Trying to make things better.

We won't talk about how cell phone reception seems to be getting worse, how the hot water was out for most of the day, and how provided wifi quit working randomly (we bought a hot spot thingie so we're good on that). Instead, we'll talk about the new addition to our family!

I heard about Africa New Life through Saddleback Leather Company on the facebook. After researching, I found that this was the perfect charity for us. I decided to sponsor a child! Aaron will pick one out too, as soon we get some info a special case suggested to us. For $39 a month, I am providing education and medical care for a child who really wants it. I can also shop in the "store" to provide sanitary napkins, underwear, extra clothes, soap, lotion, food, a goat (love that), bedding, bed frame, etc. I went ahead and selected a few extra things to get the party started. I can communicate with my child by snail mail, and even send my own care packages. I wasn't assigned a random person in some random part of Africa- the charity has done great work in Rwanda for years, and I got to chose how I wanted to help. The financial transparency of this organization is right where it needs to be, and their strict management allows for nearly 90% of all money to go directly to the child or project you intend it for. This matter a lot to me, as I am one of those "think before you pink" and Charity Navigator people.

Why an African kid? My small donation makes a huge difference. Food. Undies. Shoes. I do believe in food pantries and the local Goodwill/King's Ranch thrift type donation centers and stores. I want what I do to really matter and resonate with whoever or whatever I have decided to support. I have been a "Big" before, and I left the situation with mixed feelings. I know others who couldn't handle food delivery because of the environments of those receiving the aide. This is my choice and I am very happy with it. I hope everyone can find a charity that speaks to them, and fulfills them the way I believe this one will for me.

So who is she? Norah, a 15-year-old living in Bugesera. I decided to pick an older child because I feel they are often overlooked. She resonated with me for three reasons: She wants to grow up to be a politician, listed political education as her favorite subject, and hide-and-seek as her hobby. What a cool kid with whom I share similar interests. Aaron has been to Africa- he's seen what they live in, and what a "few dollars" can do for them. While he feels strongly in aiding our own great nation, he also knows what providing education and clean water can do for another human in another part of the world.

It's time to tithe. We are what I consider very well off- better off than I ever thought I could be. We can afford to do pretty much what we want when we want to do it; we buy nicer things, fill our gas tank, have smart phones, and eat out. We do help out with those we know when they need it, but we can do more and we should. What is $78 a month to us? A night out? A nice shirt? How about an education, clothes, and medical care for two kids who have probably never even seen an iPhone? Yeah, that's more like it. When I want to go shopping, I think I'd feel better if I bought my girl a goat for her to sell at market, or a bed. I have shoes and a purse that cost more than that. Who exactly am I if I buy myself ridiculous, unnecessary things (which I do enjoy) if I don't also cut some of that stuff out and help the world to be a better place?

My joy over this has definitely helped me feel a lot better about our current situation. Which definitely still sucks and is really unnecessary. I am not one to think that it could be worse (which is quite true) because worse to me is a dead husband. We could all be in cardboard boxes. Or dead. So that thinking doesn't really do me any good. I like to  think, "I could do more." How can I be better? I could and should consume less. I could spend less on crap. I can afford everything I need in life (and I haven't always been able to do that and it SUCKS when you're in that situation), and buy a lot of stuff I don't.  I'm always striving to be less materialistic.

I think everyone should find something. Some people love to aide pets, or legal funds for the wrongly charged. Some people believe in military-benefited giving. Pro-life or pro-choice. Find the shoe that fits. But I suggest doing something. It's way better than a new bag!

The company line.

Well, at nearly 5pm yesterday I got a visit from a commander of something important and the civilian liaison for the building. I had actually just refused to speak to them to someone else who had called, simply because I don't feel going to the people who allowed this mess to happen in the first place is conducive to actually solving any issues. But, they knocked and I'm not completely rude. I could see that they were actually concerned, but for what I don't know. Concerned about the state in which these wounded and their families are sometimes forced to live, or concerned that someone intelligent has finally had enough and just might know enough to cause a problem for them. I'll never know.

What I got was a lot of acknowledgment but not any real answers. As I pointed out, the unsafe parking lot should have never been an issue because it never should have been allowed to exist in its current state. Who thought it was okay? I have never in my life heard of a building that stranded people who couldn't walk by having the only elevators out of service at one time, but somehow this was acceptable last week. Having to go 24 hours without working toilets, which means these guys went 24 hours without any much needed special equipment for toilet use which are used in the rooms, shouldn't be acceptable out in the "real world," much less in a building built by the government meant to take care of our wounded troops. Somehow, all of this still happened despite all of their concern and acknowledgement. Excuse me if I don't trust anyone in this situation as far as I could throw them. I think when I have finally quit feeling so beaten down I will call someone back and let them know that things really weren't resolved. Maybe.

Two ridiculous isolated incidents in as many weeks. Daily struggles with phone use, parking lot use, the showers, and so on and so forth. I just don't even know what to think anymore. I wouldn't be surprised if there were more "unforeseen circumstances" that caused us to live in completely unacceptable conditions. I wonder if these building people know that serving food in the same building as floating human waste is (I am pretty sure) a violation of federal health code. But the cafe in the building was certainly alive and kicking yesterday.

I know they care. I know they try. I just don't think they're given the proper tools to succeed here. Through whatever bureaucracy that has been created to stunt growth and development, through all the different avenues of reporting and documenting, the people who are supposed to "take care of us" can't do it because of a system that isn't designed to facilitate growth, improvement, and change. No one really thought about how handicap these wounded warriors are. The bar was set so low by the Malone House (the previous wounded wounded living facilities at the old WR) that anything had to be better than that. That's really a straw man fallacy if I ever heard one.

I love my "apartment" here in the barracks. I am not ungrateful and neither is anyone else. I feel as if the people in charge aren't honoring the gift of this building by being responsible leaders and showing us how to take care of it. They can't even take care of it. So it feels absolutely suffocating, like a total loss of freedom (because we are forced to live here without any other options), and people don't appreciate what they have because the people in charge can't help us make it better for everyone else to come after us.

So that's what's up right now. I'm beaten down. I'm done. I want to leave here as soon as possible and get an apartment nearby (I somehow don't think that's going to be an issue for us now). I don't care what happens anymore. I just don't feel that I have the energy to write the press or call Congress critters, or do anything else further than what I've done. They tried to placate me but it didn't work, it just taught me that nothing really is going happen in any efficient or expedited fashion. I did get one answer- the staff working duty desks will be undergoing customer service training from Disney. At least that will get better. God, do they ever need it.

I wrote base command today.

To Whom It May Concern in Base Command for WRNMMC-Bethesda:

     As I am sure you are well aware (I hope), the residents of Building 62 currently do not have latrine use. We all received a slip of paper under our doors on May 21 informing us of an outrage to last from 1800-2000. I returned home at approximately 2200, and used the facilities in my room. The toilet did not work. I called down to the front desk and had a very constructive conversation with an Army personnel there about the importance of informing residences of the extended latrine outage. I was quite upset, due to the fact that there is human waste in my toilet that I now could not dispose of properly. Thankfully, I do not have children in the room so I did not have to watch out for young hands and curious minds wandering into the bathroom. I was told at that point, 2200, the toilets should be

working again around midnight. This of course did not happen, and sometime between midnight and this morning another slip of paper was deposited under my door to inform me of an extended outage. I called the front desk again to ask, but they did not have any information. As it is policy any sailor or soldier here to perform their 24 hour duty at the front desk in this building, they often don't know anything useful and many residents have had problems with information distribution due to this policy.

     Sir or Madame, I don't think you understand how neglected the residences of this building can feel at times. We are forced to live here and tolerate any conditions thrown at us. I know that my wounded warrior and I hold up our end by keeping the place clean, not being destructive (I have yet to so much as crack a coffee mug), and attend all appointments. It seems that those who manage this building don't have any ends to keep up. We tolerate showers that don't drain, an excessively dark parking lot that is not handicap accessible in any real way, cell phone reception that is spotty at best, elevators that don't work (two were out at one time in the East Wing not too long ago), unreliable internet connection, random room inspections that occur at any time, and now we must have solid human waste in our toilets for an extended and unknown amount of time. When is enough, enough? When should the residents do what they have to do to make sure we are at least heard? What measures do we need to consider to make sure the right people know about this building, its year- long growing pains, and complete lack of useful information from the people who work our front desk area? What would you do, exactly? It isn't one issue or the other. It's everything, and now these “little hiccups” have reached unsanitary heights. If we weren't forced to live here perhaps these matters wouldn't seem so important. But at the moment, I feel unheard and completely neglected. I have often wondered if base command knows about the things that go on in this building. How could you and your co-workers know and not contact us, ask us what we need, or make necessary changes? We are not entitled, we just simply want things that everyone else has. Not only do our soldiers give up their limbs, they and their families also give up their freedom for as long as they need treatment, and now we can't even be forced to live in a sanitary building. Please listen to me. I am personally at my wits' end with this place, and I can assure you I am not the only one. This has got to be the end of the road for the insanity. Changes are always coming but they are so rarely actually ever made. I hope, finally, someone of importance here at the hospital takes the residents and complaints of Building 62 seriously. We are reaching our limits.

Sincerely,

(Me)

** It took 24 hours, but the bathrooms work. The hospital has responded to my letter- several departments, actually. I am still reserved about the ability of those in charge to properly address these issues (many of which shouldn't be issues at all). I am terrified of what I did today and the people who now know my name. But I still stand by my actions and my willingness to be so honest and open about these issues. So much of this could have been prevented. I hope real change is in the process, because I know I'm not done yet. 

My friend.

Pain is missing this guy everyday. He was one of my best friends, and left us all too soon for the big pie in the sky, four days after Aaron was injured. My grief process has definitely been stunted by my other grief process for all things Aaron-injury related. Alex's birthday is coming up soon and I can't stop thinking about this wonderful, funny, sarcastic, smart, giant person whose absence has left the hugest hole in my heart. He would have been the guy to talk me down from all the stupid anxiety attacks I have over little things. He would have come to visit for a week and put up with all of my craziness, and Aaron's. Hug the ones you love, folks- if you're lucky to be able to do so. No one is here for good and some leave unexpectedly.

Day drinking, migraine, charity, college. And GO!

I went to the ER last night. Whoo, party! I laid down for a nap after a little day drinking, right on top of a bunch of pillows. I woke up with a raging tension migraine that only got worse. Puking, sobbing, the whole works. Thankfully my doctor this time did not over medicate with me with narcotics and instead gave me half doses. I ate when I got back and we finally went to bed around 3am, but no sleep until after 4. Ugh. I feel better today, but what a doozy.

Also, frozen sangria is no joke! Day drinking is fun and all in the wonderful weather, but maybe next time I won't pick the most loaded beverage on the menu. I really don't think it contributed to my migraine, other than being so tipsy I didn't notice I was sleeping on a mountain of pillows.

Today is a big day! We're going to the groundbreaking ceremony for The Boulder Crest Retreat. You have GOT to read up on this. A lovely couple donated acres of their Virginia land to build this wounded warrior retreat. It will be small and intimate, without the usual constraints of official hospital trips. I love our hospital trips- we're taking one tomorrow- but it is like a field trip. On the bus, off the bus, do this at 1pm, dinner at 6pm. We need a place to truly relax and do whatever we want to do- wether that be kayaking, yoga, gardening, or NOTHING at all. I am so excited to be so closely associated with this organization. I hope to contribute something to it in the long run, but what I don't know yet. I'm sure I have a talent or two.

I got my grades back! I bombed psych, which was supposed to be an A. My fault. I'll be retaking it in the summer. I got Bs in Anthropology and English- whoohoo, at no short credit to my incredible writing skills.

So here's a funny to leave you with: I've been researching four year programs and am considering apply to a John Hopkins writing seminar (ambitious and ludicrous, probably not going to happen). I couldn't find any info on accepting transfer students who didn't graduate high school. I've got a Good Enough Diploma (GED) but my college work should be able to speak for itself. I kept getting the same canned response back from Admissions. I might have wrote a bit of a nasty-gram to them about not accepting GED transfer students. Finally, I got a non-canned response. Well, they do. I mean, I can at least apply. Although nothing on their website mentions this, at all. Someone at admissions thinks it does, but clearly they are incorrect. They need high school transcripts, though, which is a problem. I don't have them. I homeschooled one year and then stopped. Partially my fault for not finishing, but I went to work. I was 17 when I made that decision. It shouldn't matter 13 years later, though. So we'll see.

Have happy weekends, folks!