When Navy Doctors Attack

My kids have been sick since January 9th and 12th. The trend is thusly: a few hours of massive puking until the only thing that comes up is a funky foamy rabies-like yarf, followed by a nap, followed by perhaps one normal poo, followed by explosive butt-pee. The explosions last approximately three to seven days, begin to solidify for a few days. Wash, rinse, repeat.

We've been doing this for months. Months.

I've been to the hospital at Camp Pendleton numerous times. Each time, we were told it was a virus that they'd get over. We finally encountered a doctor by the name of Lee, who took our complaints seriously and called for some labs in the form of poo samples (did you know the collection bottles come with their very own sporks attached to the lids?! I know, impressive, huh?). A month later, and we just got back the last of the test results. Seems they had to ship some of the samples to Balboa (I can drive it in 30 minutes), and when they did get to Bal-blow-ah, those winners realized they didn't have the appropriate supplies to run the test, so they sat on the samples. And sat. And sat.

In the meantime, I've written a pretty nasty complaint letter and even submitted a letter to my congressman about all this. I referenced the *sterling* treatment our war heroes are getting at such beautiful locales as Walter Reed in DC and mentioned how much the public would just lurve to hear about how the families of soldiers and sailors are treated.

Our boys finally got a course of antibiotics, more as a "let's see if this will shut them up" than anything else, and they were actually better for that blissful week and a half. Then yesterday, the older spawnling decided to yurf. And yurf. And yurf. So back to the doc again today.

We met with Dr. Lee again, and she shook my hand, saying my complaint letter was the most eloquent she'd ever read. We're starting once more with the poo sampling (no spork this time, though, damn them all) and some blood tests. Oh yeah, and a scope care of a gastroenterologist.

::sigh:: I'm so damn tired of military medicine.

If anyone ever says to me again, "But you guys get such *great* benefits in the military!!!111!" I think I might do unmentionable things that require me to learn creative ways to hide bodies.

Oh, as a side note, Dr. Lee is a reservist who is being denied her per diem and is even being investigated right now for hundreds of thousands of dollars of improper per diem. She hasn't broken any rules we know of or that she knows of, and yet she's on the verge of losing her house over this.

Yes, indeed, folks. The Navy takes care of its own. Riiiight.

(eats its young, more like)

Storing Up Sex Like We're Squirrels Hoarding Acorns

My husband and I just had sex. It was pretty good sex, but these days, it had better be. We've begun The Countdown... in mere days, he leaves for a deployment that will last at least six months. He'll come home (we hope) in October, be around for maybe a month, then begin workups again for yet another deployment. That one will be longer. Much longer. And it will precipitate the inevitable countdown to yet another deployment... this one lasting over a year and including a hell of a lot more danger. Iraq, here he comes!

Needless to say, I'm not thrilled about how often I don't get to see my husband. Since he checked in to this command in September, he's been home for maybe two months in total. Maybe. It's been brutal, and this schedule came on the heels of a "shore tour" in DC that had him working about 80 hours a week for the last year we were there. For those who don't know, shore tours are *supposed* to be the light tours, where you actually get to see your family, bang your spouse with as much regularity as a boring married sex life allows, and basically chill out for a while.

My husband, for the record, has never had a bonafide shore tour. At least, not one I've been around to witness. Did I mention he's been in for 12 years?

I've done this deployment bit before, so it shouldn't be so difficult, but there's a pretty big difference this time. This time, unlike before, I have two young boys who ask every day where Daddy is. They don't understand why he's not around.

Frankly, I don't, either.