Moving Forward, But Still a Little Unglued
Here's Lathrop and Jolley, at a gas station in Metropolis. I think that's in Illinois, the trip is a bit of a blur to me now.
Brian has called twice since their arrival in Kuwait. As I've indicated before, each time I hear from him, I unconsciously grab a pen and start taking notes. Today's scratch paper reads "Bradleys, dust, memory card, radios, Ginny sends love."
So. They were assigned their Bradley's today. I learned last week that a Bradley is a tank. He was assigned his tank today. Someone hand me a brown paper bag.
:: breathe, breathe, breathe::
Ok. Whew. I'm ok.
He got his radio today.
A dust storm this morning; so much sand and dust in the air that he could not see the horizon; the sky, he said, was the same color as the earth.
He's buying a second memory card for his camera. He will fill one and mail it to me to download, and I'll send it back.
Ginny sends love. Oh, I inadvertently jotted down my own words. Ginny's our neighbor. I'm nervous and I end up dictating the entire conversation, even my parts.
And anyway, I tell him, "not just Ginny. The outpouring is staggering, everyone's sending well wishes and prayers for your safety."
And the outpouring has been staggering. I received 67 emails last Friday, every single one of them expressing love and comforting words. So many of them from you lovely people that I have yet to meet in person.
I took advantage of the warm weather last night, and worked outside at Kopi until 10 p.m. So many people stopped to ask, "how is your son? Did he leave? He'll be fine." Barristas, bartenders, friends, and acquaintances. Some I did not know were aware that I had a son, or that he was leaving.
People do talk.
And people bother. Don't you love it? I'll have you know, it's working. I am comforted. I am both comforted and dumbstruck. I can't begin to explain to you how it feels to know that, if I have a an irrational thought, a pang of fear, or a moment of weakness...that when my inner strength falters, and I stumble...
...that someone is going to catch me and set me back on my feet.
I am not, and never will be, alone in this.
The cat's been sick. I had her spayed a few weeks ago, and she didn't recover so well. I imagine she had an infection of sorts before I took her in; her illness didn't seem to stem from the surgery itself. Look at her shaved little tummy:
After not recovering, I took her back in to the vet, where she was admitted to kitty hospital for 6 days. That St. Joseph Animal Clinic is one wonderful and inexpensive vet; it's totally worth the drive out of the way. She got IV fluids (her little arm is shaved too, for that).
She had bloodwork, stool samples taken, de-wormers given as a precaution. She ate sick-kitty cat food. She came home with a 10-day supply of that cat food, and 2 different antibiotics.
My total vet bill:
Can you believe it? That's amazing.
Oh my God. My kid is Kuwait.
It was touch n go for awhile there, but the cat is going to be fine; she's almost back to her adorable pain-in-the-rearski self, eating the plants and sommersaulting around the house.
In summary, then, kids and cat are doing fine.
Mom still adjusting.