WriteRN Ramblings

This is the month of the military child.

When I was growing up, we were referred to as “Air Force Brats”. I was not offended.

I’m still not.

My mom was induced into labor to have me a little early, so my dad could see me before he went off to Vietnam.

The next time he saw me, I was walking.

I lived in several states before I could remember anything – although my first memory is as a babe in arms, coming off a plane with my mom. I remember seeing my dad, and my big brother with his crew cut.

From preschool through high school graduation, I attended seven schools, in five different states, and one foreign country. The first 18 years of my life were spent as a military dependent child.

I rarely saw extended family – we were always far away from them, and we certainly couldn’t travel around to see them. Grandparents were people who sent cards…sometimes with cash in them.

My dad went on several tours of duty by himself. These were the times the appliances broke, the car broke down, or one of us kids broke a bone. It never seemed to happen when he was home!

I grew up in the 1970’s and 1980’s, and there were no big family vacations to exotic locales. For us, the pop up camper was our weekend escape to campsites in our great nation. In 1977 we made a stop at Disney World before we flew 20 hours to our new assignment in the Pacific.

My mom didn’t work outside the home – she took care of us three children. That kept her plenty busy.

My oldest friend is a woman I met in ninth grade. The rest of my dear friends are from high school. We live all over the country now, but keep on touch. Those friends I made in school are part of my extended family.

Everyone responds to what life gives them differently. For me, being an Air Force Brat gave me a deep appreciation for military members and their spouses. It made me appreciate the blessings of being born in this great county.

God bless America, and our military.

Two of my kids are in military families now. I’m grateful for technology like FaceTime, so I can see them and my grandkids, wherever they go. It’s hard to be far away from them.

I’ve traveled more than most people, and I’m grateful for the experiences I’ve had as a military child.

I learned how to pick up and move, and how to start over midstream.

I long for the day we build our retirement home, and our kids and grandkids have a touchstone to go to.

I’ll never stop traveling, though.

I’ll go as long as I’m able to.

My alarm started playing a Resurrection hymn at 0600.

My eyes popped open. My body began its own wake up notifications – sore back, crick in the neck. Wakened from a deep sleep that had finally swept me away just a couple of hours earlier, I was exhausted.

A voice in the dark said “Wake up! You know you want to do this – you’ll be upset if you don’t go.”

I pushed out of bed. He was right

Last night, I set out the clothes I would wear for today’s 5k, along with the body glide and fanny pack. The new normal involved carrying my diabetic supplies at all times.

Three years ago, I ran a 10k on a Saturday…then turned around and ran a half marathon the very next day.

Today, I struggled to get motivated to run a 5k.

I choose to broaden my perspective- eight years ago, I was a couch potato. I didn’t pay any attention to what I ate, and I certainly didn’t exercise. Sure, I was 30 pounds overweight, but I had reached the age that my relative weight was much lighter than most of my peers.

Then I got a type 2 diagnosis. In the space of the next six years, I lost 30 pounds, and ran 21 half marathons, along with countless other races of shorter duration.

I’m back at square one, essentially. My insulin needs are a mysterious formula that ebb and flow with the effects of stress, hormones, illness, and the ever present diet choices. Type 1 diabetes is a completely different animal.

I got out of the car this morning determined to run the race.

I knew what I was capable of – I have already done much more than I ever thought I could.

It’s time to readjust, and persist.

Twenty months ago, I was diagnosed with type one diabetes – this is insulin-dependent, and nothing I did brought it on me. It’s an autoimmune disease, and I may have inherited a tendency for it, or I may have just acquired it. Nothing I eat, or don’t eat, has anything to do with this diagnosis. My BMI is in normal range.

In 2017, when I was diagnosed, we quickly learned the limitations of my insurance. While previously hospital insurance as a registered nurse has been fantastic, the corporation that took over my hospital brought with it an epically bad health care plan. I had to meet a $3000 deductible before I could begin seeing benefits. That meant $600 a month insulin. I quit that job after six months of this terrible insurance. I simply could not afford it.

I’m now on my husband’s policy, and up through last year his insurance was fantastic. Durable medical equipment, i.e. my insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor, were covered at 100%. Insulin was still expensive, but not as expensive as it had been with my prior insurance.

This year’s insurance has changed. Now durable medical equipment is only covered at 90%. That sounds fantastic – until you realize that every quarter I will be paying $600 for diabetes supplies alone. I had to get a prior authorization to get my test strips monthly, locally, with a coupon – or that would be another $200 quarterly.

Don’t get me wrong – I am extremely grateful that we have insurance. We pay handsomely for it! That being said, I don’t understand why it’s so darn expensive to keep this diabetic alive.

I am very compliant – I keep close tabs on the carbs that I eat, and the medical equipment I use helps me keep my blood sugar under much tighter regulation. Eating less carbs means using less insulin, and it saves me money, as well as keeps me healthier. (Note: I’m on a diet that is approved by my endocrinologist. I am not keto! I just don’t eat the high carb diet of most Americans.)

I could save money by going back to multiple dose injections of insulin, but that’s a lot of pain and heartache and hassle. It also does not control my blood sugar as well as the devices I use. I look at my medical devices as a form of preventative medicine. In the long run, they keep me out of the hospital, out of my doctors office, and keep me healthier – which is good for every single system in my body. So I don’t look at these devices as a luxury. They are a necessity.

It’s a necessity that a lot of people cannot afford. People without insurance, or people with crappy insurance, do not have access to these devices. And insulin is obscenely expensive without insurance – so diabetics, who did not have any part in their diagnosis, are doing drastic things to try to stay alive. Like rationing insulin. It’s extremely dangerous!

I’m disgusted by this whole gouging the consumer mode that big Pharma uses every single day. Specifically for diabetics, who, once diagnosed, have the disease for the rest of their lives. A disease that affects every single organ system in their body. A disease with horrible long-term sequela if it is not managed well.

I’m determined to take the best care of myself that I can. I log everything that I eat, I exercise regularly, and I’m in close contact with my endocrinologist.

There’s only so much I can control, though. Endogenous factors such as hormones, illness, and many other things we don’t even know about, all contribute to a day in the life of a diabetic. The stress of having to come up with money to pay for the very equipment and medications I need to survive does not help.

I will keep advocating for diabetics, writing my legislators, getting on board with advocacy groups. I will keep trying to be heard.

I hope that one day soon this punitive pricing will change, and type 1 diabetics will not be punished for a disease that they did not ask to have.

In the meantime, it’s back on the phone for me – trying to find all the ways I can get discounts or coupons or help for my medications and supplies necessary to live.

It’s Spring in the south.

The azaleas have already bloomed through their first cycle. Giant hanging ferns are taking their place back on the front porch.

I’m pruning today.

The skies are not sunny and cloud strewn, as is more common than not this time of year.

Instead, it’s overcast. Windy. It reminds me more of fall, with the cool breeze tossing the leaves around in the yard.

The grey sky suits me. I’m intent on getting this done.

Last years growth is 6′-9′ per branch, but the branches are easily lopped off with a quick snap of the clippers.

These branches would be in the way of new growth. Tiny little buds would amount to nothing, and windy days would fling the long strands of branches around like whips.

I carefully leave a little more branch stub than last year. Last years true growth may only be a couple of inches, but new and vibrant branches, full of blooms, will shoot forth in no time.

Twelve years ago the trees were stubby, hugging the fence.

Now they are tall and wider of trunk, showing growth that has been carefully trimmed back and monitored every year.

Left alone, the crepe myrtles would have branches in every direction, out of control, choking out anything nearby.

By the armful, I load branches onto the trailer to go to the landfill. Soon they will be turned into compost.

One last glance at the ten trees standing over the fence, ready for the sun to return and start them to bud.

Today, though, I’m content with the grey skies.

I’m getting things in order.

Out to the front yard I go.

It’s been a rough week.

It’s surreal that one week ago we received news that Mom was leaving us soon. We got in the car and raced up through three states to try and see her before she left her frail body, but she passed away 30 minutes before we arrived.

Friday through Monday we cared for Dad, even as we grieved. Monday night brought the viewing, and Tuesday morning, the funeral.

We took Dad around and tried to keep him occupied. We remembered Mom and told stories of her love. We did a little laughing, and a lot of crying. We cooked him meals, and made a pot of chili to hold him for a few days.

Mom’s presence permeated, and was my touchstone. I remembered her unfailing love for her husband of 62 years, and for her children…and for me. I basked in her love for almost 12 years.

She was all about family, and anyone who hurt her family brought out the mama bear in her. She was especially grateful to know her son and kids were in good hands with me, and told me so – often.

I hope to walk in the gratitude she walked in.

We got to see two of our grandsons while we were there, and it was a joyous time. Dad held the twins in his lap, and the energy and love of another generation gave him a few carefree hours. I’m grateful our daughter and son in law could be there.

As I sit at home now a week later, I’m rocking the newest grandson to join the family. Mom would have loved seeing all these great grandsons. She would have reveled in all this boy love!

She lived a life of service to God, love of family, and service to others. She lived a no nonsense life of truth and honesty.

She lived life, abundantly.

This will be the legacy we carry forward for the next generation.

I’m in a small town one more night, staying with Dad as we mourn the loss of Mom.

It’s the Midwest, and winter is holding on to the bitter end. We wake to frosty mornings, with clear sunny skies that magnify the cold.

As I toss and turn each night, I hear the train whistles in the distance. The town is dissected by tracks, and the low rumble of train cars moving through the still night air is heard for miles, cutting into our cul-de-sac.

It reminds me of years I lived in nearby states, with towns that had more corn fields than housing developments.

As my restless mind fades in and out of consciousness, the pale light of early morning begins to strain through the window shade.

Outside, the gentle coo of turtle doves mournfully comes to me, awakening me reluctantly.

Today we bury Mom.

I’ll lay here a little longer…listening to the birdsong, and remembering the Mom that so loved birds, and country life, and most of all her family.

After 62 years of marriage, Dad has lost his beloved wife.

We bury Mom tomorrow.

He’s beside himself. Although she’s been declining in a nursing home for the past year, he was there every day, visiting with her.

Now he doesn’t know what to do.

His daughters are nearby, and have been here for him in every way possible.

His son and I are here for a week, trying to take care of him the best that we can.

He’s 84 with a strong work ethic. He put a lot of that into caring for his beloved over the past few years as the dementia slowly took hold. After 50 years of her strong maternal presence holding it together, the last ten years have been losses by degree.

He doesn’t know what to do.

We have taken him to the store, out to eat, to the funeral home. The grand kids and great grand kids are coming over today, sure to bring a smile to his face.

At night, though, the sleep doesn’t come. He sits at his desk and stares during the day, jumping up to compulsively vacuum, only to fall asleep in his recliner minutes later.

He talks about Mom and we share stories. Memories lead to more memories.

The little things that have been over looked in his stress and exhaustion are seen by my husband, and he takes care of them – putting new fluorescent light bulbs by the half dozen in the kitchen and garage. Replacing batteries. Fixing the perilous garage step. Making meals for him to last for the next couple of weeks.

My husband talked to the friends at church, imploring them to take Dad out, make him participate, get him out of the house. They assure us they will.

Tonight and tomorrow we say goodbye to a wonderful Mom.

We will drive south, states away, praying for Dad every mile.

Lord, take care of Dad- and all the little things that add up to so much loss.

I met my mother in law in December 2007.

I had flown up to Kentucky to be with my soon to be husband’s family for the Christmas holiday.

My first impressions were of welcome, and of love. She took me right into her arms, right from the start. She knew I loved her son, and over the years she thanked me over and over for taking care of him. Her heart bore the deep wounds inflicted by the betrayal her son had suffered, and she commiserated with me often, knowing I would not bring him the same suffering.

She was a farm born Kentucky girl, and wow she could cook! Like many Southern cooks, she loved to read Southern Loving and cookbooks, but cooked from recipes handed down to her. On the rare times she checked a recipe, it was just to confirm what she already knew.

She loved taking care off others – she was a great mom and wife. She made sure everyone had what they needed. As a career, she was a nurse, and she had the no-nonsense, clear eyed way of seeing things the way they were. She was honest, funny, and sassy.

She loved dogs – she rescued and raised many dogs that may have had a short and tortured life. She usually had a dog by her side – most of my memories have her in her chair, dogs around her in adoration.

The early years, we went home to the farm in Kentucky biannually. Every 4th of July and Christmas we would spend a week at home. It quickly became our favorite place to go. Summers were fireflies and riding three wheelers through the fields, fireworks along the bank of the Ohio river, homemade peach cobbler with ice cream, and walks through downtown on gallery nights. Winters were cold, clear, starry nights, card games around the kitchen table, great home cooking around the clock, and watching “The Sound of Music” on TV.

Her house reflected her loves – photos of her family covered every room. Christmas trees twinkled during the holiday, and there was at least one tree up and decorated year round.

She loved sitting on the glassed-in porch in the morning, rocking in her rocking chair, watching the birds in the backyard. Her favorite were the cardinals that flourished on the farm.

We found out Wednesday that her health was quickly failing. She had been overwhelmed steadily by the pervasive curse of dementia, and last April she became confined to a bed after a fall.

We’ve been waiting ever since.

Waiting for her to escape her failing mind and find her home in heaven, to be with the Lord she so loved and faithfully served.

Last night, the wait was over. When the daughter who had been standing vigil stepped away for a moment, and as we approached from the south after 11 hours of driving, she slipped out of her body, and into God’s arms.

The waiting is over for her. I’m grateful for this wonderful woman of God and all the love she has given me over the years.

Mom, thank you for being a great mother to my wonderful husband. I’ll spend the rest of my life loving him, just as I promised.

My get up and go has…well, you know.

I have really tried to start realigning myself toward my goal of writing full time.

The first step was stepping away from 22 years as a bedside RN.  I loved my job, but it’s not an easy one on the lower back, among other things.

My casual blogging on three other sites has fallen by the wayside, but I am focusing on this blog to spur me on.  Onward – into my first novel!

I have three books published on Kindle, written during my long back induced time off.  That was three years ago.

Procrastination has always been my middle name.  With the burden of being an artist comes a dreamers mind.  Believe me, my mind is going a million directions at once.  I’m trying to get my ADD self together and make my dream of being a published novelist come true.

Now that I have begun to maintain my house more in order, and I minimalized my closet (a huge undertaking, thank you very much), I feel less cluttered, and more creative.  I will continue on my new journey of REAL housewife.  It’s one I longed for since I was a young girl.

So my focus now is loving my family, serving at my church, and writing.  Writing.  Writing!!

It’s time to giddy up on this next great American novel gig!