Jason - Month 20

You know, I am always reading about other wounded warrior wives, and how involved they are, and I often wonder if I should be like that too. It's not really my personality, but then, who really wants to be their spouses mother? And what spouse wants them to be?

But I'm starting to wonder if I need to throw myself in to it. I wanted so badly to go back to normal, and we really have almost gotten back there. I must be fooling myself. We'll never be normal again. But, I work 60 hours a pay period, and he goes to school part time. It really is quite perfect. We have a routine. Except that he needs that surgery. And now with all the Tricare switching to United Health Care or whatever it is, it's a big mess. Am I supposed to be calling them and making sure they're covering this stuff? At Walter Reed we didn't have to worry about anything. Oh, how I miss that! I don't know the first thing about dealing with insurance companies, except that I refuse to call them if at all possible. Obviously we're going out of network for this surgery and as Jason is quickly learning, dealing with civilian providers is not all it's cracked up to be. I guess since he's only known the military health system his whole life, he doesn't have a good appreciation for it. I do. I know that waiting 30-45 minutes in the doctors office waiting room is pretty normal. I know that once you get in to a room, it still means you will have to wait another 30 minutes. I also know that civilian doctors are horrible about communicating with one another. And that we will likely have to follow up over and over and over again until we get what we need. Jason doesn't quite understand all this.

(side note)
When we went to Denver to see this specialist again, we get there 45 minutes early (which was a compromise since he wanted to get there 2 HOURS ahead of time...) and the receptionist tells us "We're running about an hour behind because we had a fire drill..." great. How do we entertain a toddler for that much longer in this cramped space where everyone has a broken leg and we need to keep him from touching them all?! It was hot, and miserable, and Cooper was so done by the time the PA came in to answer our questions. The PA. Not the surgeon. I was so irritated. Then they get there and make it seem like this surgery is no big deal and everything will be fine, and I've all but lost my train of thought and cannot remember any of the questions I wanted to ask because I did not listen to my mother and write down a list of the questions beforehand.
(end of side note)

Nevertheless, they make it sound like this will be a walk in the park...no pun intended...and everything will likely turn out fine. But we can't help but worry. I'm probably worrying profusely, while he worries a couple times a day, but that's just the difference between he and I. I worry when I go to bed at night, and when I wake up in the morning. I worry during my work days, and during my off days. I worry every.single.day. I worry that his immune system isn't strong enough. That they'll open his leg up and cut off that bone and stir up something nasty and he'll loose more of his leg. I worry that he'll end up loosing his knee because the infection will spread. I worry that he won't even come out of the operating room because I've seen too many episodes of Grey's Anatomy where all kinds of weird and uncommon shit happens. I worry that he won't have enough antibiotics on board and he'll get an infection after we're already home, 2 hours away from the hospital. I mean he just got his wisdom teeth out and got an infection. It seems like he's always sick. I worry that it won't help his pain. I worry that he'll struggle with nerve pains again. I worry that it will make his pain worse, and then I'll take full responsibility because I'll feel like it's my fault for getting the ball rolling and scheduling it in the first place.

And it happens to be his twentieth month out from injury. The same month that the gentleman from Walter Reed died in after his injury. Now, every morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night, I wake up and make sure he's still breathing. Or make him call me or text me so I know he's ok.

I know that mentality doesn't help, and I'm trying to change my mindset because that will just drive a person crazy. And the whole reason for all this worrying is that we planned this surgery. We have a date, and it's over a month away still. But we have all this time to sit here and think about every single what if. The last time we were in this situation we didn't have time to think about the what ifs. I was still in survival mode. The thought "What if he gets an infection and looses his entire leg?" NEVER crossed my mind. Seriously. All I could think about was "When is the next surgery? What are they going to do? What is the plan? What are all his medications and when does he take them? Is his pain controlled?..." It was a surgery every other day for a couple weeks, and it was routine. He got to the point of enjoying being put under.

More and more he feels so defeated. He's all but given up an active lifestyle because he just doesn't think he can anymore. It's one infection after another, or another Army red tape line to cross. He said "I've never been that guy. I was never the guy to go to sick call or even go to the doctor. Now I'm living at the hospital." I've told him over and over, and even when he was still inpatient at Walter Reed, that we would be in and out of the hospital for the rest of our lives. I don't think even I fully understood the extent of what I was saying. But now I do. Where ever we decide to settle down, we'll have to make sure there's a military hospital nearby. We don't have to, but it will make it easier.

More and more I feel like I'm stretching to find the right words to say to him. It's harder and harder for me to be encouraging because I'm feeling it too. Another infection ultimately means more work for me. Yes, that's selfish and borderline bitchy, but it's true. "I chose this life, I can't complain." But watch me.

Jason's response to the Boston Marathon Bombings was "That sucks. I know what they're feeling. Except that when I deployed, I knew there was a chance of getting hurt. They all just went there to cheer on family and friends and now look what they have to deal with the rest of their lives." He said everyone at school was asking him if he was ok. Of course he is. There's no PTSD on his records. He thinks about it every single day. "If only I had just stepped 3 inches to the left..." I know for a fact that goes through his head at least once a day. If he's thinking about what I'm thinking about it's the "Oh man, these people have no idea what's in store for them over the next couple of months. Please God give them strength to get through it, and their families to stand by and support them as they go through this recovery that will take so much longer than they ever imagined."

We are still recovering.
And we're clearly far from done.

keeping calm...

My heart is so heavy tonight. Just through Facebook, we learned one of the guys Jason was at Walter Reed with passed away. We knew him, but haven't stayed in touch since we left. I remember him more than any of the other guys we encountered there, though. Jason said once Cooper was born and I didn't go with him to OT and PT as much, he and this guy (whose name I'll keep private) started talking more. They had a lot of fun with their OT, Joe. 

I remember when he first started coming down to OT, he was so weak and pale. He was injured about 2 weeks before Jason and spent the better part of two months in the ICU battling infections. He was then inpatient for another 5 months. He would get tired so fast just from getting in to his chair and going down to the therapy room. That's how I remember him when we left. 

They were still at Walter Reed, and I would assume living in building 62 like we were, when he passed away. He was engaged and they were in the middle of planning their wedding. Like I said, we didn't have a chance to get to know them on a really personal level, everything I'm writing about them, I learned from Facebook. 

It's just hitting really close to home tonight, and I need an outlet. It has been on my mind nonstop since we found out. I mean obviously he struggled with a lot more medical problems than Jason ever did, but I can't help but wonder what our future holds after hearing that. 

His mom and fiance just spent the last 20 months of their lives trying to get him back to good health and walking again so they could return home and build a life together, and now what? I cannot even begin to imagine what his fiance (or mother for that matter) is feeling right now. To look around that room in building 62 and just have to pack it all up and go home without the husband she fought so hard for, for so long. To cancel all the wedding and honeymoon plans. To replay the moments of the day when she found him unresponsive. Over and over again. 

My heart literally aches for her. I find myself back in the emotional state I was in when I initially got the news about Jason. All the what if's and 'how can you even begin to understand?' keep running through my head. You'd think getting that phone call that your son/fiance was injured was one of the worst days of your life, and then you spent 20 months getting through everything they told you he wouldn't survive...and then an even worse day of your life happens. Why? For what freaking purpose?! 

So often, I think we are in the clear. Life is normal. We are good. We will have another surgery this summer, and it will fix his leg pain forever, and we'll never have to look back. Or will we? Will getting the surgery open up some kind of raging infection that has been festering in there for the last 19 months? Will he survive the surgery? It sounds bad to even say that, but there's always that risk to any surgery. But, there are risks to just getting up and driving to school or work, too. 

Right now I'm going through scenarios in my head - "If I wake up and he's not breathing, I need to push him to the floor, start CPR, and call 911 and put them on speaker phone. Is it 1-and-2-and-3-and breathe like neonates? Or is it slower? Or faster? But they changed it so it's not just three compressions any more...and our doors are locked at night. How will they get in? I can't leave him to go unlock the doors...." 

Seriously. That's what's going through my head right now. Xanax anyone?! 

Going through this trauma, and becoming a mother, has not been good for my anxiety. It's things like this that makes me never, ever want to leave the house for fear another tragedy will happen. You think you're in the clear since it's been 19 months and you haven't been hospitalized for well over a year, but who really knows what's going on in there?! It makes me want to take back all the mean things I've ever thought about my husband because if something were to happen, I'd never forgive myself. 

We will never be rid of that part of our lives. Not that I want to be. I didn't want to forget about all the wonderful people we met (this family included), and all the saviors who helped Jason in his recovery, but we did want to move on. It feels like no matter how far we go, and how many months and years pass, there will always be reminders that will take us all the way back to August 2011. Then, emotionally, I'll be starting all over again. Thanking God he's alive, pleading with God to let him live a full, long, healthy life, and praying to God to keep him safe every single day. 

It hit him hard, too. We were watching Inside Combat Rescue and every commercial break, we'd talk some more about it. "It makes me not want to get the surgery." "I can live with the pain for the rest of my life if it means I get to live." he says. Later, he can just tell by my blank stares in to space "You still thinkin about it?" "Me too." I want to do something. But I know they will be inundated with people - just like we were (we called it the Purple Heart Carpet) - and then it will subside. I'm just racking my brain trying to think of what I would want from someone in this situation. Something meaningful, not another card to add to their collection. I'm still blanking. 

He hugged Cooper extra long and tight tonight, as did I. We had conversations with each other without even speaking - just eye contact - because we both knew how lucky he is to be here, right now. Why is that so easy to forget? Why do we take that for granted so quickly? Why does it matter that he leaves his towel on the floor or doesn't do the dishes right away? Why can't it just matter that we're both alive and have a beautiful life with an even more beautiful son? 

And so maybe I'll just stay awake all night to keep a close eye on him. Because that wouldn't be slightly psychotic. But that's how I'm feeling after all this. 

Keep Calm, Stephanie. 

Just keep calm. 

Jason - Month 19

Still waiting on a surgery date. Still waiting on the VA to come back and let us know what they've decided about his disability ratings. Still waiting on the eczema to go away, for the itchiness to stop, and for the nightly routine of steroid cream and slathering lotion everywhere to come to an end.

Other than that, we've just been surviving life in the WTU and hoping the furlough doesn't affect us too terribly. It's still unclear how his medical retirement benefits and Tricare will be affected.

We're talking about buying a house here in the Springs, and we plan to be here for as long as it takes for Jason to finish school. I'm more than ready to get out of this rental home and finally make something my own after all the pins I've seen on pinterest. It's just one more thing to add to our list, and quite frankly, I'm lazy. I don't feel like dealing with the VA for a loan, or the bank for a loan, or packing and moving and unpacking. But I'm sure we will survive it, and it will all get accomplished. Just one of those things I just want to happen instead of it being a long drawn out process. I'm also afraid we won't be able to find something we love out here. The architecture style is much different than we're used to. They don't build colonials out here, that's for sure.

Anyway, not much to write home about this month. Once we get the surgery scheduled and the planning for that underway, there will be much more interesting posts :)

Jason - Month 18

A little late, but that's ok.

We took a trip to Seattle to argue our case about Jason's disability rating. It was stressful to say the least, getting everything in order last minute to go, travel logistics with a toddler, and switching around my schedule at work. It was worth it, I hope. It seems like it will be, but we won't officially know for another couple of weeks.

It was intimidating to go in and sit in front of the board. Jason was so nervous. He did such a good job, though. His lawyer was really excited when we were all done. There were so many formalities, and I felt like I was in another world. It was all recorded, and so at the beginning they had to say certain things as part of the official record. It sounded so weird. We were in a conference room with three people on each side of the table. So it wasn't like we were on trial or anything, but I know Jason was nervous sitting across from a full bird colonel with a booming voice.

He explained what happened, in detail, and explained each of his injuries and how they would prohibit him from doing his job as an infantryman. I remember him saying "...I would basically become a burden to my other soldiers, and that isn't safe." I felt so bad for him in that moment. I know this is taking a lot out of him, and he wants to get out of the Army so bad right now after dealing with the all the WTU crap, but to hear him accept defeat like that broke my heart a little bit.

In the end, in their official format and booming voices, the president of the board deemed Jason unfit for duty with a total of five unfitting conditions. Again, he hung his head and I could just see his entire Army career flashing before his eyes. He'd never let it truly sink in that he's giving up a huge part of his life, because then he'd have to face the fact that his future is still uncertain. That, and he's just a guy, he'd never be emotional about such things. My heart still broke for him in that moment.

They never interviewed me, I guess Jason's account was detailed enough. I certainly would have loved to give my two cents though. I think we all know that!

And, can I say - Thank God for the Ventura family! If it wasn't for them, I'm not sure what we would've done with Cooper while we were at the hearing. That would've been interesting, to have a 13 month old crawling around an official hearing. We are forever indebted to them for watching him that day!

Now we wait.

And in the mean time, we get to make the following decisions:

Jason needs another surgery. Do we do it in Denver, or back at Walter Reed, or somewhere else?
Our lease on our current rental house is up this summer. I'm over this house.
Do we move to another house in Colorado Springs? Do we buy? Or keep renting?
Do we use our final Army move to move back East and be closer to family for help when needed?
Or do we use it to move ~20 miles away?
Do we stay here and let Jason finish up school but be painfully far from built in babysitters (and the beach!)?

Sounds like fun?

Not so much. It's caused Jason and I to argue more than we've ever argued in our relationship. Every day we have another idea about whether or not we should stay or go. (there are a lot more factors to be weighed in to our decisions than I've listed)

The surgery is called an Ertl, and involves cutting his tibia to be of equal length to his fibula and then using the cut bone to bridge the two together. This results in a much stronger base for him to bear weight on instead of the very sharp tibia that most of his weight ends up on currently. This would shorten the nub a couple inches, and then they'd revise the scar as well. He would be without a leg for 6-8 weeks, and when he is cleared for weight bearing again, he'd have to go through the prosthetic fitting process all over again. They tell us the swelling wouldn't be near as bad as it was last time, so hopefully the process wouldn't be as long. I do know it will be a pain, and Jason will likely be in pain again, and he's not excited about that. The problem lies in the fact that he wouldn't be able to crutch around the house and hold Coop at the same time. We'd need help if I plan on working, and I think our families have agreed to help, I just hope we can cover the amount of time he'd be out of commission.

This also means we'd probably have to miss our highly anticipated beach trip :( I can't tell you how disappointed I am about that, but this surgery won't be an annual thing either, so we will survive another year without the sun, sand, and salt water.

When I look back on the last 18 months, it feels like 10 years have passed. I'm tired. Just tired of making big life changing decisions, or adjusting to another new normal, or planning something we didn't plan on planning. Such is life, and we're not the only ones with heartache and hardships, I'm well aware. But sometimes I'd just love to not worry about anything, and just sit on the beach without having to worry about when we'll be able to afford to come back.

I'd also love to be newlyweds again. We still haven't even been married for three years, and when people ask, I have to think twice before I speak, because I could swear it's been at least five. I just want to be young(ish) and married with our first baby. And that's it. No leg junk to throw in to the mix.

It's the month of love, but it's been more of a bah humbug kind of month in this house!

Jason - Month 17

I mean, this looks like a scar to you, right? 

Well, we get to uproot our family for three days, lug a one year old and all his crap, piss people off at work because I'll have to change my schedule last minute, and Jason will have to miss a day of class, to go up to Fort Lewis and argue that this needs to be in his file because the VA failed to recognize this painful scar.

Let me tell you, this scar has gotten way worse. I wish I took monthly pictures of Jason's scars like I do of our son. I have one from right after the surgery, but not too many after that. At least that I can find in the 11,500 pictures I just organized the other day. There has always been an open area on part of his scar. When he was still in the hospital, the occupational therapists told me I could pick all his scabs so long as they were ready to come off. Every night, we'd sit and pick and pick and pick. So much so that I'd have to ask to have his sheets changed because of all the skin flakes and scabs that had fallen off. It. was. gross. Nevertheless, there was one really dark scab about an inch long that was really deep, and took forever to come off. In the picture to the right, it's the darker spot towards the right side of that scar. When it did fall off, there was a little cavern as Jason likes to say, left. They explained that the scar had kind of folded in on itself, and that's just how it would heal. It never gave him any problems, and was mostly just really gross looking, until recently.

Now, it's painful, and obviously way bigger than when he started. When he puts his leg on, the scar spreads apart and is almost unbearable for him. He limps a lot, which is not good for his hips, and most of the time will just take the leg off if we're at home. And let me remind you, we have a one year old who requires baby gates. Jason has already face planted in the kitchen from hopping around the house and missing the ledge from the baby gate. He's promised me he wouldn't hop anymore, the last thing we need is another injury on top of this one, but that only lasted about a week before he decided getting his crutches from upstairs was way too much work since he'd have to go upstairs on the painful leg.

See how the folds are continuing up his nub now? Never there before. I don't know what's going on, but this will likely require a surgical revision, if not more than one, which will mean no leg wearing for at least a couple weeks each time. I'm not sure if you've tried, but carrying a one year old while using crutches is not advised, especially if I'm your wife. So, that would mean no work for me.

And the VA apparently forgot about giving this scar any sort of rating. The scar on the leg that he's missing half of. They just decided it wasn't going to give him any problems ever, I guess.

And, pictured above, also a 0% rating. These injuries apparently don't affect his daily living, so they don't deserve compensation. Just don't even get me started.

Back and forth, back and forth, that's how we've spent this month. "No, it won't make a difference whether or not you go to Fort Lewis, the outcome will be the same." "Are you kidding me? It makes a huge difference if you show up here in person!" Great. So three weeks before his formal hearing, we're deciding last minute to go. Trying to figure out childcare for the time we're in the hearing, and rearranging our lives for the billionth time for the Army.

Jason does not handle this stress well; I seem to thrive on it which seems odd. It kind of motivates me to prioritize things that need to be done now, and things that can wait. I refuse to come out on the other side of all this and wonder if we did everything we could. I want to know that we're doing everything we can now, before it's too late and we're sitting at home with our thumbs up our assess saying 'coulda, shoulda, woulda'!

We're trying hard to stay positive, to not jump down each others throats in the midst of all this, and to count our blessings. We have wonderful plans for life after the Army, but we are really trying to keep things in perspective as we know the Army generally has very different plans.

For now, the VA claim is our focus, because it will determine how the rest of our lives are lived in financial terms. I know the light is at the end of the tunnel, and while that is a very scary thing, it is something else to look forward to.