Still a Woman???

Still a woman?

In December 2008 I experienced one of the greatest horrors a woman can experience. People say that it happens sometimes or that it just wasn’t meant to be, they try and find the words to express their sorrow and their grief of the situation, but nothing no matter what anyone says can heal the hurt that is caused when a woman loses her baby, if even only by miscarriage. I was only 5 weeks along when I started bleeding, at first it wasn’t a sign of alarm for me. I had bled briefly with my first son early on, and besides his arrival being 5 weeks early, my pregnancy as with my second was typical, healthy and uneventful. I never in a million years would have thought that I would or could have a miscarriage. I after all was healthy, a tad overweight, but I ate fairly well, took my prenatals, rarely drank (certainly not after I found out I was pregnant), didn’t smoke, and was barely yet 32, still quite young. I took for granted that sometimes things just happen, and what I do has no say and no control over the situation. It was confirmed nearly two weeks after my visit to the doctor, and 18 days after I initially started bleeding that indeed I had miscarried early on, before a heart could even form. I was crushed, especially since it was the Christmas holidays and we had already told the boys and all our friends, but I recovered rather quickly, taking it as a sign that this was not the one we were meant to have.

When I became pregnant again only a month after my miscarriage, I was overjoyed and sure that this would be the one, my chance for a baby girl. We told no one this time, not wanting the same grief that came with a loss in case things didn’t work in our favour, and of course not wanting to break the kid’s hearts a second time. Unfortunately these things can’t be hidden for long, and slowly those closest to us found out one after another. Things seemed to be going well; besides the nausea and the fatigue that had overcome me, I was sure it was a good sign. At 8 weeks I called the doctor’s and was given an appointment for 2 weeks later. At 9 weeks, although the nausea was still present, I seemed to be getting my energy back. I was able to clean the house in the evenings, and could stay awake past 8:00pm. At 10 weeks I went into my doctor’s, and after an hour stay in the waiting room I was finally seen, same routine as usual, brief history and change into robe for an ultrasound, all this only to be told that the same thing had happened again. The baby had died approximately two weeks prior (around the same time I had made the appointment), and there was no longer a heartbeat. I was scheduled for surgery for the next day. It was a blow for me, it had happened so close to the Easter holidays, a time which brought renewal and new life, and I was so sure that this time I would carry a healthy baby, so sure I had even bought maternity clothes for my already swollen and bloated belly.

I researched all night the procedure I was to have the following afternoon. The next morning I could think of nothing more then what would take part that day. I was terrified of everything. Would I feel anything, would there be pain, what would it be like falling asleep with the anaesthetic, and would I wake up?


When we reached the hospital half an hour early I was taken in right away, brought up to my room, given my gown, an oversized bathrobe, and a pair of slippers. My medical history was taken right away by the anaesthesiologist, and I was given a sedative right away to help me rest, a welcome thing since I couldn’t think of anything other than what was soon to happen, and tears once again began to flow. I began to wonder if I was doing the right thing and if maybe my baby just hadn’t formed yet and it was too early. After a brief sleep, I was awoken to be taken to the surgery room. Lights flooded the room and people surrounded me. I could see my doctor behind his mask, and he gave me a gentle pat before the anaesthesiologist put me to sleep. After only a few short breathes, everything that happened from the moment I was wheeled into surgery and awake in my room is nonexistent for me. Tests on the fetus after the d/c revealed that the cause for miscarriage was chronological, the fetus just wasn’t healthy, and that was that.


Two days after surgery my family and I left for a scheduled trip to Poland and Prague. On the flight there I started bleeding heavy, apparently normal, but I had apparently been ill informed, sought less information regarding the procedure and after effects, and not asked enough questions before hand. I had thought that the d/c would alleviate the bleeding and cramping associated with the last miscarriage. When the day after surgery I was only spotting and felt fine, I thought that all was good. By Friday night, shortly after our flight I was in a world of pain and handicapped by cramps. Aspirin became my new best friend the following days after, helping to get by the bus rides and long tours. My oldest son I suspect knew something was up, his curiosity got the best of him and he asked me one day why I was taking so much Aspirin, my answer to him was only that I was having a lot of backaches. I hated lying to him.


Now a week later my mind is so full of everything. My self esteem has never been at such a great low in my life than it is right now. I feel fat, and although I know that I was in essence just pregnant and there is a reason for the weight gain, having no baby now makes it so not worth it. As if it, the extra weight is inexcusable. While in Prague, and really all of Europe I feel as if I can’t compete with all the women that don’t seem to have that extra inch body fat to spare. I feel that somehow I have let my body down, that even though it is not my fault that I somehow can no longer carry a baby.


We have a cleaner come in once a week to clean our house and although it’s easier to just tidy throughout the week and not worry about the stress of having everything perfect, I feel as if I no longer have any control over my surroundings and my home. I see the little things that make the house look that much better, like having a shiny sink, or pristine stove top and I feel like anything I have put into the house before hand was not good enough.


I feel for my youngest who is having a hard time adjusting to school and his new life in Moscow, like as a parent I haven’t been able to help him. I stayed home the first few months after arriving in Russia with the sense that hopefully he would be adjusted to mommy being home, and of course he has, how could he not, he’s still a mommy’s boy, and I sense always will be. However he has trouble focusing in school, staying on track, and making any solid friendships being so much younger than the rest of the students in his class and those he hangs around with. His maturity just isn’t the same as those that are a year older than he. His teacher sends notes home weekly on how he did this or that wrong, and I can’t help but ask myself what I’m doing wrong as a parent and how can I help him. When he’s home, I see some of what she’s doing, and admittedly I get frustrated as well, but I also see the side of him where he is smart, and can focus on something he truly enjoys. I see the side of him that gives up on things if he feels he can’t do it, or if he’s learning something new.


I feel a distance from my husband, who wasn’t there for the appointment with the first miscarriage, and again had to work and couldn’t make it to the appointment for the news of yet another miscarriage. I am annoyed with him for leaving me at the hospital only minutes after receiving my sedative before I could get some rest. His excuse was that he just couldn’t handle being there. I wonder how I was supposed to feel knowing what I was about to go through, knowing that I couldn’t run from it, or keep my head from it. I’m angry that his job has always taken focus and priority. He changed career goals back in 2001 so that he could be home more, instead it was much of the same, tour after tour and course after course, always gone. Coming to Russia was suppose to be yet another new start, when we could be together and when he could leave work if needed to make appointment if had be. Instead he has been left to take on more work, and again we are left to deal with the aftermath of an overworked and nonexistent family member, seeing him only when his calendar allows.


Do I want to try again? After all that my husband and I have been through, after all we have endured to get to the place where we are right now, it only seems right that add another member to our family.


I left off here, not really sure what to think of the question. After almost 2 months of posing it, here I am again.

I never really did get to answer this question, although Ron and I did have a discussion a couple days before I got some interesting news. He had decided that he was done trying; we had two healthy boys that we should be happy with, and he was heartbroken and didn’t know how he could handle another loss and me I decided I wasn’t quite done trying. I was beginning to settle into the idea that these things happen, and sometimes they happened more than once, I was ready to accept that. I was determined to add a third child into our family, boy or girl. I reminded him that I came to Russia to be with him, and did not like it as much as I thought, or at least did not like the inconveniences that came with it. We were making good money and had worked hard in our relationship to make it as good as it was at the time, and we had prepared and planned to have another baby. The timing of it could not have been more perfect. He had agreed, wanting to wait three months for my body to completely heal, but agreeing on the month the doctor had suggested was ok.


All I remember was going to the doctors for my post op check up and him telling me that I had ovulated a few days ago and should be expecting my period within the next few days. A few days came and went, and after a few days past and what I thought was my period starting right on the day the doctor had thought it would start, it didn’t. It was indeed just some spotting, barely even there. I started feeling dizzy and lightheaded, much the same way I had felt when I was pregnant last. A quick test confirmed my suspicions, the spotting had been implantation bleeding and I was very early on. I was sceptical and had a right to be. I told no one, except for my best friends back home; even now I regret that decision. An early doctor’s appointment for confirmation led to high levels of HCG in my body, something that I never would have thought twice about, most people believe that high levels are a sign of twins, but something led me to Google to do my own research. The results I found were scary and unreal, twins, maybe, but mostly, not. Everything I was reading had to do with Molar Pregnancies, so complicated that one would have to be on birth control for a year after d/c and may even develop a rare form of uterine cancer that can spread if not treated on time. After two blood tests, both of which came back with high levels, and two ultrasounds, one from the Russian doctor who couldn’t read the results and one from my regular gynaecologist, it was confirmed I had a molar pregnancy. The news, after reading up so much on it the last night before did not shock me much. We had known that no matter what, this pregnancy would be more difficult having only gotten pregnant a couple weeks after the last d/c. I had thought though, the difficulty would lay with a weakened uterus and more precaution would have to be taken. I never thought after all I had been through in my healthy body that I would be facing so much more of a challenge in front of me. Ron, again away on business had missed both doctor’s appointments and of course the d/c which had to be scheduled right away due to it spreading and the complications if left untreated. He made it back to drive me home from the hospital. I can barely face my doctor anymore, having had dreams of him being some mad scientist doctor and taking my healthy babies away. I know that is not the truth, after all I completely miscarried natural the first time, and saw the ultrasounds both other times.


Tomorrow is the start and a new and difficult year long road. It is the day I start my birth control and the end of trying to conceive until next spring. I begin regular blood tests and doctors appointments, waiting outside the waiting room looking at all the healthy pregnant moms with their bellies.


And after all this I wonder if Ron will even want to try again in a year, if we’ll have our baby that we actually try for when times are as good as we’ve taken care and worked so hard to make them. If he’ll again say that we should be happy for our two boys, that he can’t handle another loss, that we’re getting too old, and that the boys were old enough to do for themselves and we could finally start doing things on our own without having to worry about them so much.


I think about all this next year can bring health wise, what if my levels don’t drop the way they should, what if the d/c was incomplete and I have to go in for a repeat, and what if not all the mole was taken out and it metastasizes and becomes cancerous.


I wonder if I will ever enjoy sex the same way again, knowing what it has brought to me.


I think about this summer and how much we have to do with the boys, but also how at the end of the summer when the boys are a couple weeks away from being back in school we should be holding our first angel in our arms, and how that time will come and how I will feel when it does.


The due dates are etched in my mind, August 12, October 21, and January 27, and the dates of forever losing them, December 23, April 1, and May 18. I have a fear of losing them for fear of forgetting the babies I will never hold, and yet were the babies I planned for and yearned for.


I fear for the feelings of guilt, anger, sadness, helplessness, and loss of faith that I hold so close to me now and wonder if it will ever stop. If the tears will ever forever leave my eyes.


Tuesday, May 26, it is my Post Op appointment with my doctor and surgeon, and for once he holds for me a small piece of good news. The pathology on the placental tissue shows no molar, it was just another stroke of bad luck, and I held in me another chronologically unhealthy baby. Instead of the year long wait, we only have to wait 2-3 months, preferably 3. Only a week after our first baby’s due date is the day that we can try again, bitter sweet to know that this will be a journey that has taken us well over a year and have yet to complete.


Many years ago when I was a young mom, living in a new place far from what I had known as home for all my life I had a padre tell me that maybe God’s plan for me was to be a mom, to stay home and take care of my family. Since that time I have lived as a military wife, going through job after job at military base after military base, volunteering when I could, and even leaving home for six months to do something different, I worked outside the home whenever I could trying to find me and the person I felt I was meant to be, to earn my own money, and to contribute to the household in some way. Now here I am 10 years after seeing that Padre, a little bit older, a lot wiser, wanting to settle down, and work from home. Help my kids with school; be there to help with homework without the stresses of the day wearing on me and the tiredness of outside work resting on my shoulders. To make sure they have healthy meals and snacks to eat at the end of the day. I have realized that maybe; just maybe this is God’s plan for me, for us. Or at least it was.


Does God’s plan change as ours do in life? I scream to him and plead to him that I am ready, ready for him to behold me another child.

Another update in progress.......

A Civillian's Perspective - Part 6, Faces Change

FACES CHANGE...AND NOT FROM OLD TO NEW

Yes faces change. Those you thought you got along with, those you thought you were friends with suddenly have become someone you never knew existed. With only weeks and days left in their time in theatre, they have forgotten the reason they came in the first place, “Serving Those Who Serve”. Instead of providing morale and support to the soldiers and those of their own, they bring them down, complaining and becoming frustrated, impatient and over sensitive to those around them.

In training we were told of the amnesia that would set in. We all laughed, but seeing some of the things that go on now, only a month and two months into my tour, I realize it’s not so funny anymore, and there’s a sense of truth about it. Little things we were told in training, mainly regarding working the hours, people are forgetting about and complaining that we work too hard.

In reality, we really don’t work obscene hours. Some days are busier than others. The most we tend to work in a day here for the retail section is 13 hours. If we work an early morning shift, such as Tim Horton’s, which is the same as it would be back home, then we are off by early afternoon with a full day to yourself. I remember working the same shift when I worked Tim Horton’s in Petawawa, in by 5:30, 6:00 and off at 2:00. The afternoons are the same. The hardest shifts are when you are in around 9:00 and off at 6:30, or same with the 11:00 to close shifts, you don’t get to see the sun which can sometimes bring you down a bit. I have worked mostly closing shifts in my time here so far, and I have had plenty of time for socializing. There is no lack of time for getting to know people or hang out with friends for awhile, even if you’re not a night owl.

Those with the busiest and hardest hours are the bakers who are constantly changing shifts and up at all hours of the morning, sometimes as early as 4:00am.

I have lost a couple friends in their last weeks in KAF. I choose not to lay blame it on anyone, but rather now have come to a conclusion that at the time we each did not know how the other was feeling truly inside, whether one was truly torn about leaving friends and their work behind, or didn’t understand where the other was coming from.

Months after leaving KAF and returning I have been able to mend one of those broken fences, and am glad for it. Others I have left behind. It shows maturity in people when one can’t put the past behind them, and with all I have going on in my life, I have no time for it. I am ok to say that as Brian A “Drew” Chalker’s poem goes:

“People always come into your life for a reason, a season and a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, or to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or even spiritually.

They may seem like a godsend too you, and they are. They are there for a reason, you need them to be. Then, without any wrong doing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.

Sometimes they die, Sometimes they just walk away. Sometimes they act up or out and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilleed; their work is done.

The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on.

When people come into your life for a SEASON, it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.

And like Spring turns to Summer and Summer to Fall, the season eventually ends.

LIFETIME relationships teach you a lifetime of lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation.

Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people (anyway); and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas in your life.
The friends we make while overseas in KAF and abroad show that we have friends for different times in our lives, and that even if they are not long lasting, everlasting and life lasting, that they serve a purpose for the time we have them. It doesn’t make them any less special or memorable, any less needed or important'".

I thank all those I met overseas, whether I knew them my whole tour, or if only for a minute, I came out of KAF with something from everyone I met.

Poland and Prague - Our Vacation

POLAND
We thought in coming to Poland it would be much like Russia. We brought our regular four suitcases on my coaxing, wanting to keep everything and everyone’s things organized, Ron wanting to bring two big ones. We after all won’t find many souvenirs I’m sure, after all, the two cultures (Russian and Polish, along with others) are quite similar. In some respects that was true, both have the Matryoshka dolls (as did Prague), and both have the wooden decorated eggs, but Poland had so much more to offer as our wallets were soon to find out.

After two short plane rides, Ron decided that it was too early in the day and too nice out to spend the remainder in our tiny once again European hotel room, God help me with two wild boys and a room that’s barely the size of my bathroom. We called for a cab and headed to a couple of the downtown markets. And that’s where it all began.

I cannot say enough good things about Poland, maybe I was just missing home (Canada) so much and maybe it is that Russia is just very unique, take that as you please. However instead of running on for 10 pages on everything we did, seen, and experienced etc, which I probably could very easily do, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the highlights and say that I felt all our tours were well worth doing and I was very impressed with each of them. I wish we could have spent just one more day there under different circumstances to take the boys to the water park, indoor of course. I’m sure even two days would have found us something to do.

The weather in Poland was gorgeous, absolutely perfect, and nothing to complain about. Not a drop of rain, unlike our trip to Rome in October when all it did was rain. It was sunny and 22-24 degrees each and every day we were there. A nice change from the cold and late start to spring our home in Moscow was providing. Crocuses were in bloom and the buds on the trees were opening. Just looking around you knew that Krakow would be very pretty in the summer. Even on top of the mountain where snow still covered the ski hills in Zakopane did the sun shine warming up at 20 degrees. The locals who swore by the fresh mountain air for good health sunbathed topless in sun chairs perched ontop the white grass while skiers glided down the hills in t-shirts. Never before have I seen such a sight.

In total we spent a full three days in Krakow, taking tour bus from site to site, and one half day which presented to be successful. Our time there was everything but boring. We did our trip to the Carpathian Mountains, stopping along the way to enjoy the sights of an old village of wooden houses, typical to Poland, and managed to obtain our first decent, ok more than decent family picture ever. Our third day in Krakow we went on a heart wrenching tour of a former concentration camp; I can’t even begin to describe the horrors you felt while walking through and looking at some of the possessions that were found. It is beyond me how anyone can deny the horrors and atrocities that took place during that time.

It was unfortunate at the end of this day; we had an even bigger adventure on our hands, trying to find a doctor, half way through our tour of Auschwitz I mentioned to Ron that I thought Anthony had the beginning of pink eye, his one eye was looking a little red, a tiny bit swollen, but the big give away for me was the puss that was beginning to ooze from it. Him being him, and forgetting that I was a mom who dealt with this many times pushed it aside and didn’t take my word for it. I guess there was nothing we could do while there anyway, we were an hour or so from our hotel, so no matter what it would have to wait till we were back in town and at our hotel. Finally back, even Ron could tell that he had the familiar conjunctivitis.

Our taxi driver was our Polish God Sent. He spoke perfect English and was our driver / interpreter going from Pharmacy to Hospital, Hospital to Pediatric Hospital and back to Pharmacy. He stayed with us for three hours, and when we tried to leave him a substantial tip for his time (he was late and missed part of the football game with his fiancée) and patience, he wouldn’t take it. He was not of abnormality there. The people of Poland were friendly and polite our entire stay. Not only were they polite, they stopped for pedestrians crossing the street, and let cars into their lane when driving.

By end of next day, after a morning walking around Krakow visiting the sites, and the Krakow castle, than an afternoon at the famous Salt Mines, Anthony’s eye was beginning to look a tad better.

You may have noticed by now, that I have not once mentioned the food. Usually a highlight in my travels, this was the one area where we were very disappointed in. I’m unsure of whether it was because we were in a tourist area and didn’t get out, but no matter where we went, even the Mexican Restaurant (ya apparently we have a thing with Mexican food no matter where we go) the food was not to our liking. It certainly was not what I had become accustomed to growing up with grandma, and nowhere could I find Potato and Cheese filled perigees (it now comes to my attention from my Polish co-worker, that they may go under a different name, don’t ask me what it is now). Great!!!!!

Poland finished, and what did we bring home from that market, too much. Onto Prague.

PRAGUE

Prague! What can you say about Prague? Prague seems to be the golden city for those who visit, everyone we talk to can’t say enough good things about it, how much they loved it, and how it was their favourite place to visit.

So I guess there’s only one burning question left. Do we agree? Well I can’t answer for Ron or the kids, but I will give my opinion. I will say that we had an amazing evening our second night in the Czech Republic during a medieval dinner and show. With appetizers, a three course meat dish consisting of Pork, Chicken and Beef, plus dessert, we just wanted to yell STOP!!!!!!! NO MORE PLEASE!!!!!!! We each stopped at the first course, thinking that there was pork and chicken on the same plate and not realizing that it was only the pork. Our courses came with baked potato and corn on the cob, although very little sides considering we were at a medieval dinner where meat was the main portion. The show put on was complete with belly dancers yielding their bright smiles and perfectly slender bellies and adorned with snakes and fire. Sword fights par took right in front of our eyes, as folk music played live for all performances. There was even a little dwarf who barely made the same height as our five year old. Starting just after 7:00pm, we didn’t get out of the restaurant until after 11:00; Anthony fell fast asleep on my legs soon after 10:00. It was a long day for everyone.

No matter where we ate in Prague we were pleased with the portions and quality of food. We found that dumplings are different depending where you go in the world. My grandma and I guess apparently England makes soft dumplings, where as Czech dumplings are like bread, meant for dipping in gravy or the sauce that covers your meat, usually pork in the Czech Republic. Either of course is good. As you can see, the food was good, and therefore this is where I started off with, much unlike Poland, now onto Prague.

For the city itself, I didn’t find Prague had a lot to offer. Maybe it had to do with our tours being more political and less historical (if that makes any sense), it could also be that our tours didn’t allow enough time for pictures, passing by one monument or building one after another., or maybe it could be there just wasn’t a lot to offer. Everything that was worth seeing was very close to each other, mostly in the town square, and could easily been seen within walking distance in a relatively short time. Our tours turned up pointless in the end as we didn’t stop to listen to guides and what they were saying, we were there for the pictures, and anything we wanted to learn about could easily be read in any tourist book.

Day 1 in Prague consisted of a very long six hour walking, boat, Trolley tour of the city, the river and the Prague Castle; which isn’t a castle at all, but a church. Too bad it started raining cats and dogs as we headed over Charles Bridge, one of the main attractions I was looking forward to, no pictures there. Later on in the evening consisted of another tour, thankfully only an hour long which was attached with the now famous medieval dinner.

We are fortunate to have such wonderful kids. Robbie, at 13 soaks up all the information, and Anthony, who is only 5 really was the best a child his age could be while on such a non child friendly vacation until we hit the airport, must have been something to do with all the roaring engines of the airplanes.

We had booked a tour for our second day, but after such a crazy and busy first day, we decided that we were going to sleep in late and do our won thing. We had brunch at TGIF’s, and took the boys to the top of the hill on the TRAM to a mirror maze thinking how great it would be. Not so much, we were out of the maze within 10 minutes. We took advantage of the nice weather and sat in the park for awhile eating ice cream and drinking some cold drinks.

After spending some time in the hotel room, the boys playing with some puppets / marionettes we had bought them, and me taking a nap J we caught some dinner at the square where we learned the only difference between a hot dog and a sausage is the bun. Now that I’ve snuck food in again, I can enlighten you with the variety of treats we enjoyed, from rolled baked dough with sugar, churos (which is a Spanish dessert), and a very similar version of a beaver tail. I should say we did not eat these all at once, but over the course of the two days we were there.
Our final outing in Prague was the ghost tour, I don’t know what we were thinking when we booked it, or what we were expecting, but it was an hour and a half and more money well wasted. Robbie enjoyed it; I guess that’s all that counts really.

Day 3: HOME, not too early, but thankfully this “vacation” is over. We’re all tired, cranky, and done with travelling for a bit, well at least I am. Ron has a business trip a little over a week after Prague, to Poland, Warsaw this time, and another business trip back home, to Canada a couple weeks after he returns from the first.

All we can think of right now though is getting to sleep in the next day. If only it were that easy. At 6:30 am our neighbours dogs were outside barking up a storm, quick hand me a gun.

Now after being back for a week my loving husband (I hope jokingly) asked me where our next vacation is going to be? I don’t know where he’s going, but I know I’m staying put, at least for now. Summers in Moscow are supposed to be quiet and nice. I think it’ll be a good time to explore what are new home for the next couple years has to offer.

Part 5 -Finally in KAF

Stepping off the bus that transported us from the plane to New Canada house was an experience I don’t wish on anyone, no one that I had gotten to know in Kingston was there to greet me. The greeting I received was less then thrilling. Thank goodness I soon met friendly faces who gave me greetings only a friend could offer. There are soon new people coming in, and although I’m not best friends with them, they deserve a reception that says welcome. This is their first impression for the next six months, and one that will be carried with them forever.
I don’t wish a first week in KAF on anyone. Talk about confusing, the camp is thirteen kilometres and trying to get to know everywhere you have to be is confusing in itself. You have the tent lines, the boardwalk which houses three of the shops that we work at, the American PX, a great place to go for things you may need or just some snacks that we don’t carry, Role 3, where you go when you’re sick; and you will be by your second week here, the gym, and MWR; everyone’s favourite hangout spot, as you will soon read below. Really, everything is close by; everything is within a 15 or 20 minute walk from point A to point B. The longest walk is from our tent lines to New Canada House. The only time you’ll walk longer here for something you really need is when you walk the flight line. The flight line is an 11 km walk, it takes anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours to complete. Unfortunately nothing happened like was said on training. I got here and had a tour my first day, got drove around or walked around my first day and after that, I was on my own. I learned my way around camp by trial and error. Taking wrong turns, exploring side streets, and asking everyone around me which way this was or which way that was.

My first night in camp was spent in the ever so wonderful BATS (Big Ass Tents). Basically this is a full size military tent, the ones we stayed in were partitioned off by cement walls. Not so lucky is the fact that three women had to stay in one room that was approximately 7 feet by 10 feet. Our room housed two bunk beds. I being either the most flexible, and the most unlucky got the top bunk. Now this wasn’t just an ordinary bunk bed, the top bunk was a good 6 feet in the air, inches from the ceiling and had no ladder. We did end up finding a small wooden contraption though; which resembled a ladder, but could only reach so high. I ended up somehow pulling myself over, but at the same time banging the inside of my legs every time I climbed up or down the bed. In the one night that I was there, my inner thighs were so bruised I was happy I wasn’t home for my husband to see the damage, because he surely would have wondered what was going on.

My first week in KAF I wanted to cry my feet hurt so badly, and I begged that the whole tour wouldn’t be so bad and I would get accustomed to it. The second week wasn’t as bad, but it still hurt like hell. By the third week, I was starting to settle in easily. My feet weren’t hurting as much, and I knew my way around the place just fine.

Seven weeks into my adventure I am happy, happier then I have ever been in my life. I can say with all honesty that THIS is what I am supposed to be doing at this time in my life. I have met so many amazing people. Many of my new friends have been Americans. They find it funny that we say "eh" all the time and say that we pronounce our “O” differently. I find it funny that they say "y'all" all the time. All kidding aside, before saying goodbye to our newest friends, we spend long hours in the local posh coffee shop drinking lattes and mochas, smoothies and good old bottled water, you drink a lot of that here. We took KAF tour bus rides till the wee hours of the morning, talking, laughing joking and eating pizza. By the end of my tour I have come out of KAF sounding Camerican, half American, half Canadian. I say, eh after all my sentences, aboot instead of about, yet oddly enough I have an accent unlike that of a Canadian, but rather like someone from the south, and I wear sweaters in temperatures Canadians should normally find warm, something that even now most people find odd.

Nearly two months into my tour, I don’t understand why those that are almost leaving are so irritable, and nasty. Nothing here should come as a surprise to anyone. We were told what our work hours were going to be like well before we got here, and really in all honesty, it’s not that bad. We work normal hours that one would work while in Canada, most of the time anyways. I should count myself lucky that I met a great friend that will be leaving a week after me. We have decided that we will keep each other in check and that if one of starts to get grumpy that we’ll let each other know. More to come on this since not both of us managed to keep our promise.

It’s the beginning of my ninth week and I think it’s finally hitting me, the tiredness, the long hours, the lack of sleep, and the nonstop work days. I swear some days it feels as if I’ve been hit been hit by a mack truck. Today was the last day of days at TH and I’m glad it’s over. The early mornings can only be done in short stints for me, I’m not a morning person, although somehow I’ve managed a smile to everyone even before I’ve had my time to wake up. I loved getting off early and being to have the rest of the day to sit in the sun, have a nap, attend the events around base, or just hang out with friends, but the early morning shifts seem to go by so slow even though you’re crazy busy for all but an hour and a half of the last part of your shift. The clock seems to move so slowly. I’m tired, and exhausted, but I’m still keeping my sanity, my cheerfulness about me, and I still have a smile on my face.

I think I like the ice cream shop. Wait, did I just say that? I’ve only been there how many weeks already. Seriously, the time goes by so quick, and even though you don’t get off till closing you don’t start until two; you can sleep in, go to the gym, run errands such as I did many times, and it was a good time to get my eyebrows waxed, go to the market, and catch up on emails. You get all the benefits of a late start, but you can still make most of the late night events that go on. Two days into my new shift I’m feeling rested again. I’ve slept in till 11:00 and 10:00 am the past two days. I have every intention of getting up 8:00am to hit the gym early, but I can’t make any promises. That is always my plan, but as everyone knows, things don’t always go according to plan. I missed it this morning, and many mornings after, but made up for it by going for a run in the evening after work. Sometimes that’s just the way it is.

A Civillians Perspective in Afghanistan - Part 4

MY ARRIVAL IN “HOST NATION”:

I can remember saying to myself and even to a couple of girls that were with me after stepping off the plane in “Host Nation” as we call it so the location is kept private and classified, "what the &^%$ am I doing here, why did I do this, and what the hell am I thinking", I think I said this many time in my six months. I was scared; nervous to even recite the speech that had been prepared for us for the passport control officer at the airport as to why I was there. I was scared I was going to screw it up. I couldn't have been more terrified of anything in my life then I was at that moment. Stepping into the terminal at “HN” was a sudden shock of reality that we had stepped into a whole other world.

Just thinking of all that was to come, all the possibilities, and surely what the next six months was to bring was beginning to become too overwhelming.

The two days in the "host nation", were just the beginning of our adventures, but it sure was some beginning. Walking down the main street already brought very obvious cultural differences when a man, who shall remain classified stopped me dead centre on the sidewalk and looked me up and down for what felt like forever. I was wearing what I deemed appropriate, my skin for the most part was covered, yet I was still dressed for the hot and humid weather that our host city employs. I wore short sleeves, capri pants, you know the pants that go to your knees, and flip flops, apparently not enough. I guess I was lucky when later a bird decided to leave his dinner on my pants, yes he flew by and pooped on me; apparently this in Newfoundland means that I will be lucky. I wonder for how long, and when does the luck run out?

I was finally seeing things from a different perspective then a typical Canadian. I was seeing a different part of the world that some people could only wish to see, and different parts that I didn’t care to see. I could now begin to relate to some of things that my husband spoke of so often after returning home. It was very different then what I was use to. Downtown was a big market, every street corner there was something different to see and buy, spices, jewellery and gold, blankets, trinkets, cookware. Can anyone say Prada, Gucci, Versace, Dolce and Gabbana, every corner you went to someone was trying to make a deal with you, calling you “my friend”, asking where you were from? Aside from the peddlers, the country in itself was quite interesting and even beautiful in a different way. The architecture was stunning and I got some great shots on the buildings, and downtown core. Aside from downtown, which like the rest of the country employs people from other nations trying to make a quick buck, the rest of the city was booming in infrastructure, creating new housing, tourist developments, and theme parks which were going up all over the place. When at the end of my six months I went back it was unrecognizable. It looked more like Canadian Mississauga then where we actually were.

Mirage itself was good for the first day. We signed in, got all our PPE and equipment that we’d need for the next six months. Our downtown experience was fun, we had our own personal tour guide and met a few new faces, ones I won’t remember next time we go through, and ones that probably won’t be there, but still an experience.

The food in Mirage was amazing. We were told in training that Mirage eats well, and did they ever. Fresh fruits of every kind, and not just typical oranges and apples and pears, every tropical fruit you can imagine; mangos, star fruit, and fruits I don’t even know the names of. They had Baskin Robbins ice cream, and the yogurt there, now there was something special about the yogurt, it was like none I had ever tasted before.

Mirage was only a one night stay on the way the first time, in total I stayed there four days. The camp itself was small, aside from their five star gym, and a basketball court there was nothing to do. There was nowhere to go if you needed to be alone, than again after six months in the sandbox, there weren’t many options there either. Everywhere you went someone knew you. You housed with 1-3 other ladies, so taking solace in the comfort of your room was out of the question, at least in KAF your space in the tent was yours, the blankets that hung around gave what little solace there was. Leaving the camp in CM was out of the question as there were strict curfews, and buses ran on a tight schedule throughout the day, in KAF you could take the KAF tour bus, but that went nowhere besides around the camp constantly.

Cairo, Egypt

It is the 15th of February, late in the morning, we’re on our second day in Egypt, just come back from a satisfying breakfast, Ron has got his feet up Egyptian style letting his food digest, the kids are watching ENGLISH TV, and here I am, trying to get my creative juices flowing. If only the balcony was a little warmer, I would be in heaven, but alas tomorrow we will be leaving for another short flight to Sharm El Sheikh, I’ll be sitting poolside only seconds from the Dead Sea, laptop in hand and will let my fingers do the talking for me.

We arrived in Cairo on Friday on a very uneventful and one of the best plane rides I have taken, I can almost say there was no turbulence, just a couple small bumps, the food was...well airplane food, but all in all not terrible, when we arrived, happily so did all our luggage and without waiting an hour for it, the drive to the hotel was uneventful and we settled in well, but wait a minute. Did we just break all the stereotypes of bad luck and Friday the 13th? Yes that’s right, we were travelling on the most unlucky day of the year, and yet somehow it seems as if everything was going right, and not just right, but near perfect. That is until we got the kids in the room and then all hell broke loose. Was it a full moon? Overtired, hungry, and excited makes for a very bad combination. All I wanted to do was sleep, and they wanted to do was explore the hotel room ...make that apartment we were staying at; it certainly did make up for the broom closet we stayed at in Rome. It was nearing on midnight, and food was on the agenda. After waiting a good 45 minutes for 4 sandwiches with 4 fries we learned that even in a busy tourist area, there is no pork, a club sandwich here consists of roast beef, chicken and egg, an interesting but still good combination. Nearly 1:00am, it was time for bed, up early for a very busy day exploring with our tour guide. We all let our dreams flee to Mr. Sandman in no time.

Our first full day in Egypt was just that FULL. It started with breakfast at 7:30 am after a shower, the museum where you learn to appreciate how intelligent, gifted, and artistic the Egyptians were, and a tour that could have lasted two days to view all the pieces that were adorned, a stop at the Papyrus museum to pick up some pictures, it was finally time to stop for lunch. On the menu was what I was meant to be eating, what I had come to Egypt for. Digging deep into my Lebanese roots were traditional appetizers from both Lebanon and Egypt, my meal, fresh fish from the Nile. All you could eat, and all natural foods. Oh and did I mention the view of the pyramids we had right outside our window. After our lunch break, it was time to get back on the road again, two minutes down the road we arrived at the main reason for our trip in the first place, and one of Ron’s dream. There are 119 pyramids in Egypt, all located along the Nile River and our journey had started with the biggest of them all, a wonder that even I was astonished with, as one could not even fathom the size, it was bigger and stood taller than one could ever imagine. Egypt was not one of my dreams, seeing the pyramids was not something I had wanted to do in my lifetime, but not doing so would be something I would have missed out on. Not as it was many years ago, the roads leading up to another stack of this worlds large wonders was paved, we hopped in our tour guides van and off we went to discover what the inside of what one of these marvels look liked. The climb down was steep, dark, and you could only imagine how one could work let alone build such a stucture.

I wanted the kids to experience everything they could while in this vast dessert land, including riding a camel with the pyramids in the background, little did I know that Ron was negotiating for all of us, myself included to hop onto one of these creatures who didn’t seem the most friendly. So $100, 4 people, 3 camels, pyramids in the background, a half hour later and with much screaming and pleading from me; I swear I thought the camel was going to drop me and Anthony on our ass; we had our own PRICELESS moment.

I almost wish I could say our day was finished at this point, but it still included a trip to the Egyptian cotton store, where I managed to persuade Ron that Wal-Mart brand really was good enough, a trip to the Sphinx, and a long drive to the market, or Souk, much like the one I attended while in Dubai. A half hour there though was not nearly enough, and I’m walking away from Cairo with nothing but a small set of perfume bottles, that I’m not really sure why I bought other than; they’re pretty. It is not until the next day that I am informed that there is an even better market at the resort that we’ll be staying at.

So sometimes plans just don’t go as planned as was the case our second day in Cairo. Our plan was to wake up, eat breakfast and go for a walk along the Nile, find somewhere to eat lunch, finish our day at the pool once it warmed up, and head to the Hard Rock for dinner. We made it about as far as just down the street from our hotel, barely along the Nile walk path when our adventurous plans for the day were foiled. Now I’ll try and be as diplomatic as possible, which is really hard for me to do at this point as I’m beginning to see certain things through eyes of experience rather than being naive, as I usually am, someone who’s never been anywhere before.

We quickly realized again that we were tourists, out of place. Even in a tourist trap that houses the pyramids, we are still in a Muslim country where they don’t welcome women aren’t fully covered, regardless of how little you’re showing. Men and women both stare, mock, laugh, and even occasionally whistle when a “westerner”, or more specifically a “western woman” walks by in capri’s and a t-shirt. Fine, I don’t really care so much about it, they’re not use to it and have their own beliefs; although my feelings are that we all have our differences and beliefs and I’m accepting of differences in other people and their cultures. The old saying goes if we were all the same it would be a pretty boring world, although it seems as always there is always someone who thinks they are better than everyone else. As this has turned into a little rant I will turn it back to our foiled plans, our walk ended early not because of the rudeness (opps there I go again) and indifference to some, but rather because of a few hood rats who were so closely eyeing Robbie’s camera and kept following us. Every time we stopped, they stopped, until Ron finally gave them a clear look that we knew what they were up to and they moved on, unfortunately at this point our plans were ruined, Ron was irritated, and we headed back to our hotel where we took a early and very cold dip in the pool. We thought we could escape some of the culture at lunch in the hotel, as breakfast the last couple days had been quiet, I put on a skort, and we headed down to the hotel restaurant only to find it filled to capacity minus one table with ...well let’s say less than enthusiastic opinions of western culture. Our time in Egypt although a learning experience with arts and architecture was less than impressive or comfortable in any other way. If a visit to the pyramids for one is a must, than one day is all you need.

Cairo had nothing to offer, pretty at night as the mosques were lit and Nile adorned with lighted boats, but once the sun rose, and the smog lifted it was dirty and dreary, the only good things I could personally find was the natural and fresh foods and the fact that tourists were well taken care of in all the major attractions as there are tourist police upon all entries and all the hotels have police and security with dogs, all cars are sniffed before being allowed to go past the gate, and all people must walk through metal detectors before entering the hotel.
Alas we still have a full week at the resort, more to come on that later.

A Poem

Helpless, so far from home

I feel so alone, no one understands

Wondering, where did I go wrong?

I fell for lies, broken promises of a new chance

I’m too tired to start all over again

To tired to make it work

Fallen out of love so long ago

Tried to fool myself, but even I can’t lie anymore

I’m falling again, falling into empty space

That black hole once void is filling again

I can’t hold on, can’t get control

I’m falling deeper, falling harder

Slowly I fill my chest crushing beneath me

I can’t breathe, my heart beats faster

Tears fall, tears fall harder

How long till I hit the bottom again? Only time will tell

Will there be someone there to catch me or will I land alone?