular case, the church body in general was not very welcoming nor friendly but for the few that decided to welcome me and talk to me, the moment they learned I was an enlisted solider, I literally got snubbed.  It was by far one of the worst church experiences I ever had.  I remember one woman in particular could not have been any more obvious --as she was shaking my hand and I introduced myself, saying I was new to Ft. Riley, etc. the moment she found out I was an enlisted solider, the smile slowly disappeared from her face, she withdrew her hand from mine, looked me over from head to toes and then said, "Oh" --then just walked away from me.  That's it.  Just walked away.  I felt like I was diseased or something.  I could not get out of that place fast enough.  As soon as the service was over I hurried back to my car and decided I wasn't going to pursue any churches on post --I'd try something off post.

This very much reminded me of an experience I had when I was in high school.  Having recently been saved and coming from a Catholic upbringing, I had no clue on how to find a church, what to look for, etc.  So I drove around my town, looked for churches and wrote down the names of any I found of interest.  I then went home and looked them up in the phone book and called to get service times, etc (you know, before there was such a thing as "google it").  This one particular church I went to I arrived for Sunday School and asked someone to point me to the high school class or youth group (but being so new to church, I might not have used that particular verbiage) and I got a blank stare.  A few confused people directed me to this person, that person --until finally a nice gentleman took me into an empty classroom and explained they really didn't have anything at their church for someone like me ---he asked where my parents were and I told him they did not go to church.  He asked me, "What exactly do you want?"  Huh well --I just want to come to church, kind sir.  Blank stare.  He asked me to sit tight so he could get some information for me.  He then came back and said something like, "We really don't have a class for you and as much as we'd like to have you part of our congregation, we just think it would be best if you found a church better suited for you.  However; if you really just want to stay here, after you've been here for several weeks and we see you're serious about church, we'll work on getting a class for you or something --but until then, maybe you can just come for morning service."

Oh, okay well --I stayed that Sunday and did not go back.

I didn't have the best of luck with finding churches and Ft. Riley proved to be equally as challenging.

Patent Leather Shoes (and the problems they cause)

Let me start out by saying I absolutely cannot believe I am going to tell you this story . . .I am already embarrassed but it’s not like you don’t know about Connie’s Lipstick, the showers at PLDC, the nylons, wearing my rank upside down ----what’s one more embarrassing story between me and my closest blog readers?

Out of sheer vanity, having determined I was not going to be put on a gym shoe profile, I decided my little size 5 pregnant feet were going to don a cute black shiny pair of low heeled black patent leather shoes during my pregnancy.

Because I happen to really like black patent leather shoes.

They are shiny.

They click-clack when you walk.

What’s not to love?

Kansas was experiencing record-breaking temperatures and neither my apartment nor my car had air conditioning. Well, my apartment had a small window unit in the living room but with temperatures in the low 100’s, a small window unit did very little to cool off even the tiniest of apartments. In addition to the heat and barely any relief from it, I was a mammoth sized 5 foot-nothing pregnant woman. I was retaining more water than the Hoover Dam; my fingers were swollen, my face was swollen, my feet were swollen—my feet were especially swollen and I’m sure they were no longer a petite size 5.

Even so, every day I would stuff my chubby feet into those size 5 black patent leather shoes, because black patent leather is pretty –and shiny. That’s all that matters here, isn’t it? Pretty as it may be, keep in mind patent leather does not exactly give you any –well, uh ---breathing room. Making matters worse, wearing nylons was required of the Class B uniform so before stuffing my swollen chubby feet into a black patent leather shoe, I’d first squish them into a tubular nylon hose. It was as if my feet were wrapped up like a swaddled newborn baby then packed into a shiny black patent leather sauna.

Do you know what happens to you when you go into a sauna? You sweat.

Do you know the unpleasant affects of perspiration are?

Odor.

It is not as if I didn’t notice my feet were a little tainted at the end of the day but you know, that was only after I took my shoes off and since I lived alone, I figured I’d be the only one really offended by any unpleasantness so it never occurred to me this was a problem. Besides, I did shower daily and wash my nylons and clothes.

One day I am sitting at my desk and it is near the end of the duty day so our waiting area is clear. My OIC comes out and stands in front of my desk engaging in a bit of chit chat, which was not a terribly unusual occurrence. Then he starts acting a little strange and avoiding eye contact and then he says in a sort of joking manner, “You know, when people take their shoes off under their desk it might become noticeable –the smell might be obvious.” Then too embarrassed to wait for a response, he bolts back into his office.

The whole thing seemed rather odd to me because I never ever took my shoes off at work. My feet were so swollen if I took my shoes off during the day and tried to put them back on it would be like trying to stuff an inflated raft back into its pre-inflated packaging. So though I found his statement to be odd, I did not think the statement was directed to me personally.

I don’t even take my shoes off under my desk!

On the way home that evening, I thought about what the Captain had said and then I started sniffing –like a hound dog on a mission. I am driving along in my un-air conditioned 1985 Dodge Colt and then it hits me –He WAS talking about me only ---he assumed I was taking my shoes off under my desk because he could smell stinky feet but truth is, they were just THAT stinky.

Okay so how badly must ones feet smell when the odor can be detected WITHOUT taking shoes off AND from a distance of at least 3 feet or more? And how embarrassing is it to be a Sergeant in the Army in a customer service based capacity and your Captain has to warn you about your stinky feet?

*raises hand* Ooo, pick me! Let me answer that last question!

VERY VERY VERY EXTREMELY EMBARRASSING!!!!!!!!!!!

I detoured from my way home and stopped and bought some foot powder and odor eaters to put into my shoes. That evening, I scrubbed my feet until I practically took a few layers of skin off. The next morning while getting ready for work and being especially paranoid about the odor, I showered, paying special attention to scrubbing my feet again. I put the odor eaters into my shoes and squirted the insides down with powder -- a lot of powder!

The JAG building was an older building and the floors were a very dark brown tile. I actually loved this building and walking down the hall to the Legal Assistance office felt like being in an old Hollywood black and white movie --click clacking my way down the hall to the Private I's office door with the frosted glass window.

As I was click-clacking my way down the hall, I kind of noticed something so I looked down only to find with each step that I took, a white puff of powder was emitting from my shoes! Making matters worse, each puff of powder was leaving a white remnant on the dark brown tile so as you looked down the long hall you can see little spots of white on the floor. I had not noticed it earlier (like walking through the parking lot) because it only became visible against the dark brown tile. I went into the ladies bathroom, took my shoes off and dumped the powder from my shoes into the trash. Noticing my feet were completely white, I then tried to wave my feet about to get any powder off my feet.

Picture it. I'm pregnant and large. I tried to reach my feet to pat them down hoping to get any powder off of them but I was having a difficult time bending down and reaching my feet and I was also losing my balance. So, I'm standing barefoot in the bathroom leaning up against the trash can trying to wave my feet and shake off any powder. All I can say is that I'm glad no one walked in to see me --and since no other soul on the whole earth knows any of this story, I might add what a brave (or stupid) soul I am for sharing this on a public blog.

I went back to my office and pretended the whole thing never happened. The civilian secretary did come in and comment, "I wonder what that white stuff is in the hallway." Thankfully, after a little traffic up and down the hall, it wasn't long before it all dissipated.

For the duration of my pregnancy, each night when I got home from work I would sit on the edge of the tub and scrub my feet down. Have you even seen a pregnant woman try to tie her shoes? Imagine one trying to scrub her feet. As the pregnancy progressed, this became increasingly more difficult to accomplish. Needless to say, it became a lot less scrubbing and more just soapy soaking. After I scrubbed my feet down, I would only wear flip-flops around the house because I figured they needed to air out. Then I would scrub my shoes inside and out; spray them, powder them and keep them out into the open for them to air out as well. It was this huge nightly process that I would go through.

I thought about buying new shoes but not receiving BAQ, I was doing good just to pay my rent and buy groceries. I was very poor and buying another pair of shoes just wasn't financially possible. After that pregnancy and getting my feet down to a normal size, I never had such a problem; I just needed to state that for the record.

No Gym Shoes!

Apparently, if no maternity uniforms are available, comparable civilian attire can be worn.  Your military name tag and rank must still be displayed.    I did not like that option either because I did not want the expense of purchasing maternity work clothes --in this case, would have been along the lines of business or business casual attire.  Thankfully, the maternity BDU's never did come in but I was able to get the Class B's.

Determined not to wear maternity BDU's or combat boots, I set my mind on another maternity exclusion.


As you may know, pregnant women often times have problems with swollen feet and so even in a maternity uniform, a woman might not be able to wear the required combat boots or shoes --enter in the military profile.


A profile is basically an exception to do nor not do something.  Soldiers that suffer from a sprained ankle or similar injury might get a "gym shoe profile", which just means they are allowed to wear gym shoes with their uniform.  That was common with pregnant women too.  And honestly, it did not look so bad with BDU's but a skirt?  Yeah --no!


Thinking I was ever so cute in my maternity skirt and/or dress slacks (Class B's), there was certainly no way I was going to wear a skirt with nylons and gym shoes.  I mean, CERTAINLY NO WAY.  Eventually I out grew my maternity slacks and so all I was left with was the skirt option.  Maternity uniforms were still on back-order and I was lucky enough to get the ones I had but after out growing them, I wasn't able to get any additional ones.  I wasn't about to revert back to the civilian clothes option because you see, since I was already in a maternity uniform I did not want to have to explain --well you see, I outgrew those and now they don't have any to fit me.


Because to me that sounded a lot like -- I am so fat and huge that even an Army tent isn't big enough to go around this butt and stomach.  I tried to get bigger uniforms and apparently, all the military fabric in the country is needed to make things like airplane tarps and 15-man tents, which is apparently the amount of material needed to make ME a uniform.  In addition to the probability of giving birth to sextuplets or a 50 pound baby, I have turned into the Very Hungry Caterpillar or Hungry Hungry Hippo and thus my eating habits have caused me to grow to the size of an Army tank.  Clothing Sales only sells uniforms to fit normal sized pregnant woman.  I am beyond that stage and thus, I am now having to revert to civilian clothes.


Yeah see, I was trying to avoid that explanation for the sudden wear of civilian maternity clothes so I decided I'd do without the pants and stick with the skirt for the duration of my pregnancy. 


Skirt and cute low-heeled black shiny shoes, that is.  NO GYM SHOES!

Growing Up

Ft. Riley was different, much different. I did not feel like a soldier –I felt like I lived in a crappy apartment and worked a civilian office job.

In many ways, I was detached from the Army. I lived off base (in a crappy apartment). I wore a uniform true enough but a Class B maternity uniform just seemed like a skirt and blouse (with cute black shiny shoes). Speaking of being pregnant, I was put on profile, which meant, I did not do Army stuff such as PT, firing range, training, etc. That certainly contributed to my detachment from the Army. Unlike Germany where I worked on a small kaserne where everyone worked closely together, Ft. Riley was huge! I was on the part of the post where all the offices were, support –I was not near the troops so I was not exposed to all that Army stuff—even not being involved in it I still liked to see it, keep up with what was happening. Ft. Riley was so big it was almost like two posts with a long winding road cut through the woods connecting the two.

Though I myself never had to go to the field even when I was stationed in Germany, I still liked the entire hullabaloo that surrounded each exercise; the planning and preparing, the buzz in the barracks, the tanks and trucks getting packed up and ready to go and then of course, the entire convoy pulling out of headquarters on their way out –I LOVED that. I also loved when they came back, all tired, dirty and grungy. You see, that was the heart and soul of the Army. Those exercises and those men and women –that is the very reason that you my friend lay your head down to sleep each night in free country. And for me to be any small part of that, even in a support role and not directly involved –let me tell you, that is nothing short of one of the greatest privileges I have ever been afforded. Even to stand on the sidelines and watch all that happen was an honor. Your Army, my friend, stays prepared, ready, trained, fit, informed. I very much missed being a part of that and a witness to it.

That certainly did play a big part in my feeling so detached from the Army but the main reason, or rather the two main reasons were; my baby and my Mom. You see, I was changing. From the very second I understood I had a life growing within me, I became Mom-Minded. My focus was that baby –keeping myself healthy to grow a healthy baby. I did not care so much about the Army anymore –that was the old me—the new me was a Mother-To-Be –and I wanted to be the BEST Mother I could be. My heart no longer felt like a soldier—it was that whole idea of reconciling two drastically different worlds –the Army, an institution built on fighting and war and then having a baby. Soft lullabies, tender new born skin, nursing, rocking, loving, holding ---none of that seemed so Army-ish but those were the thoughts that consumed me. Well, when I was not thinking about my own Mom.

You see, at this point we had no idea what Mom’s prognosis really was and while I was still teetering between denial and anger towards the whole situation, the depth of my heart knew we were facing a long uphill battle. At the very least, we had already lost Mom in some way. Post surgery she was never the same person. It is difficult to explain –she was still herself only different, if that makes any sense at all. I don’t know.

The point is, Ft. Riley was a HUGE pivotal point in my life in all terms. The Holy Spirit was awakened within me and it was as if he was saying to me, “We have a lot of sludge to dig up and get rid of.” Do you know what happens when you dig up nasty dirty rotten sludge that had been collecting/laying there for years? Its stinks –and it stinks VERY bad. But you see, this sludge, sin in my life, it had to be exposed. However, while dealing with all that, my personal sludge, I also was pregnant, living alone, detached from the security of the Army and facing a serious illness with my Mother, who lived far away from me. I was new so I did not really know people or have friends at Ft. Riley.

Sounds horrible and well, it really was but ironically, Ft. Riley was one of the best years of my life all the while, the most painful and worst time of my life. It was here at Ft. Riley I took that one final step over the threshold from childhood to adulthood. I grew up.

Her Baby

Me and my pregnant belly spent the night in Mom's room in a plastic very uncomfortable lounge chair.  I was awake more than I was asleep but thankfully, Mom slept well.

In total I was in Florida for a week.  Sam left first, then Val and then I left to go back to my active duty life at Ft. Riley.  Leaving Mom was tough but she was home from the hospital and doing quite well.    She was alert, pain free and knew exactly what was going on  . . . .but the biggest thing about Mom was her faith.  She embraced it like a life-line and well, it really was a life-line. 

Mom talked about her Lord Jesus all of the time, she spent most of her waking hours reading her Bible and praying.  She talked about death and heaven with joy in her voice.  At this point, we had no idea what her long-term prognosis was but Mom was ready to go home.  She had no fear, no complaints, no self-pity --Mom was full of complete and indescribable joy!  And it was an infectious joy.  Mom's illness brought her into this intimate relationship with the Lord.  She entered into the holiest place of the Tablernacle and there, she daily met her God.  To be a witness to that, that deep faith and love for the Lord --that was nothing short of a privilege. 

Mom did not pray for healing.  She prayed for God's will and when it became clear to her God's will was bringing her home, she began to pray for one thing.

Every day, Mom prayed that God will allow her to live long enough to see her baby, the one I was carrying.  She'd say, "I'm ready to go to heaven to live with Jesus but I ask him every day to let me live to see my baby born."

And with that, July 1988 came to an end.

We Really Weren't All About Following The Rules

I don't remember very much about the next few days only that it was a lot of waiting around.  We decided we did not want Mom to stay alone so we all took turns spending the night with her, again we defaulted to birth order and so, Val spent the first night with Mom.  Well, the first night she was out of ICU.  I believe that first night post surgery she stayed the night in ICU.

The first day Mom was back in her room was amazing.  Mom was alert, talking, laughing . . . we just stayed with Mom keeping her company, lifting her spirits.  I think I failed to mention the area in her brain where her tumor was located was the part of the brain that controlled speech, which is why one of Mom's symptoms was forgetting words.  But post surgery Mom was doing quite well.  I mean no, it wasn't a miracle cure and she still had difficulty with her speech but she was talking and knew what was going on.

She was Mom but  . . . she wasn't quite the same.  Something changed in her, I'm not sure what but after her surgery Mom was never the same Mom again.  It was sad yes, but in some ways it was amazing too.

I still needed people to hate and just about every staff person was a perfect candidate for me.  When I say "hate" I don't really mean that in a literal sense, you understand, but in my stage of anger, that emotion just needed some release.  And it wasn't as if I was acting angry or hateful towards anyone, it was more or less an inner turmoil ---fighting my heart, head and confusion privately within myself.

But angry I was, nonetheless.

Mom loved the beach.  You know, that Puerto Rican tropical blood in her.  LOVED!  THE!  BEACH!  So one we were all sitting around with Mom talking and trying to keep her spirits up and she was telling us what she wanted to do when she got out of the hospital --and one of those things was go to the beach.  So we stared making plans--we were talking, laughing --having a good time.  Enter Crabby Nurse.  She comes in and asks if she could speak with us out in the hall --so my sisters and I stepped out.

And she lit into us!  We got a scolding and she wasn't nice about it at all!  "Your mother just had brain surgery!!!  You have her all worked up.  I hear all kinds of laughter and talking going on.  Your mother needs her rest and she doesn't need to be making plans --you understand why, right?  She's not going to the beach!  Now you girls need to keep her calm and quiet or . . ."

The nerve of her!  Really!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  It was as if she was saying Mom was dying and would never go anywhere ever again.  So after our scolding my sister and I stood there and we figured whatever made Mom happy is what we were going to do.  Granted, we understood she needed her rest and we agreed to tone it down a bit --but treat Mom like she was half dead?  No, we refused.  Treat Mom like there was no hope?  Absolutely not!

Since Mom's speech was affected we wondered if that had any bearing on her Spanish, as she was bi-lingual.  So we asked around and found out there was a Spanish speaking nurse on the next floor so we asked if he wouldn't mind coming over to talk to Mom.  He agreed when he got a chance to get away he'd come over.

It was about an hour or so when this young man walks in and very bright and cheerful greets Mom in Spanish.  Her whole face lit up!  She began rattling off Spanish--Mom loved connecting to her Puerto Rican heritage.  They talked for a bit, the nurse turned to us and said, "Her Spanish is completely fine!  She was having no trouble at all understanding me or speaking to me."  Mom was so glad he came.

Another thing Crabby Nurse told us was that Mom should not look at her face or scar until some swelling had gone down.  I don't think Mom looked bad at all but the nurse told us post surgery, Mom kept asking to see herself but they decided it was best if she wait but for us to not act like it was nothing and keep telling Mom we couldn't find a mirror ---just make excuses.  Mom kept asking over and over to see herself and we kept changing the subject, telling her we'd find a mirror, etc.  Then it just came to me --Mom isn't stupid.  I'm sure she was aware of what we were doing and it bothered me.  We were lying to her and treating her like a baby.  Mom asked again to see herself, while gently running her hand over her incisions (they were not bandaged at this point) and my sister Val made up some excuse.  Then Mom touched her face, looked me right in the eye and said, "I look like a monster!"

Her words cut me deep.  I felt so bad for her.  I assured her she certainly did not look like a monster and then I said, "Mom, do you really want to see yourself?"  My sister Val caught my attention and with a mortified look shook her head no.  I wasn't having it.  We were not making Mom feel any better about herself and in fact, she assumed we kept putting her off because she looked horrible.  She needed to see herself and I did not care what any nurse said!  I got a mirror, from where I don't really remember, and I sat on the bed next to Mom.  My sister Val got in close too and we let Mom look at her face.

If you've seen the movie in Titanic there is a scene that so perfectly describes Mom seeing herself in the mirror.  It's when Rose, as an elderly woman, is on the ship she was flown out to and she is shown some articles that were salvaged from the wreckage, one of which was her mirror.  Rose picks it up and looks at herself, stares for a minute then says, "Hmp, the reflection has changed a bit."  It wasn't as if Rose was particularly happy with the change but she was resigned to it --in full acceptance of ---it is what it is!

That is kind of what Mom did.  She looked at herself a bit kind of shrugged and that was that. She was not horrified and if anything, it helped ease her worries and nerves more than anything.  Not seeing herself was making her more anxious.

Since Val had spent the first night with Mom, it was my turn that night.  So after visiting hours were over everyone went back to Mom and Bob's and I spent the night with Mom.  We really weren't supposed to but --if you have not already noticed, we really weren't all about following the rules.

She Was Cold

Still in the wake of the news, a nurse came out and told us we could see Mom; however we could only go in one at a time and we only had 10 minutes total.  My step-Dad deferred to us girls and so it was decided we'd go in birth order.

[I have purposely not said much about my step-Dad because he deserves an entire post himself --which will come later.  His name is Bob.  I'll call him Bob from now on.]

I was so anxious to see Mom.  I felt like no one could take care of her as well as we could because no one could love her as much as we did.  I was still reeling in anger towards the doctor but mostly, my attention and emotions turned towards seeing Mom.  Val was only with Mom a few minutes but it felt like an eternity.

I was bracing myself for the absolute worst when I saw Mom but I also wanted to be strong for her.  When I walked into ICU I was absolutely amazed how well Mom looked.  Besides a bandage on her head, she looked great, much better than I had prepared myself for.  She was alert and talking.  She knew me and said my name.

One thing about Mom is that she was born and raise in Puerto Rico and that tropical island living never got out of her blood.  She despised being cold and HATED winters.  If you knew Mom for any amount of time, you'd soon learn she hated to be cold.  Hated it.

Mom was laying flat on her back and could not get up so in order for her to see you'd have to lean over her bed.  Remember now, I'm 4 months pregnant and it shows.  I'm also short so leaning over onto a tall hospital bed would have been a challenge even without a pregnant belly.  I lean over to see Mom and she said my name, that thrilled me.  She was talking in a very soft voice, almost a whisper.  She said, "Mesa, I'm cold."  I looked up for a nurse and told her we needed a blanket, though Mom was already piled up with a few.  The nurse brought over a nice warm blanket, straight out of a warming drawer.  We piled it on Mom and I asked, "Is that better?"   It was not.

Two things were going through my mind --Mom being the most comfortable she could be and not taking up too much time so my sister Sam could come in.  I knew she too was anxious to see Mom.  Mom kept saying over and over, "I"m cold."  I knew how much Mom hated to be cold.  I wanted her comfortable.  So I tried to lean over and hug her, wrap my arms around her.  I asked for more blankets.  Soon Mom looked like the Princess and the Pea only in reverse.  Instead of Mom being on the top of a pile of blankets, Mom was beneath a pile of blankets.  You could no longer see the shape of her body --it was just a rectangular pile of blankets with her head sticking out.

But she was still so cold.

I just remember trying to get closer to her---hug her, warm her.  My pregnant belly was making that a challenge, leaning over and all.  I was just so focused on helping Mom get warm.  Soon a nurse came over to me and said, "Uh, I'm sorry but you can't get into the bed with her."  Without realizing it, I practically had climbed into bed with Mom!  I kind of looked around and thought to myself, "Well how'd I get up here?"  I'm glad the nurse said that though because the doctor was no longer around so you know, my anger needed a place to land.  Now I hated the nurse.

But I was well aware of my sister waiting to see Mom so I told Mom good-bye and that Sam would be in soon to see her.  I kissed her and hated to leave.  I wanted to stay with her forever and ever and ever but--I could not. 

Bye Mom, Sam is coming in next, okay?  Rest and take care.  We'll see you soon.  Bye, Mom.  I love you.  I love you. 

Anger

Denial.  Anger.

I was going through the classic stages --so proverbial text book.  At first I was in denial.  Even the whole Red Cross fiasco was a welcomed distraction from what was going on.  I was able to focus on all those logistical things and not the reason.  Once I moved from denial I was angry.  Very angry.  And my anger needed some place to land --and so . .

I hated that doctor.  As his words were swimming in my head I was thinking, "How dare you!  This is our MOTHER you are talking about."  As my heart made that transition from denial to anger, I wanted someone to blame.  The doctor made it easy though.  His bedside manner was horrible.  He was so matter-of-fact and almost had an air of arrogance about him.  I hated him.  I thought, "Oh sure, you drop this bomb on us and you're going to speed away in your fancy sports car and go home to YOUR family.  How dare you do this to us!"

My oldest sister was taking charge --asking questions, putting herself in the forefront.  That is both her personality and birth order.  She was the oldest, she was establishing her authority.  My youngest sister didn't say too much.  I couldn't stand looking at her face --it revealed so much of her broken heart and I couldn't bare it --which is probably why I focused so much on the doctor's hands.  My step-father was standing behind us, still very close and listening to every word.

My sister Val asked one final question.  After the doctor laid out to us Mom's condition my sister Val asked, "What about the prognosis?  What can we expect?"  The doctor almost seemed annoyed at the question and he kept things short as if he were trying to end the conversation.  He was impatient and snippy.  He answered, "Prognosis?  There's just no way to know.  I told you, your Mom has a tumor in her brain and its growing and there's no way to remove it.  What else can I tell you?  We'll do radiation but you have to remember, the radiation kills cells --it kills good cells and it kills bad cells.  The radiation will slow down the tumor's growth but it will also kill her brain cells."

Anger!

Next we asked if we could see Mom and again being very impatient, the doctor said someone would come get us, "Anything else?", he asked.  No, that was it.  He whisked himself away.  We were left standing there--digesting this news.

I Hurt So Very Badly

I wasn't worried or upset while Mom was in surgery because mostly, I was kind of detached from the entire thing.  My head knew what was going on but I didn't allow my heart into the matter.  It was a defense mechanism, I guess.  While we were waiting to hear about Mom's surgery, I was pretty easy going.  There was a large general waiting room and then there were smaller private rooms.  I didn't like the private rooms because they really look like they existed only for the purpose of the doctor having to tell you your loved one didn't make it . . . .

But Mom was going to make it because to me there was hardly any difference than Mom having a splinter removed --I was just that far removed from the situation.  It was like I was having an out-of-body experience; I was there and going through the motions but yet, I wasn't there. 

Its kind of hard to explain.

So the waiting did make me weary or tired.  I was mostly bored.  My sister Val was reading her Bible off and on and at one point she showed a verse to me and said, "If Mom doesn't make  it I'm going to claim this verse."  I can't tell you how much that annoyed me.  First of all, "if Mom doesn't make it" didn't even translate to me.  It didn't even occur to me to pray for Mom because like I said, I was trying to make this out to be nothing at all --some simple procedure with a happy outcome.  At one point I finally thought to myself, "Maybe I should pray for Mom too."  So I went into one of those small rooms and prayed something like this.

Heavenly Father, I don't know what to ask or pray for but it seems with her in surgery and all I should ---I should try and  --its just that I can't imagine my life without . . .

I stopped.  Tears were swelling up in my eyes and I immediately turned everything off --my tears, my heart, my prayers, my emotions --all of it.  You see, having to pray meant for me to think about what was going on.  Having to think about what was going on was way bigger than me --it was too heavy.  I ended my prayer with . .

I'm sorry.  I just can't do this.  But you know my heart and you know me.  That's all I can say.

I walked out of the room and resumed my wait with my sisters.

It was several hours before the doctor finally came to see us.  We were all in the big waiting area watching TV, talking, waiting ----and he comes in so we all rushed over to him.  He started, "Your Mom is fine.  Surgery went. . "

He was talking a bit with his hands and I couldn't help notice them.  His voice faded into the background as I stared down at his hands and that was my moment of reality.  His hands were all pruny like when you've been in the water a very long time.  I thought, "This is real.  This is happening.  Its not like this on Marcus Welby.  Doctors on TV don't have pruny hands because they didn't really do surgery.  He did surgery.  This is real.  This is happening to Mom."

I have no idea where the Marcus Welby reference came from --even 21 years ago that show had long been off the air --but maybe it was some attachment to my childhood--the place where my memory of Mom begins. . . .

At that moment of reality, I could barely focus.  I hated every word I heard. I hurt so badly.  I hurt so very badly.  With my heart and head swimming in this pool of reality, I tried so hard to focus on the doctor's words  but I only heard bits and pieces . . .

We cut as much of the tumor out as we could . . . . it had already gone too deep into her brain . . . taking any more out would have meant removing part of her brain . . radiation and . . . .months to come . . . any more questions?

Just Wait

Finally landing in Florida was quite a relief however; I was still not certain I was going to make it to the hospital before my Mom went into surgery.  My step-Dad was at the airport to pick me up and thankfully, it was a small airport.  It was literally walk off plane, right into baggage claim right to front door, right to parking lot.  My step-father was able to park right at the entrance, I walked off the plane and he said to me, "We better hurry, your Mother is going into surgery any minute now."  I did not have checked baggage so we were able to get right into the car and head out.

It was only about a 20 minute drive, which felt like and eternity.  My heart was racing and I had a panic feeling swelling in my chest.  I had done all I could.  I had so many hurdles to jump but now I was in the home stretch.  My step-Dad dropped me off at the door at the hospital while he went to park.  I rushed to Mom's room.  I finally made it to my Mom's room and I braced myself for what I might find.  If the room was empty, I was too late.


Breathless, I turn the corner and walk into Mom's room to find her still in her bed awaiting surgery.  When she saw me she screamed with delight.  My step-Dad's daughter, Liz, was in the room along with my sisters, Val and Sam.  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, "You made it!"  By this time, my step-Dad had even finished parking and he was in the room too.  Much like when we surprised Mom at work, my Mom was talking fast and high pitched, very excited and nervous too.   As we all sat around Mom she said, "Now that I have all of you here I want to tell you . . . "  Then Mom started giving us a verbal will, so to speak.  She was telling us about insurance policies, etc.  My sister Val said, "Mom!  We don't care about money.  You don't have to tell us this . ."  But Mom was insistent, "No, I want you to know this --what I want."  Mom went on to say:

I don't want you to be sad for me.  If I die I'm going to heaven.  I will be in heaven with Jesus so there's no reason to be sad for me.  I do not want any flowers at my funeral.  I'm not there to enjoy them --its a waste of money.  Instead I want money to my church.  . . ."  

She continued on with specifications but only a few minutes after my arrival, a nurse came in and said it was time for Mom to go.  We all kissed her and hugged her.  Though she wouldn't let on, I could tell she was nervous and scared but deeper still, she held on so strong to her faith and trusting in God's will for her live --whatever that may be.  We were directed to another floor in the hospital where there was a waiting room for family members.  So as Mom was wheeled out of her room, we all headed up to another floor.

To wait.  Just wait.

Holding Pattern

I'm not sure how that little Dodge Colt did it but we whipped into Kansas City airport just 10 minutes before the flight was to take off.

10 minutes.

There was no time for long-term parking.  In fact, I barely had time to park at all.  Thankfully, Kansas City airport was small and back then, there was not the same level of security as there is today so I jetted myself into the short-term parking lot and parked in the front row, just a short walk from the entrance.  I grabbed my bag and hustled my 4 month pregnant self to the check-in counter.  Breathless, I explained to the clerk I was supposed to be on a flight that was getting ready to take off.  She tapped on her keyboard ---click clack, click clack and said, "This flight might have taken off already.  Let me call the  . . . "

My heart was pounding in my chest and I was literally shaking.  I never felt so desperate for something in my entire life.  Desperate.  She calls the gate.

"I have a passenger . . . oh good, yes please do.  Okay, I'm getting her checked in now . . yes, okay.  I'll let her know.  Great, thanks."  She then says to me, "You are so lucky.  They were just closing the doors but they are holding the flight for you.  I told them we'd have you checked in ---this will just take a few moments click clack, click clack . .  okay so that will be $800 and . . "

I pulled out my pretty Red Cross check and handed it to the clerk.  She stares down at it, looks at me and I could tell she did not want to deliver the news . . ."I'm sorry, we don't accept checks. .  ."

I just broke down crying.  I had been trying to get to Florida for hours and now I'm this close and --I can't pay for the flight.  Up until now I pretty much held it together but now, I just couldn't take it.  I stood there sobbing and simply said, "It's all I have.  The check is good, its a real check and --its all I have but I just have to get to Florida and . . "  She cut me off.

"Okay, I'll be right back."  She took the check with her.  A short while later she returns and there's a man with her.  I could tell by the looks on their faces they came to deliver bad news.  The man is holding the check, he holds it out to me and says, "Unfortunately, we don't accept checks and I might be able to over ride that for a smaller amount but  --this is quite a large check and --I'm sorry but we just don't accept checks.  Do you have another form of payment, perhaps?"  I reach into my purse which I'm sure they thought to grab my wallet or something but instead, I grabbed my military Emergency Leave orders.  I laid them on the counter and with tears rolling down my face I said, "I have no other form of payment but that Red Cross check."  I pushed my orders towards them and said, "But I have to get to Florida tonight."  The man picked up my orders, gave them a quick glance and said to the woman, "Print her a ticket."  He then looked at me and said, "Good luck to you."  Then he walked away.  The woman was preparing my ticket and her phone rang, " . . .yes, I'm printing it now.  I know.  Yes, right now.  She will.  Okay, I'll tell her."  She hung up giving me a warm smile and said, "They're still holding the flight.  I think the pilot is getting impatient. . . I know this must be something important . . "  She handed me my ticket and said, "I hope everything works out for you.  Go now, they're waiting for you."

I grabbed the ticket and boarding pass and FLEW.    At least I didn't have the security measures that are in place to day --I sailed right to the gate where a host of attendants were waiting for me.  They were impatient but kind.  They were motioning for me to hurry to the gate.  It was almost as if I were celebrity status.  Every attendant was waiting on me ---one grabbed my boarding pass, one grabbed my bag, "I'm going to store this for you up front."  Another was waiting to show me to my seat . . .they were all very nice and very accommodating.  I just wish the passengers were the same.  As soon as I boarded the flight I got stares and "tisks" and people rolling their eyes at me . . There she is!  The stupid lady that can't get to the airport on time and held up our flight. . "  As I walked to my seat, it felt like every eye was angrily plastered on me.  They had absolutely no idea what I had been through.

I finally got to my seat and no sooner than I got my seat belt clicked on, I heard the pilot come over the speaker and the plane began to pull out.

I was finally on my way to Florida but looking at the time, Mom was scheduled to go into surgery in just a few hours.

I Have To Get To Mom

The CQ called the CO (Company Commander) at home and the good ol' Captain was a bit perturbed he was disturbed after duty hours.  The CQ explained to him the situation and he said something like, "I saw those orders come in but it was close to the end of the day so I figured I'd just wait until tomorrow."  The CQ then explained how I was there waiting on these orders and the Captain said, "Well, I didn't know there was an urgency."

DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS AN URGENCY??????????????????????

I'M SORRY, WHAT PART OF EMERGENCY LEAVE IS CONFUSING, SIR??????

I have no recollection of what happened next.  My next memory is me in my apartment.  I do remember I was so over taken with disbelief that it superseded (for the time being) any anger in me.   I also remember telling myself I needed to focus on getting to my Mom and I'd deal with the Captain later so I filed this whole ordeal away.

Next thing I remember, I'm standing in my apartment on the phone with Red Cross.  You see, the plan had been my flight reservations were being made through the military travel office and Red Cross was going to give them a check to cover the cost of my flight.  You know back then, we didn't have all these online travel sites and flying at a moment's notice was very expensive.  In fact, I remember my flight was about $900.  But now since my orders did not get signed and all this time had passed, the Red Cross office and travel office was closed so my flight could not be paid for.  When I got back to my apartment I called Red Cross and got an after hours recording . . .our normal hours of operation are . . if this is an emergency . . 

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I called the after hours number and of course since this was a person I had not previously spoken to, I had to go through the entire story again.  Don't you hate that?  You get transferred over to a new representative and have to explain the problem all over again . . . .but thankfully, unlike my Captain, this person was actually very nice and very helpful.  She gave me the name and number of a person at Ft. Riley I was to call.  She told me I'd be able to get a check from her.  The next call I made was to the airlines, as I had missed another flight and I was trying to get out that night.  After several calls I was able to book THE LAST FLIGHT OUT OF KANSAS CITY UNTIL MORNING.  The last flight.

THE LAST FLIGHT.

I looked at the time, the flight took off in 2 hours.  Two hours!  It was a two hour drive to the airport--and I still needed to get the Red Cross check.  I called my step-Dad and sisters, who had already arrived in Florida, to let him know I finally got my orders and what flight to expect me on.  I then called the Red Cross contact at Ft. Riley and she was so very sweet.  The other Red Cross person I had just spoken to called her and I was ever so thankful she did --that I didn't have to start my story from the very beginning again.  The Red Cross lady gave me her address and said for me to come on over, she'd be waiting for me.  She lived in family housing on base.  I grabbed by bag and orders and headed back on post.

I don't remember what time it was but it was evening --certainly after dinner hour and maybe nearing bedtime.  It was late and it felt a little strange going over to this stranger's house.  The lady answered the door and invited me in.  We walked over to her dining room table.  I remember her husband was in the family room sitting watching TV.  This felt so intrusive --both me in their home and them into my emergency situation.   I didn't like it at all.  I remember having to force myself to be patient because I just wanted to scream to this lady GIVE ME THE CHECK!  I HAVE LESS THAN TWO HOURS TO GET TO THE AIRPORT!

We sat at her dining room table where she had a lock box sitting there waiting.  She took a set of keys and opened the box.  It seemed to me she was moving in slow motion but you know, I'm sure everything was moving at a normal pace.  She opened the box and I saw the prettiest red, white and blue checks with that big red cross logo in the corner.  I just love paper so much --pretty paper that even in my distress, I still noted the pretty checks.  The woman took out a check, wrote it out to the airlines then she had to record the check, get a copy of my orders, I had to sign for the check, show my ID . . . .

CAN YOU PLEASE MOVE THIS ALONG??????????????????????

Finally, we were done and I headed out to the airport.  I now had about 1 1/2 hours to make a 2 hour drive but keep in mind, that left no time to park, check in, etc.  We didn't have e-tickets back then . . but we also didn't have the level of security we have now . . even so, I stood a very slim chance of getting on a flight within 1 1/2 hours.

I floored my little 1985 Dodge Colt.  I prayed for safety.  I prayed for my baby (I wondered what all this stress was doing to my pregnancy).  I prayed I'd not get caught speeding (can you pray for protection from the law?  I dunno--but I did).  I prayed I'd get to my Mom on time.  I prayed.  I prayed.  And I drove and I drove and all the while, I kept having to remind myself to breath.  It felt like my throat was closing.

I have to get to Mom!  I just have to get to my Mom!

Emergency Leave Orders

After dropping Jerry off at the airport in Kansas City, I drove back to Ft. Riley knowing I was just going to turn around and come right back.  I get back to my apartment and start a flurry of phone calls.  First I checked in with my unit letting them know I'd be picking up my Emergency Leave orders but . . .they had none.  No call.  WHAT?  So I spent the next hour or so calling back and forth to my sister, the hospital my Mom was in, the Red Cross, my unit . . . . .and if you would imagine with me all this pre computer days and pre cell phone days.  Heck, I didn't even have a cordless phone!  I remember talking on the phone pacing back and forth in my apartment --as far as the cord would allow.  So you know, it wasn't like someone could just log onto a computer and see the progression of the Emergency Leave status . . . we were paper pushers back then.  Paper pushers and long distance phone bills.

Making a long story short, I waited hours and hours for my leave orders to get approved and no one seemed to know where the kink in the line was.  In the meantime, I was on the phone with the airlines and I kept pushing back my flight because I was not able to leave until I had orders.  The Army considers that AWOL. 

Picture this with me if you will --- just hours ago I put Jerry on a plane back to Germany knowing I wasn't going to see or talk to him (too expensive to call over seas) for 4-5 months and during that time, I was going through a pregnancy alone.  And now I'm dealing with my Mom's emergency and without the benefit of being near or with my family.  My other sisters, Val and Sam, lived near each other so they were together during all of this and in fact, by this time they were already on their way to Florida to be at Mom's side.  I was stuck in Kansas in some bureaucratic Army red tape madness.

After making what seemed like 100 calls, I finally decided I couldn't sit around and wait any longer.  I was running out of flight options to ensure I'd be with Mom before she went into surgery early the next morning.  I hopped into my car and decided to drive to my unit and if nothing else, I'd type the **** Emergency Leave orders myself!  It was after duty hours so the offices at the unit were closed.

I get to my unit and I'm DONE asking questions so I walk over to the CQ desk and pick up the log.  Every call/visitor/incident has to be logged in.  So I run down the log and look for a Red Cross call.  None.  The CQ was like, "Sergeant, can I help you?"  I angrily said, "No, I'm done waiting for help."  The CQ was already familiar with what was going on because I had called him over and over explaining to him I was waiting on some orders.  Now being the Red Cross call was not in the CQ log means the call came in (if in fact it did, at this point I wasn't exactly sure what happened but the Red Cross assured me they called my unit) during duty hours.  I look at the CQ and tell him a Red Cross came in and we needed to find the paperwork, get it signed and the Sergeant said, "Well, I can't really do anything but we can wait until the morning when the 1SG or CO come in . . ." 

WAIT UNTIL MORNING?????????????  Apparently, this soldier had LOST HIS MIND! 

"Sergeant, I do not have the option of waiting until morning.  I have everyone standing by waiting for these orders; I have 3 or 4 different flight reservations on hold, I have my sisters waiting, I have a 2 hour drive to the airport, the Red Cross is waiting to cut me a check and most importantly, MY MOTHER IS WAITING TO SEE ME.  Now, waiting is not an option.  So, if a Red Cross call comes in during the duty day, who would have taken that call?"

The Sergeant and I start brain storming on what could have happened and thinking about who at the company would be the most likely to have taken the call, we called that soldier at home.  It was a female and she remembered the call.  THANK GOD FINALLY SOMEONE KNOWS SOMETHING!  She said, "Oh yeah, that call came in today about 1500 hours.  I typed the Leave Orders and gave them to the CO."  The Sergeant and I then head over to the CO's office and there before my eyes --UNSIGNED EMERGENCY LEAVE ORDERS! 

UNSIGNED.

IGNORED.

Val's Call

As you may recall, it was just a few weeks ago I was in Florida with Mom and my sisters and Val was going to go the the doctor with Mom to try and get some resolution on Mom's headaches and memory loss.  At that appointment, the doctor said they needed to do some tests, etc. so we were just waiting for those results.

As Jerry and I were literally walking out of the door to take him to the airport to return to Germany, my sister Val called.  My family called me Mesa (like Lisa with an m) and often times Val shortened the nickname even further to just --Mes (like niece with an m).  And so her conversation started in a soft low voice, "Mes . . . ."

". . .we got the results of Mom's tests back.  She has a brain tumor."

I remember hearing those words but not really understanding what they meant.  Jerry was standing there next to his luggage just looking at me trying to figure out what was going on.  A big lump had formed in my throat.  It wasn't really what I was hearing that was upsetting to me but the tone of my sister's voice --like this was something serious.  I remember thinking I needed to sit down so I walked over to the couch.

"Mes?  You there?  I need to know what we need to do, you know --the Army.  Mom is going in for surgery tomorrow morning and ----Mes?  You there?"

I was sitting on the couch with tears streaming down my face unable to speak.    I swallowed what felt like a huge lump in my throat, trying to make words come out . . . "Yeah, I'm here."

"Okay well, the doctor doesn't wait to do the surgery and Mom asked that all of us be there before she goes in.  She wants to see all of us before they take her in because you know ---uh, it's just a risk and ----Mom wants to see us.  Can you come?  Like, will the Army let you?"

I had absolutely no words and absolutely no thoughts.  I was numb and I was blank.  I looked up at Jerry and said, "It's my Mom --she has a brain tumor and is having surgery in the morning . . and I need to get to Florida and . . "

I knew this stuff --I knew the procedures and I knew how to deal with Emergency Leave but somehow, all of that left my mind and I could not even function.  So as I sat on the couch Jerry would tell me what to tell my sister so I just robotically relayed Jerry's messages to my sister.  All the while in the back of my mind, both Jerry and I were well aware of the fact that we needed to leave for the airport and he could not miss that flight back to Germany.

Jerry said, "Tell your sister your Mom's doctor or the hospital needs to call the Red Cross and request Emergency Leave for an active duty solider.  Give them your name, rank, social security number and your unit.  Hospitals know what to do, tell your sister they deal with this stuff all of the time.  So just tell her that, they will know what to do."

So I told my sister what Jerry said, gave her the information and then Jerry and I headed out to the airport.  We had a two hour drive.

When I first hung up the phone I just looked at Jerry still in shock and confusion and I said, "I don't know what to do."  I'll never forget he said to me, "You go to your mother.  If my mother was going in for surgery wild horses couldn't keep me from her.  There's not an Army big or bad enough to keep me from doing so."

On the way to the airport Jerry was explaining the Red Cross procedure to me and telling me what I should do.  Like I said, I knew this stuff but somehow I didn't know this stuff.  Suddenly this became my reality and not just some text book set of instructions. 

Now I'm in a time crunch because I have a two hour drive to Kansas City to take Jerry to the airport then a two hour drive back to Ft. Riley and then I have to pack, get my leave orders and drive back to Kansas City and fly to Florida.  I also needed to get all of this done that night and be at Mom's bedside before she went into surgery the next morning.

I was almost glad to be pre-occupied with the 4 hours of drive time because by the time I got back to Ft. Riley all the Red Cross calls and preparations will have been made.  I thought all I literally was going to do was run into the apartment, pack an overnight bag, stop at my unit to pick up my leave orders, drive back to the airport.

But it didn't happen exactly that way.