blurry but beautiful

I wander around in the rose garden pausing to snap photos. For a brief period of time, I'm not looking over my shoulder -- only through the viewfinder. Other than the birds and the cicadas it is quiet. No loud noises. No shouts. Nothing to make me jump out of my skin.

Stopping a rosebush, I force myself to stand still and stop rocking from foot to foot. Frame the shot, focus the sweet spot, press the shutter. Except my hands just can't stop shaking. The camera picks up every tiny tremor.

Cameras don't lie.

trying to heal

I am in the same time zone as my mother, and I have refused to see her for two weekends in a row now. My parents are coming next weekend -- I can't delay the inevitable.

I jump at my own shadow. At car horns blowing unexpectedly. When someone comes up behind me.

My hands shake. What were once smooth movements, mindless things to do now are jerky and take more concentration. Writing. Typing. Using a mouse. Eating with chopsticks. What's worse is that I'm not entirely sure if it's from the medication or something else.

It's not unusual for me to see injured veterans here. Some have more than one prosthesis. Some are badly scarred. Many casts, many wheelchairs, many canes.

When the plane landed and liaisons, chaplains, medical personnel and unloading crew where pouring in, someone asked me what happened to me. Why am I here. It's a question that's following me everywhere these days.

I don't want to talk about it.

And this is not how I imagined my return to the States.

the great coming home query

I had a conversation earlier today with a friend back home. Curious, she asked me a series of questions. I've expanded upon my answers here.

When will you be home?

Soon, but not soon enough.

Are you excited to come home?

I guess. It's a big change. I've been away from home for a year. My friends here won't be a short bus ride, a phone call away. Here I have a nice little routine going, and I have very few things to worry about.

Do you miss home?

Yes. But there have been many changes. For example, my brother has moved out, married, and had a son -- not necessarily in that order. Which means that I have a nephew that I have yet to meet. My peers at my civilian job have moved on to internships or beginnings of careers. They won't be there joking around and slowly bringing one of Bossman's latest creations to life. I haven't been the greatest in staying in touch with my civilian friends, and I can think of only a few that actually know when I'm coming home. And the baby cousins that I cherish are going to have grown so much. I'm still afraid that they won't recognize me.

On the other hand, I miss my mom and I am not embarrassed to admit that. Calling her frequently isn't the same as sitting down for her homemade Sunday breakfasts together. I miss stumbling upon rabbits and squirrels in my backyard. I miss riding behind my dad on his motorcycle. I miss walking through the very alive park-like campus green. I miss the gentle lilt of French professor's accents. I miss flying with Bossman. I miss the dome, the not-always-working-perfectly equipment, the inky darkness, the art of creating a show. All of that -- and more -- is home to me.

I want to get back into the swing of things, even though I know it will be a difficult and possibly painful process.

Do you like being in the military?

I'm proud to have served over here in the sandbox. It was something that may have never happened because of where I was and what I did before I volunteered for this. The unit I came from -- a band unit -- is very proud to have us over here as well.

What about your friends from home?

I haven't kept in contact with more of them like I would have liked to. I am definitely looking forward to catching up with them. However, I doubt that many of them can really understand what this deployment thing is all about.

That's okay. That's why I have my friends from over here, with whom I will hopefully keep up correspondence better.

When are you going to Europe?

My State just adopted a new policy, and my unit will be the first one affected by it. We still don't have drill for 90 days, but we have a recall at 30 and 60 days so we can be given the opportunity to have a medical and mental health check-up as well as help if we need it. I have to plan around that, if I am going to Europe.

Driver already bought airline tickets and is planning to in Europe for two months. We were still planning on traveling part of the way together.

If I go, I will only be in country from two to four weeks which is shorter than my original plan. And I need time with my family first.

Plans for school?

This November I'll enroll for the Spring semester. I have two classes to retake, and lots more to catch up on. With luck, I'll have a kind soul or two who will guide me through the paperwork required.

Are you going work at the planetarium when you return?

Because it's a student job, I won't be able to work for money until I return to class. But I know that I'll be welcomed with open arms (and special projects) if I come in before then.

the mandatory medical update

Three scopes, countless pelvic exams, pictures and video of a handful of organs, two scars, two trips off base, one teary night in the hospital ward, several prescriptions, and nearly two months later I can now say that all of the scary stuff has been ruled out.

Which means that "I'll help you have a baby" is now in the Lame Pick-Up Lines Hall of Fame.

Nice try, guys.

shotgun wedding

I stumbled upon this quote in the comments section of Funny Mom's Blog

One point I whole-heartedly disagree with is that a wedding belongs to the bride and groom. They think it's their day. Everyone tells them it's their day. Au contraire. It's the day that officially, and dramatically changes the way two families have operated for a long time. It's the day when complications begin, and negotiations get underway for equal time at holidays and other family events. Sure, most of the pictures will be taken of the newly married couple, but the rest of the pictures are those people, your new, larger family and friends who are sizing up the situation and wondering how this will affect them.

And on that note, I'd like to mention my brother is getting married on Sunday. I was told this on Tuesday. I'm guessing that my mother found out Monday.

I'm obviously not going. Truthfully, I'm not even sure if I was formally invited. It's not like anyone else got paper invitations, either. Our grandparents already had plans and won't be attending. Other family members are probably going to be in the same situation. They, at least, have the option of going if they really wanted to. I can't just walk up to my Sergeant Major and ask for a few days off, buy a plane ticket, and fly home.

How hard is it to wait a few more weeks?

four winds

Dear Army,

Please stop taking my friends away. But thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet them in the first place.

Too bad that once we leave this place we will be scattered to the four winds.

only two holes

I am moving around slowly, painfully. But it's something, which is better than nothing right now.

When I woke up, the first question I asked was how many holes they cut. Two. My doctor didn't see me for hours afterwards. I laid in bed for hours wondering why there were only two holes. Was it that bad that nothing could be done? Was there anything to be found. What they found was a normal female pelvis. Which means another specialist, more tests.

A male nurse talked to me while I was in the ward. He mentioned how I must be frustrated by now. Apparently there have been ten cases in the last six months of females with pelvic pain but no apparent cause. The end of the road for me may be Mental Health, again.

Frustrated is an understatement.

this is how the Army works

Sitting at the bus stop, spending our last few minutes together for what will seem like forever, he turns to me and asks "are you going to be alright with me gone?" I have no idea of how to answer him. I think of Driver's long missions, Wolf's rants about privates fresh out of training, Ky's all-night shifts... but I don't mention them. Instead I stutter and stumble over my words. "I'm bummed. It sucks."

What am I supposed to do? Ask him to stay, just for a few more days? Pout? Beg? The Army doesn't work like that. He is needed elsewhere and he will go. I am needed here and I will stay. This is how the Army works. Mission first. Drive on, Soldier, drive on.

less than sixty days left in a combat zone

Despite the heat, the sun is still setting early here. It's still rather warm but tolerable to be outside. On any given night as Aramis and I walk around our little neighborhood of sorts we'll pass games of sand volleyball, sober karaoke, groups of people doing complicated-looking line dances, some random guy strumming his guitar, smokers milling around outside of buildings, couples huddled around laptops, friends having a good time. It's times like those that makes it easy to forget that yes, I really am in a combat zone.

On the other hand, there are numerous reminders of where I am and why I'm here. A sprawling cavernous tent hospital, complete with its own frequently used helo pad and armory. Drills, alarms, giant voice instructions, body armor and protective masks. Explosions that make me want to crawl under my desk and hide. The occasional metal-metal click of someone reassembling an M16. Weapons in the chow hall, the PX, the gym, the MWR. Sandstorms that stop convoys. Bases that run out of food. And that blasted fence.

I have less than sixty days left in this place. It's both nice and strange to be able to say that.

this is definitely not nothing

I feel like a ping pong ball being bounced around different sections of Troop Medical Care and the hospital. Come in, see this provider, have these tests done. Tests and labs come back negative. Return with no improvement, see a different provider that refers you to a specialist. Specialist can't narrow it down, another referral, another specialist, another appointment.

No one has given me any answers. I have no active infections, no cysts, no fibroids, no stones, no abnormalities that they can see. I am taking Percocet for pain. Exploratory surgery has been mentioned. Endometriosis has been hinted at. I don't know what is going on with my own body

I am scared.

Independence Day

From the preamble of the Declaration of Independence:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain Inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

Most of us know these words. But what do they mean?

"Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness" are considered to be the unalienable (or inalienable) rights that we are all entitled to, can also be considered as natural, universal rights that are not dependent upon actions or beliefs. All of us. The entire human race -- not just Americans.

Life is an obvious one. We all have the right to live, for better or worse. Some choose to grow and better their lives and the lives or people around them, some could best be described as stagnant, and still others have a negative impact on this world.

Liberty, or freedom, is the ability to act according to one's own will. Free thought, free speech, free movement, freedom of religion, freedom of press. The government will not tell you what to say, think, what to do for a living, or even who to pray to. But remember, as Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. so aptly states it: "the right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins." So yes, feel free to do as you please, as long as it does not violate someone else's rights or the law.

The pursuit of Happiness. This can be interpreted in a few ways. There's the search for emotional fulfillment, or literally being happy. Things like getting married, having children, owning property, or even pursuing a hobby could fit into that category. And there's also Justice Miller's definition in BUTCHERS' UNION CO. v. CRESCENT CITY CO., 111 U.S. 746 (1884):

Among these inalienable rights, as proclaimed in that great document, is the right of men to pursue their happiness, by which is meant the right to pursue any lawful business or vocation, in any manner not inconsistent with the equal rights of others, which may increase their prosperity or develop their faculties, so as to give to them their highest enjoyment.

We are very fortunate to have a government and a society that is deeply ingrained in this philosophy. Most of us probably also take it for granted.

Our laws are not based upon religious laws or norms. American women can both own and drive their own cars. American women can also travel freely to most parts of the world, without consent or escort of their husband, father, or brother. No one is forced to dress, to maintain their personal appearance a certain way. Vices like alcohol are not banned by the federal government. These days, no civilian goes to jail just for being homosexual. You have the right to freely and openly practice whatever religion you choose to practice without fear of being killed or hauled away by authorities -- as long as no one is hurt and laws are not broken.

We are not forced to live out caste-based lives. You are not destined to a life of living in slums and scrubbing toilets just because that's what your parents did. You do not have to worry that the only opportunity that your children will have is based on working fields or in the factories just because of the color of their skin or where they're from. One of the ideals of America, Land of Opportunity, is that if you work hard enough, you'll be rewarded. That opportunity is not always found in other corners of the world.

We have the right and the ability to complain, and to hopefully make things better. We choose those who represent us in our government. We have a say in the laws that govern our state and country.

We are very fortunate. Don't ever forget this.

please, be nothing

Frustration is going to Urgent Care in pain to be told to take your medication, take Motrin, drink water, and go back to work. Or having a provider hint that everything might be caused by constipation. Or fighting busy signals for a week to schedule an appointment.

Meanwhile, I'm reluctantly taking Percocet and cutting evenings short with friends so I can lay doped up in my bunk for some relief from the pain.

All of my tests so far have been negative.

We're all hoping it's nothing serious.

this alone is motivation

See this little guy? That's one of my baby cousins that I keep writing about. He's grown a lot since I took this picture of him, about a year ago.

Sometimes he doesn't understand who is on the other end of the phone or why this stranger keeps asking silly questions like "what have you learned in school?"

Sometimes I wonder if he will remember all of the stupid games we used to play and silly things we did together. Will he remember staying up late at night, sipping warm milk and listening to Brazilian music? How I played with him, building up a hidden stash of cars until he discovered my trick? Nights of "show Techno how you brush your teeth!"? Whispering nonsense in his ear while out and about?

Mostly I hope that he'll remember me. I can't wait to see his big goofy grin.

saying goodbye, again

Yesterday at lunch I said goodbye to two of my girl friends. Their tour is over and it's time for them to go home. No more gut-spilling cigarette breaks, no more snarky comments about those around us, no more swapping camera bodies and lenses or comparing photos, no more nights of bingo playing each other's boards and complaining about the callers.

I think it'll take a few days to sink in that they're gone.

a very long chat will be involved

At the moment, I'm torn. I'm also in a lot of pain. Part of me is rather upset and just wants to sit here and cry. The other part is pissed. Very pissed.

But mostly I want to cry.

drop your pants

There are very few things in this world that make people think that you've just returned from leave. Apparently a certain immunization is one of them. When my reply to the tech's inquisitive but polite question was a negative one, all she could say was "oh."

"Oh."

I guess that wasn't the answer she was looking for. Or expected.

The tech chattered about, mentioning how she was being nice and mixing it with lidocaine -- something about how this shot brings Marines to their knees. It looks nice and thick, too. I think I'll lay down for this one.

When she was done, I let her know exactly what I thought of the shot: it's like Anthrax in the buttocks. Only I didn't say buttocks.

Case of the Mondays

It's Monday. And from my understanding, Mondays are universally the most disliked day of the workweek. Your weekend of freedom is over, time to get back to the grind.

Now imagine this. You arrive at the office to discover a trench dug right in front of the threshold. You go to your desk and find out that the network is down, meaning no email, no Internet, no remote drives. There's no way you can get any work done. The network isn't due to come up until the following day. However, you're one of the lucky ones -- some workstations don't even have power. But there is still electricity, which means that you still have lights. Your boss thinks this is the perfect opportunity to clean up. The end result of that is five garbage bags of shredded paper, and there's still more to do.

After lunch, nothing has changed. Coworkers start disappearing. Lunches, meetings, promotion ceremonies. A contracted laborer comes into the office and announces that the power is going to go out for about thirty minutes. You call your supervisor, who is oblivious to everything that's going on and instructs you to call your boss. Just as you get the boss on the phone, you watch your last coworker in the office walk out the door. Your instructions? Stay put. Don't leave. Open a door for some light.

It is 115 degrees outside. There is no power, there is no air conditioning. Opening the door lets in the sun, which brings in the heat. Everyone else has taken off. You are sitting alone in a dark office. A dark hot office. And you know that the guy that outranks you just walked out of the door without so much as checking in with the boss.

How's that for a case of the Mondays?

I have a feeling that this is going to be a very long thirty minutes.

hypothetical story

So here's a hypothetical story for you:

Girl gets deployed, leaves everything familiar behind. Girl meets boy, eventually decides that he's creepy. Repeat a few times for good measure. Girl ends up hiding in the barracks for a weeks at a time. Girl meets boy on New Year's Eve. Girl and boy hit it off. Boy tells girl that he smokes pot at home. Girl is uneasy about this, but ignores it. Boy and girl become exclusive. Boy introduces girl to his friends, girl's social circle expands. Boy is absolute sweetheart, friends are great. Boy's and girl's families are excited for them. Girl goes on leave, then boy goes on leave. Boy smokes pot over leave, tells girl about it. It bothers girl. A lot. Girl is already struggling with other things. Girl thinks boy isn't going to give up pot. Boy has no clue of what she's thinking.

What now?

sandstorm, day two

Four places where I'd rather be right now...
1. not in the middle of a sandstorm
2. somewhere with indoor plumbing
3. somewhere where the water doesn't go out on a regular basis
4. somewhere with four walls and a door

The sound of the wind against the tent is pretty impressive. The canvas is straining against the metal frame and the floresant lights keep bouncing back and forth. It reminds me of a tornado, but I know if I open the door I'll just see sand blowing around like snow drifts. Only it is definitely not snow, and this is definitely not winter.

Whoever designed and set up these tents knew exactly what they were doing.

I am so not going outside today.

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Techno

I feel like a toy soldier again. Press the right buttons, make and fulfill certain requests, send off emails, provide data. Life is more than this, but it wouldn't seem like that.

When my birthday rolled around, no one said anything about it at the office. No card, no birthday wishes, nothing. Not a word. And I know that I'm getting older and that I shouldn't expect a fuss for my birthday -- nor do I want to make a big deal out of it -- but it is a bit of a let down to realize that your office just doesn't care.

Aramis was the one who ended up brightening my day. The three of us were sitting around the coffee house, Aramis doing his usual dashing in and out. He finally came back, settled in, and pulled a piece of chocolate cake out of a bag. Nothing that unusual for him, really. Then he pulled out the candles. Joking that he probably couldn't get all 23 to fit on one piece of cake, Aramis stuck two candles in the icing and lit them.

"Happy Birthday, Techno."