Medications are fun. Not that I enjoy them, it's just interesting to see what they do to your body and how your body reacts to them after you've been taking them for awhile.
For instance, this week, lethargy couldn't begin to describe how I feel (or rather, felt.) I was actually somewhere between the living dead and Lurch from the Addams family. On top of the Seroquel and Klonapin, I take Tylenol p.m. to help me sleep. Unfortunately, although I was sleeping, it was a restless sleep that was fraught with uncomfortable tossing and turning, vivid dreams, and waking up exhausted.
One of my doctors changed my meds (just a little). He took away the Tylenol PM and replaced it with Atarax. I woke up this morning at the first bell, which is when Carren's alarm off. I didn't exactly leap out of bed, but I did manage to tell Carren to lie on her stomach so I could give her a back rub and a good scratch. After smashing the snooze alarm four or five times, Princess (otherwise known as Adelle, our two-year-old) came in and instantly turned whiny. Not only is she inconsolable when she's like this, pulling her into bed doesn't calm her down, it actually wakes her up. So much for Carren and I stealing a little "cuddle time" in the morning. Maybe I should start sharing my meds with the kids.
But the best part is that I am not walking around like a zombie. Here it is twenty after seven, I'm wide awake, already had my coffee, fed the kids, took my meds, and sitting down to write while watching Power Rangers ™ with the boy before kindergarten. Almost like being a parent again, isn't it?
I received some bad news last week, however (not bad exactly, but upsetting for me.) Tomorrow, I will change command. A new Captain will take command of the Fighting Aces. My XO will stand in for me during the ceremony, obviously. I wish the new commander well, as he takes on what is arguably the best company in the Battalion. I know the boys will take care of him, and he will do his best to take care of them. Professionally, for the next six months or so I will be more like driftwood. No real job other than healing and surgery and healing and surgery... lather, rinse, repeat. I am however, looking for a job (believe it or not, in the Army you still have to do that, or you end up flying a C-130 full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong.) What I want to do is return to ROTC, and teach, coach and mentor cadets to become platoon leaders. Even more, I want a return to my alma mater and train cadets there. At this point in my career it will also give me time to heal, get my masters, spend time with my family, let Carren that her masters, and attend the occasional Steelers game. Like I said, it's a dream job. I won't necessarily get it... at my alma mater or otherwise. I'll go were the Army sends me.
Next Wednesday, I return to Walter Reed for more surgery. This time, my arm to my stomach to create a flap of skin that will replace the skin graft on my forearm. I will end up with my arm sewn to my stomach for over a month. I will also be in the hospital the whole time. Joy of joys. The good news is that once they're finished instead of a huge ugly skin graft on the forearm, I'll have normal looking skin surrounded by scars. Then, once the skin has healed, they will cut it back open, and stick a nerve in their from my leg. The nerve should take anywhere from six to eight months to grow through my hand (replacing my median nerve), and that I should regain some sensation.