Tag: Army Wife

Choose Your Own Adventure

Wednesday morning—yeah, Veteran’s Day—Justin checked his email on his work phone. “Well, I guess they didn’t accept my request to stay here. I just got an email that I need to rank my options for our next duty station.”

Another “choose your own adventure?!” But I thought this was the final adventure!?

I spent the past 48 hours going through the stages of grief: Denial and anger were obvious, and expected. The bargaining stage was…unexpected.

“Justin? What if you have a profile? They can’t PCS you if you’re injured, right?? So…who do you know that could sham a profile long enough for us to stay here until you can drop your retirement packet??”

This is when I get the you’re being ridiculous look. “Sammi. I can’t do that.”

“Ok, but what if I break your kneecaps?? Or maybe one…what injury could you stumble upon that would be enough to keep us here, but not bad enough to cause permanent damage…what about that shoulder of yours? What about that hamstring tear—is that something we could reenact??”

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and while it really isn’t that desperate, I’m being a big whiny baby. I don’t want to move. I feel like we just got here. Can’t we shout COVID and just stay here long enough to retire from here?

Of course not.

An army wife friend of mine shared this last week. And I almost spit my coffee everywhere.

This morning, Justin texted me to notify me that he had ranked his job options from 1 to 50. The top two would keep us here (yey). Then there are some university gigs: Alabama, Montana, Pennsylvania. This chapter of the adventure book is somewhat new, since Justin usually gets three options to choose from. Ranking 50 jobs and then holding your breath while duty stations fight over you? This is new. Or do you rank your jobs and then battle the other soldiers who chose that same duty station. Is this when Justin can put his combatives skills to the test? Is this like a Pokémon battle, Army duty station style? Fort Carson! I choose YOU (just kidding—everyone wants Fort Carson)!

As every soldier or spouse knows, nothing is set in stone until orders are in hand and the movers are at your door.

In the meantime, Justin and I will be looking at houses in Tuscaloosa…for funsies.

And now we come to stage 5: acceptance. I might not love the idea of moving again, but if it has to happen, might as well suck it up and embrace it…eventually…around March…when we actually find out if and where we’re going.

Emphasis on the If, since we definitely did the unthinkable when we spent six years at Fort Knox.

Don’t Stop Me, Cuz I’m Havin’ a Good Cry, Havin’ a Good Cry Now!

When you live just west of the Chattahoochee, chances are you live in the crazy Eastern/Central limbo we inhabit. Our newspaper comes out of Georgia, Justin works in Georgia…well, that’s not really true. Fort Benning is a little bit in Georgia; a little bit in Alabama; a lotta bit a world unto itself. 95% of our shopping takes place on the east side of the Hooch (sorry Alabama–I have yet to embrace Rainbow Foods). It’s just the way it is.

A majority of time, it makes no difference. Who cares what side of that dirty river Alan Jackson sang about, we’re on.

Until, of course, Coronapocalypse came to Earth and said, “hey, wanna see something crazy?!” Now, suddenly, it’s all about what side of the river you land on.

Last night I received a notification from our local newspaper (out of Georgia). The governor of Georgia had announced that schools will now be closed through April 24th. Hmm…further down the article, it tells me what I need to know: Governor Ivey has cancelled the rest of the school year.

Hold up. Excuse me?! Can we just take a minute and think about this?!

via GIPHY

I am not a teacher. I am not pro-homeschool. I am not prepared for this!!! Furthermore, no one seems to know just how this is going to work. Thus far, my children’s learning has taken place via a 40-60 page packet of school work (half of which I know Xander has previously done for homework. You’re fooling no one, 3rd grade packet).

These are wild and crazy times. I don’t want to go out into the world and I certainly don’t want to send my children back to school. As of right now, our county has 1 case, and the neighboring Alabama county has 47. Alabama is still relatively low on the list of positive cases in the country. This state has 1/4 the population of NYS. But, do you know who doesn’t care about your state’s population?? Covid-19. Way back, 13 days ago, NYS had roughly the same number of cases that Alabama has right now. At this exact moment, New York state has more positive cases than France and the UK combined. By tomorrow, the number will have increased again. That’s the wild and crazy thing about exponential growth.

I am not ready to find out what this disease will do as it works its way across Rural America. Yes, it’s destroying large cities, but large cities also have doctors and hospitals. There are towns in Alabama where they can’t even afford to pave roads–doctors are not nearby. What happens to these people.

I have stockpiled a good amount of alcohol–which is weird for a person who hasn’t consumed alcohol since July (No, I’m not a recovering alcoholic or anything like that–I just don’t drink. Although, I might start attending online AA meetings: GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO GET THROUGH THIS ).

Alabama will decide what to do with this school year by April 6–how they plan on educating roughly a million children, so they can move on to the next grade. That is the moment when we can really kick our panic into high gear.

I’m going to go make myself a Malibu and Pineapple smoothie, and spend the next 8 hours drinking it (I’m a seriously cheap date). And I’m going to ignore the impending doom that is my children’s education!!!

What Was I Thinking?!

There are rules that need to be followed in times of Social-Distancing; as a professional social-distancer, I should know better than to break these rules.

I’m sure most people have seen the meme, reminding folks that, no matter how bored you get, do not cut your own bangs. If only that was what I did.

First, before we get to my latest Social-Distancing-SNAFU, let’s take a trip back in time. The year: 2005. My status: newly (secretly) married, unemployed, in a post-Hurricane Katrina southern town, where frequent newspaper articles discussed the resurgence of carpet-bagging. And there I was, a transplant from New York, desperate to steal jobs away from Georgians. I was broke, and jobless.

Wait–before I continue on–I just opened my blinds and discovered I have not one, but two 4ft tall DANDELIONS in my front garden bed. I guess maybe now would be the time to look up Dandelion Green recipes! These are desperate times (and this is the south).

Ok. Georgia. Late November 2005. I had just gotten off the phone with a friend in NY, who had just gotten a haircut by my hairdresser, and I was feeling a little…I guess FOMO? EOHC (That would be Envy of HairCuts…but it really doesn’t have the same ring)? I had already been cutting my own hair–it was short, and I would shave up the back and trim up the top. Fun. And. Spiky. In that moment, I decided I wanted to give a pixie-cut a try. So, clippers in hand, with the #6 guard, I made an absolutely illegal move–I shaved right down the middle of my head…and instantly shouted, “oh shit!” Too late to come back from this terrible decision, I finished the job, and texted Justin: I did something really bad.

There it is: proof that you shouldn’t make spur of the moment decisions in times of extreme social distancing. Don’t listen to the voice saying, “do it! This is a good idea! You definitely won’t regret this in 5 seconds!” That voice is a dirty liar who will cut and run the second you realize it’s a bad idea, and you will definitely regret it.

Fourteen years later, I found myself participating in once again, listening to bad ideas, instigated by the voice who is just trying to get me in trouble. “Ooh, you know what would be fun?! Let’s play around with your website, and push buttons and try things, and see what happens! Doesn’t that sound like fun?! At 9:45pm, when your husband is halfway through a 38hr shift, and you can’t sleep, because you don’t know how to adult when he isn’t home to tell you to go to bed, mistakes will be made.

…and, save. And….shit. It was gone. Well, it was there, but it was sad and broken, and kept telling me something went wrong. No kidding, something went wrong! You let me think I knew what I was doing!!! I tried and tried to think of how I could fix this: maybe if I just say, “please be there, please be there, please be there,” over and over again, it will self-correct? By 1am, I gave up. I started contemplating actual solutions that would lead to results.

This morning, I woke up with a possible solution. I didn’t love what I had to do next…

Let me just say, that, as an introvert who can lean toward the edge of recluse, I have some really amazing friends scattered around the world….and I might go years without talking to them.

That’s where I found myself this morning. I hate asking for help, when the person I’m asking is someone I haven’t spoken to in half a decade. It has nothing to do with not wanting to reach out–it just feels…selfish. “Hey, I know it’s been 5 years, and how are you, and also, please help me fix my foolish blunder.”

Friendship is a magical thing. Two hours later, with a minimal amount of help from me:
“How do you normally sign in?”
“I don’t know. I click the link and I’m there.”
He saved my life…or at least my website. We both can appreciate a healthy amount of social distancing–introverts of the world, unite. Just–stay on your own side.
“THANK YOU again for saving my blog. Let’s not wait 5 years for another technical emergency, to get back in contact.”
“Technical emergency IN A PANDEMIC! Hopefully, those two will never coincide again.”

Truth be told, one lead to the other. Pompous Pandemic Pluck…and that dirty voice that needs to stop giving me bad advice!

Tom wants to help you too! I mean, he didn’t say that, really. But, I’m a parent. And I know some parents. And this could come in handy, while we’re all keeping our distance, and slowly losing our minds. Just like that, my friend is now helping you! Promoting Pandemic…Philanthropy?

Come Together, Right Now, Over Covid-19

These are strange times, indeed. The uncertainty of it all is what makes it seem so…overwhelming? Scary? A third option?

Sunday night I realized that I had better message my PCM and let her know I was getting close to running out of my blood pressure double cocktail. I also asked that, in light of the extra safety measures put in place at the hospital, could they please (please) send my prescriptions to either the refill pharmacy, or any pharmacy that doesn’t require me to go to large military hospital. When I received my notification phone call, the nurse (who also took my stitches out of my forehead a year ago–thanks Mr E) thanked me for trying to be proactive, but they were not allowed to send prescriptions anywhere. I tried, and I was unsuccessful.

Today I decided that the longer I put it off, the worse it would be. After asking Justin if there was any way I could drop our maybe-not-so-tiny-anymore humans off to him (and learning that, no, he was still somewhere in the woods, in Georgia, playing dress up with face-paint and all), I did some searching, took a deep breath and accepted that my kids were old enough to be left alone (in Alabama, as soon as you can say “y’all,” you’re old enough; the army says 9-12 year olds can be home alone for up to 2 hours). I set out the rules–do not go outside, and no shenanigans. Xander was even able to repeat them back to me (which you might think is a weird thing to say about a 9 year old, but this is the same kid that usually, when asked to repeat back what we said to him, replies with, “I don’t know…words??”).

I would share a photo of the pre-hospital-entry portion of this adventure, but it’s probably not allowed…or it’s probably something I don’t want to risk getting in trouble for. I really just don’t like to get in trouble. Sammi Steeves, Rule Follower!

I followed the signs pointing the way, and reminding me that if I had a cough, fever, or had been out of the country or in contact with a sick human, I would not be allowed access to the hospital. I’m not really sure how to feel about that final statement. If hospitals are for sick people, and they aren’t allowing the sick people in, where are they going? I hope I just misread the signs, or skipped a section. I hope?

So far, nothing new or different has happened, other than I was able to find parking on the first level of the parking garage! I locate a table saying “Pharmacy Check-In,” and head over, ID card in hand. I’m all smiles and sunshine, because I know this is a weird time, and no one wants to be the guy out front. After asking the same questions listed on the multiple signs I passed on my 5oft walk from the parking garage to the table, he asks, “would you like to come back at 1100? Or 1600? To pick up your prescriptions car-side?” Goodbye smile; hello angry eyes.

“Are you serious? I called and messaged my provider, and asked if there was any way I could get my prescriptions without entering the hospital. And now, after driving 30 minutes to get here, you’re telling me I have to come back at either 11 or 4?!” He said I could still pick them up if I wanted to take my chances going into the hospital. No, buddy, I don’t want to go into the hospital. But I also don’t want to drive home, just so I can turn around an come back in an hour.

I make my way to the entrance. Where I am stopped by another soldier. “Ma’am, the main hospital entrance is closed.” I do a full turn, and say, “so, how am I supposed to get to the pharmacy?” Oh! I see–through the giant army tent tunnel set up. I wash my hands at the hand washing station, say hello to the CPT across from me, and then we make our way toward the tent–where I managed to get yelled at for not leaving 6 feet between me and the CPT. I’m being yelled at by a soldier standing 2 feet from me: “Ma’am! You need to maintain 6ft between you and the person in front of you!” I might have burst out laughing.

Once inside the Tent of Uncertainty, a medic asked me the same questions I had already been asked–twice. I asked him if he was having fun: “well, I’m standing outside in an army tent, taking temperatures.” As he was taking my temperature he said, “honestly, my usual job is way more stressful.” Well, now I want details.

But there’s no time for details, because I now have a fancy green wristband stamped 18March2020, and I get to finish my walk of awkwardness through the tent. Which was surprisingly spacious on the inside.

Every other seat in the waiting area has a SOCIAL DISTANCING DO NOT USE sign taped to it…but of course the seats are back-to-back, so I could just lean over and rest my head on the person behind me, if anyone chose to sit there. Normally the wait can be hours, but I had ticket 135, and they were on 127. This never happens!

Everyone is keeping their distance and keeping to themselves. And then I hear, “excuse me? Can you help me?” Behind me is standing a little Ajumma. “I don’t know what I am doing. My husband always does this for me, and I’ve never picked up my prescriptions before! Can you help me?” Only if you can give me your recipe for kimchi.

I walked her through it. “Do you have your ID? Scan this barcode, not other one. Is that your information on the screen? Touch the confirm button.” Of course the next step could be confusing for anyone, because you have to choose your category. It’s the Choose Your Own Adventure portion of all prescription pickups. Asking a question, Soldier in Uniform, Same-day surgery, 3 other weirdly-worded categories that I know probably pertain to no one, and finally, All other beneficiaries. I told her that was her category. Then, being that she’s Korean and adorable, she thanked me 572 times, and started to walk away. “Ma’am! Don’t forget to take your number!”

“Now serving B128,” and Ajumma hops up and says, “oh, that’s me! That’s my number!” I asked if I could check her paper, and told her she was one-thirty-eight, and they had called 128.

I don’t know why her husband was unable to come with her today, but I can guess it had something to do with his health. Did I have to break the 6 foot spacing rule in order to assist her? You bet I did. Did she get to go home and tell her husband she was able to fill her prescriptions without his assistance? Probably! Did I get her to write down all of her Korean recipes? No! I should’ve held her number hostage until she told me the secret to making perfect dumplings!

In the end, I made it home in less than 2 hours. My children had stayed inside, and hadn’t gotten caught up in any shenanigans. So we all got in the car and went grocery shopping…which was much less frenzy-filled than I expected it to be!

Sitting, Waiting, Refilling

Monday was a busy day. After dropping Rufus off for his round 2 heartworm treatment, I ran to the hospital for my own appointment–no worms involved. Between the appointment and waiting in the lab (for 30 minutes) so that I could hand the receptionist my cup o’pee, I was not feeling like waiting again at the pharmacy.

Fort Benning is a massive post. And the hospital is equally as large. Which means, any time you have new meds to pick up, you should probably just block out your whole day, because it’s going to take the rest of your life.

I skipped out, and said to myself, “you know what makes sense? Come back Thursday. Pick up your new prescription at the hospital, and then head over to the refill pharmacy (yup, that’s right. 2 separate locations, because nothing can be simple), and pick up your refills that will be ready Thursday morning.”

Of course, then Xander decided to get sick at school. Poor Xander. But I was not taking him out into the world. So, it’s fine–I’ll just move prescription pick-up to Friday.

It’s a good thing the people watching is spectacular, because after waiting 10 minutes to get a number, I was handed 355; they’re currently on 276.

I should also add that my kids have a half day, and will be home by 12:30. I planned for a 60 minute wait, but I’m now a thousand percent sure I will be here until midnight.

Thankfully, the people watching is top notch. For one thing, there are always at least a dozen basic trainees. They are usually in varying states of injured–some have masks on, some have crutches, occasionally an arm is in a sling. And then just as many look perfectly fine. One thing that is the same, regardless of their status, is their obsession with food. These boys (it’s almost always boys), they raid the vending machines. It reminds me of the way my kids reacted to the vending machine at my job–how much can we get with this money??

I know nothing about basic training, but I can assume that they are fed. Of course, to see these young men cramming their pockets full of candy bars and soda, you would think that maybe wasn’t the case.

Back when I split my forehead open, I was lucky enough to sit in the waiting room with a dozen basic trainees who were suffering from a stomach bug. At one point the triage nurse came out and went full mom: “are you here with an upset stomach?! Throw that candy and soda away, and put a mask on!” Ah yes, I also like to chug soda and eat snickers when I’m violently puking……no wait. That’s an absolute lie. Of course I also don’t go to the Emergency Room for the pukes.

The other fabulous thing to see–or hear–are the individuals who put their phone on speaker, and then tell the world about every procedure they’ve had done in the last 24 months. You had what lanced and drained?? No no, I don’t want to know about it (just kidding. Talk louder).

And finally, the people I dislike: the friend-makers. Please, if I am reading, don’t sit down next to me and try to be my friend. I’m in my cocoon of anti-social. And I certainly don’t need to hear about what your doctor thinks is wrong with you (ok, maybe I do–but I prefer overhearing to the straight-forward story-telling).

It’s been 30 minutes, and they’ve made it all the way to 289. I better cancel my Thanksgiving plans–I live here now.