"Alyssa, what do you want for Mother's Day?"
"A long bath in a bunker, undisturbed, while I read a book."
Basically for Mother's Day, I want to forget I am a mother. Or at least, that's how I felt yesterday after Owen dropped rock salt into the ice cream we were trying to make, instead of waiting for me to tell him to put it in the ice mixture. Then again, I felt the same way this morning on Mother's Day as I pretended to sleep while simultaneously listening to Anduin crying for her apron before she could help Niles make breakfast for me in bed... Or listening to Niles let out a long string of profanity after he messed up the waffle recipe, using up the last of the butter. (Wise man finally realized it was way easier to go to a nearby bakery and pick up quiche and pastries - my favorite!)
But then I realized that if I was not a mother, I would miss out on some pretty awesome moments too. Like last week when we had the heat blasting to try to maintain 66 degrees (have I told you that I live in Maine?), I was still cold on the couch. Meanwhile, my kids are running around in their underwear. When they heard I was cold, they brought me a blanket and snuggled on/with me to warm me up as "baby blankets." Plus, I would miss out on such great questions from Anduin, such as this morning's gem, "Mommy, how do you think squirrels know when someone who wants a pet squirrel is sneaking up on them?"
And I remind myself that I have it easy. I have a job that I love. I don't have to worry about where I am getting my next meal or the roof over my head. I have a caring husband who really does 90% of the housework. So when I start daydreaming about an underground bunker outfitted with a deep soaker tub, I remind myself that my Mom managed to raise four adults as a single parent after my father died. And she did so successfully, when you judge by most measures of success (home ownership, happy and stable relationships, advanced degrees, world experiences). The only part she failed was to raise the doctor, lawyer, dentist, and accountant she had wanted to ease her retirement, (though my younger sister is well on her way to becoming a PhD, just not someone you call if you have a scratchy throat.)
And that job I love? I was a mother, in a way, long before I had Owen and Anduin. Just like any protective mother, you didn't mess with my "kids." I may punish them and chew them up, but you could not. I always wanted the best for them, for them to succeed in whatever they wanted to in life. I was happy to listen to their problems and give them advice.
At least I don't have to worry about my sailors getting into an argument about whether one's apple "slime" touched the other, or another singing too loud in the car. Because I know what every mom knows...
That bunker, the one your kids or spouse have no idea exists, would really be an awesome mother's day present.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Thursday, May 5, 2016
I Suck at Convalescent Leave
So a month ago, I scheduled a semi-elective surgery for myself. Even before I had the surgery scheduled, I kept a mental list of all the tasks I planned to complete while on convalescent leave:
1. Go through all of our clothes.
2. Complete Anduin's art area plus personal gallery.
3. Organize our front porch.
4. Read Wired for War, which in addition to being on the Navy's reading list, my CO talked about enthusiastically.
5. Finally read through the Leader's Guide to Precommissioning.
6. Continue working on some of my own novels that I have not picked up in over a year.
There were a couple major flaws to this plan, mainly being:
1. My mom, who is among my favorite shopping partners, was coming out to help.
2. I decided I wanted to treat this as a chance to see a lot more of Maine that I had yet to see.
3. My kids were on spring break during the first week of my recovery.
4. And oh, yeah, this is convalescent leave.
The surgery was pretty successful. I was in so little pain afterwards that I never took the narcotics prescribed to me and was in fact successfully hunting down a sale in a nearby department store the next day. The hardest part of my first day afterwards was fighting against the still potent effects of the anesthesia as I both wanted to eat (because I was starving! Had not eaten anything in like 20 hours!!!) but could barely keep my eyes open long enough to consume any food. Plus my mouth was super dry, and the scone my husband brought to my recovery room kept sticking to the roof of my mouth.
My discharge instructions included pretty general comments like no running and no heavy lifting, which I interpreted as 1) Now I had a medical reason to not ever take out the garbage or carry the laundry from the basement upstairs, and 2) Now I had a medical reason to avoid playing tag with Owen, who has decided that he wants to play tag every minute of his waking existence. So while my mom was here to help distract the kids, we went and explored Maine. It was great! I knew I had at least two and half weeks of leave before I had to return to work, but I felt awesome. My scars were a bit itchy, making yoga pants my savior. But I was still drawing a paycheck. The folks I left at work were more than competent to cover while I was gone. Really, it's pretty rare for people in the military to get extended leave for periods of time, with the exception of perhaps leave between Permanent Change of Stations (PCS). But leave during PCS is usually occupied with the usual boring, expected tasks like moving, packing up household goods, traveling to the next duty station, trying to locate a safe roof for you and your family, and then unpacking all those household goods. I was set! I didn't need to do any of those.
Plus, on a side note, my mom is a saint and even left my house way cleaner than when she arrived.
Two and a half weeks later, I still missed work because folks who know me know that I am also a bit of a workaholic. I really only have two modes: complete slacker and workaholic. The slacker mode was fun for about the first week and a half. So I eagerly counted down the day I was to return to work. The day before I was scheduled to return, I confirmed with my workplace that I was in fact going to return the next day...
This was all well and good until I started bleeding. Turns out that I'm really quite blase about bleeding. After bleeding rather profusely for most the day, I decided a trip to the ER was probably in order. So twelve hours before I am scheduled to actually show up at work, I had to tell everyone, "Just kidding. Bleeding in the ER. Told it's a slow leak and really inconvenient. Have another follow-up with my surgeon scheduled, going to need at least one more day."
This pesky blood vessel, (completely bad luck, not any error on the surgeon's part), continued to be a problem when I returned to see my surgeon the next day. The doctor who performed the surgery took a look -- and no kidding, this is a man who has been in his field for thirty years -- and immediately started prepping me in case we had to return to the Operating Room within the next couple of hours. Because, you know, he was actually getting really nervous about the fact that I kept bleeding and wouldn't stop no matter how much chemical cauterization agent he applied. He did wait until several hours later to reveal the true extent of his concern. Meanwhile, I kept thinking, "Dude, Wired for War is way too heavy to hold over my head and read while I'm on the exam table." Conscientious doctor he is, he called me several times throughout the day to make sure the bleeding stopped and that I wouldn't actually need to go to the operating room again. It all worked out. But during the last call, we discussed again when I could return to work. I asked him if returning the next day was out of the question. He laughed and sternly told me I was to "sit at home on my couch, read magazines, do no house work, and really be a couch potato this time."
Obviously, my gig was up. So I had another week of convalescent leave added onto my time, which my kids were excited to hear.
But you know, maybe I will finish up that task list because I suck at convalescent leave.
1. Go through all of our clothes.
2. Complete Anduin's art area plus personal gallery.
3. Organize our front porch.
4. Read Wired for War, which in addition to being on the Navy's reading list, my CO talked about enthusiastically.
5. Finally read through the Leader's Guide to Precommissioning.
6. Continue working on some of my own novels that I have not picked up in over a year.
There were a couple major flaws to this plan, mainly being:
1. My mom, who is among my favorite shopping partners, was coming out to help.
2. I decided I wanted to treat this as a chance to see a lot more of Maine that I had yet to see.
3. My kids were on spring break during the first week of my recovery.
4. And oh, yeah, this is convalescent leave.
The surgery was pretty successful. I was in so little pain afterwards that I never took the narcotics prescribed to me and was in fact successfully hunting down a sale in a nearby department store the next day. The hardest part of my first day afterwards was fighting against the still potent effects of the anesthesia as I both wanted to eat (because I was starving! Had not eaten anything in like 20 hours!!!) but could barely keep my eyes open long enough to consume any food. Plus my mouth was super dry, and the scone my husband brought to my recovery room kept sticking to the roof of my mouth.
My discharge instructions included pretty general comments like no running and no heavy lifting, which I interpreted as 1) Now I had a medical reason to not ever take out the garbage or carry the laundry from the basement upstairs, and 2) Now I had a medical reason to avoid playing tag with Owen, who has decided that he wants to play tag every minute of his waking existence. So while my mom was here to help distract the kids, we went and explored Maine. It was great! I knew I had at least two and half weeks of leave before I had to return to work, but I felt awesome. My scars were a bit itchy, making yoga pants my savior. But I was still drawing a paycheck. The folks I left at work were more than competent to cover while I was gone. Really, it's pretty rare for people in the military to get extended leave for periods of time, with the exception of perhaps leave between Permanent Change of Stations (PCS). But leave during PCS is usually occupied with the usual boring, expected tasks like moving, packing up household goods, traveling to the next duty station, trying to locate a safe roof for you and your family, and then unpacking all those household goods. I was set! I didn't need to do any of those.
Plus, on a side note, my mom is a saint and even left my house way cleaner than when she arrived.
Two and a half weeks later, I still missed work because folks who know me know that I am also a bit of a workaholic. I really only have two modes: complete slacker and workaholic. The slacker mode was fun for about the first week and a half. So I eagerly counted down the day I was to return to work. The day before I was scheduled to return, I confirmed with my workplace that I was in fact going to return the next day...
This was all well and good until I started bleeding. Turns out that I'm really quite blase about bleeding. After bleeding rather profusely for most the day, I decided a trip to the ER was probably in order. So twelve hours before I am scheduled to actually show up at work, I had to tell everyone, "Just kidding. Bleeding in the ER. Told it's a slow leak and really inconvenient. Have another follow-up with my surgeon scheduled, going to need at least one more day."
This pesky blood vessel, (completely bad luck, not any error on the surgeon's part), continued to be a problem when I returned to see my surgeon the next day. The doctor who performed the surgery took a look -- and no kidding, this is a man who has been in his field for thirty years -- and immediately started prepping me in case we had to return to the Operating Room within the next couple of hours. Because, you know, he was actually getting really nervous about the fact that I kept bleeding and wouldn't stop no matter how much chemical cauterization agent he applied. He did wait until several hours later to reveal the true extent of his concern. Meanwhile, I kept thinking, "Dude, Wired for War is way too heavy to hold over my head and read while I'm on the exam table." Conscientious doctor he is, he called me several times throughout the day to make sure the bleeding stopped and that I wouldn't actually need to go to the operating room again. It all worked out. But during the last call, we discussed again when I could return to work. I asked him if returning the next day was out of the question. He laughed and sternly told me I was to "sit at home on my couch, read magazines, do no house work, and really be a couch potato this time."
Obviously, my gig was up. So I had another week of convalescent leave added onto my time, which my kids were excited to hear.
But you know, maybe I will finish up that task list because I suck at convalescent leave.
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