So, earlier, I announced something important. And, as I have mentioned a time or two (or six), we’re awaiting word from above about S’s Army future.
In case you were wondering: No. Nothing. They hate me and want me to die a slow and agonizing death. I’m trying to just ready myself for disappointment, but that stupid little glimmer of hope is getting in my way. Ass.
Anyway, that whole… thing… leaves a lot up in the air. We could be here… Or we could be anywhere. We could have a move in a few months (pregnant. With a 2-year-old. Awesome). We could be stuck here, alone, and right before the holidays. We could be switching all medical care right in the middle or a pregnancy. Or I could be here, having a baby at a MTF (military treatment facility aka hospital) that’s slow to catch up with the times.
It’s nerve-wracking. The what-ifs alone are driving me bat-shit-crazy.
For example, I went in for a NT-scan on Friday, which is an ultrasound that screens for chromosomal abnormalities. It’s done in conjunction with two blood tests: one in the first trimester at 12-14 weeks, and another in the second trimester around 16 weeks. When I made the appointment, I was asked if there was any chance my husband would be PCSing (permanent change of station) before I was able to do the second set of blood draws. When I said “well, I don’t know, we’re waiting to find out,” they explained that if we left, they would be unable to complete the screening, and the information they did have would be useless. I was hoping for some news before I went in on Friday, in which case they would have given me a different test that is normally saved for high risk pregnancies.
Well, let’s hope that if S gets orders, he isn’t expected to report before the first week of June (oh, yeah, that’s when my anatomy scan is scheduled–I don’t even want to try to move and reschedule that somewhere else). Actually, let’s hope he does get orders. I want out. Out. Out. Out. I’ll stay behind and live in a hotel if only I can leave this hell hole!
