by Mollie Gross
I did get good at massaging her hands, arms, and lower back, but I just couldn’t hold her up.
The class was an intense time for Beenie and me as we prepared for Baby Grace’s arrival. I knew I could not take the place of her daddy, but I wanted to do whatever I could to make the situation as comfortable as possible for Beenie. I wanted to help soothe her fears and help her get through the newness of it all.
It was frightening enough to sit at home while our husbands were fighting a war, but it was an extreme challenge to be pregnant with your first child during this time. I could only imagine the anxiety Beenie was experiencing.
Looking back, we joke that Grace was my first baby, too. I really do feel a special bond with this little girl.
CELEBRATING FERTILITY
Beenie was ready for a baby shower and I wanted to give her one she would never forget. I knew it was hard enough to have your first baby far away from family, but she was going through it without her husband.
I determined to make it a fun, all-girl event. We weren’t going to have a typical baby shower. It was going to be a celebration of fertility! In fact, it turned into a bachelorette-style party. I bought a fake mustache and cowboy hat and played her husband for the day, which made Lloyd jealous. What a nut!
We didn’t plan any of these boring typical shower games, like measure the baby bump. NO, my shower games were R-rated and much more fun!
The first game required that we each write down the myths we had heard on how not to get pregnant. Then I collected them up and read them out loud. Was it a surprise that the wife with the most kids thought doing jumping jacks after sex would prevent pregnancy?
Then we wrote down ways to get pregnant, or how to insure the sex of your child. These answers were even funnier. You would not believe the bizarre positions some wives got themselves into just to secure a “junior.”
My favorite game was the one that required the wives to write down the wildest place they had made whoopee with their spouse.
One wife piped up and said, “Does it have to be with your husband? I have a real good one!”
After all the ladies had written down their escapades, I read them out loud and we had to guess who had done what and where. I had never heard such stories. I thought I was creative, but clearly I had a few things to learn. I won’t reveal who did what, but here are some of the best answers:
— a park bench in Charleston
— a dressing room at the Bon Marché
— a tanning bed (while it was on! Imagine those tan lines …)
— a roof top during a party, in the winter!
You knew Marines were wild, but now you know it takes two to tango.
BABY GRACE
Grace is now and always has been my special girl. Since I had been screaming at her through Beenie’s stomach from the time she was the size of a peanut, we had gotten to know each other pretty well. I credit her great sense of humor to all the laughing her mom and I did during the pregnancy.
I was there for the labor and delivery and had the great honor of being one of the first people to see this darling girl enter the world.
She was a blessing from the moment she arrived. I enjoyed holding her and changing her diapers, being with her and Beenie in the hospital those first days, and then seeing her at home.
I had my guestroom fixed up for Grace, and even bought a high chair and crib for her to use when she and Beenie came for weekend visits.
Everyone in the neighborhood had such a great time visiting with Baby Grace. I was especially happy to have the sweet little girl in my home.
Some mornings I would hear Grace waking up and I would go in and sit in the bed with Beenie while she fed Grace. Sometimes the three of us would fall asleep together. She helped us get through a tumultuous time.
UGLY BABY
There was a surge of births around the beginning of the war. In fact, I can think of at least five other births in addition to little Grace.
I had planned to make the long drive to visit Beenie and Grace, but when I arrived, there was another mother with her newborn girl visiting. I know I am biased, but Grace was a precious, beautiful baby. She had this head of dark hair—more than my pitiful mullet had at that time.
This other woman’s baby wasn’t so lucky. How do I say it?
She had an ugly baby.
Bald, cross-eyed, white pasty skin—a face you couldn’t say was “cute as a button.”
The problem started when we sat around enjoying lemonade. The moms started doing what mothers do. They were watching and commenting on the antics of their children. “Oh look at her. Isn’t she so cute? Isn’t she petite? She is so darling and feminine. She is so beautiful.”
The two went back and forth like a ping pong match.
Lies, all lies! I was trying so hard to keep my mouth shut.
The comments kept coming, faster and faster. Then they stopped and looked at me like, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
I couldn’t say a word. My mother taught me if you can’t say anything nice you don’t say anything at all. Although I had never listened to her, I felt that in the presence of this defenseless child I just had to follow mom’s orders.
I panicked, stood up, and announced, “I have to go.”
It was an uncomfortable moment. I had been there less than thirty minutes and had driven an hour to get there!
When Beenie walked me to the door, I told her, “I just can’t take it. The baby is so ugly. I have nothing to say. I just can’t be a part of that.” And then I left.
Many of you may not be impressed with me right now. If only I could include a photo of this child, then you could understand. But I can’t because my mother would be ashamed of me. Besides, I’d hurt that child’s feelings as well as upset her mother.
I will report that I have seen recent photos of the child. She has overcome her initial awkwardness and appears quite normal.
As I look back, I realize that my reaction to this little girl was really about the ugliness in myself. In my defense I will say this: deployment does crazy things to your toleration level. Even the simplest things can send you over the edge.
That was one day when I just could not deal.
GET ME OUT OF HERE!
You can get a little cage crazy during a deployment, especially if you live on base. I strongly recommend taking at least one trip.
But it will be bittersweet. You’ll be relieved to get away from the drama. Then you’ll be on vacation, far from base, and find yourself thinking, “I miss my security blanket.”
Trust me, ladies, this vacation is vital. Just go!
Make sure you plan where you are going and consider whether it will be comfortable for you. In fact, plan to visit with family or friends who will be sensitive to your situation and your moods.
You might even consider visiting another military wife at another base. Or better yet, take a road trip with another military wife to somewhere fun! At least you’ll have someone with you who understands you. Best of all, you’ll be in a different environment.
During Jon’s first deployment, my stress level was on high alert. We had been married for one year and I was far away from my family.
The war had broken out. I was a birthing coach for my best friend who was about eight months “prego.” My other best friend, Erin, was marrying her Marine and I was flying east to be in their wedding.
I was afraid to leave the base. What if something happened to Jon? What if a terrorist attacked the base while I was gone? (Remember WMDs were an issue then.) What if the baby (Grace) arrived early? So many worries plagued me.
But I knew I had to surrender my worries to God in order to stop the insanity.
In the end, it was one of the greatest and most amazing trips I had ever taken. This vacation was needed and well-deserved. Erin, her family, and in-laws made me feel so comfortable.
And yet, I still got scared. A few times I had to excuse myself so I could cry in private.
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bsp; Still, we laughed, shopped, celebrated her wedding, and had so much fun together. It was the perfect distraction at a time when I needed it the most.
I am so glad that even with the war raging I had the guts to go. Jon took comfort in knowing I was with good people who loved me and were taking care of me during a stressful time.
After the wedding I went on to Columbia, South Carolina, to see my girlfriend Holly, who was in medical school, and her fiancé Geno. I had known them for more than six years. It was extremely hot in the South during my visit.
Someone got the bright idea to buy fireworks from one of those reputable stands on the side of the road. We thought it would be good entertainment when it cooled off that night. We bought tanks, snakes, cherry bombs, and bottle rockets.
We were just a bunch of regular Southern good ole boys planning a night of drinkin’ and setting off fireworks in a parking lot.
Keep in mind that Holly’s fiancé was in his late 30s, and that she was studying to become a doctor. And there I was, married to the Marine officer. You would think that collectively we had some sense, right? After all, there is not much to do at night in the South.
Around 9:30 p.m. we cut through some trees behind their apartment complex and headed for an abandoned lot where truckers park their rigs. We started by setting off a few sparklers and tiny ground fireworks.
A short time later a couple of big fireworks went off in the distance, followed by sirens a few minutes later. We figured someone had just gotten busted for setting off illegal fireworks. The police were out in full force that night, so we knew we had to be on high alert.
We set off a big one. It was a beauty! The rocket was huge and exploded with bright colors high in the night sky.
When we heard sirens again, we put our heads together to guess which direction the sirens were coming from, and whether we had time to set off one more. We decided to go for it.
Holly and I stood about fifty feet away from the clearing ready to make a break for it, if necessary. Poor Geno was alone out there with a lighter, a bottle, and the last rocket.
The rocket was just starting its ride into the sky when huge high beams of light flooded us, followed by sirens and flashing red lights on top of a squad car. Holly and I simultaneously screamed, “Cops!”
Then we did what any two college-educated, mature ladies would do. We hauled ass toward the woods.
The car came in so fast I swear the bumper grazed my ankles. We didn’t stop to look back, but kept running.
A cop jumped out of the car and yelled “Stop!” on his bullhorn. It was so loud my ears hurt. Somehow our brains took over and we did as ordered.
“I don’t know what you two are thinking running from the pole-lease (police)!” he exclaimed.
We looked at one another and shrugged. Geno was laughing at us while he stood in the dark parking lot.
That’s when it dawned on me that it was the middle of the night and I was standing in an abandoned parking lot with no ID. I had been drinking and was setting off illegal fireworks. I was sure I was going to be arrested.
I remember thinking how I was going to explain to the Red Cross that I needed a wire transfer from Iraq for bail money to get out of jail. As I stood there contemplating my husband’s reaction to my imminent arrest, the officer and Geno had a conversation and it was agreed that he would not press charges if we would pack up and head straight home. I thought my heart was going to stop as I exhaled a giant sigh of relief.
Thank goodness I didn’t have another disastrous event to report to Jon. I was afraid he would think I couldn’t be left unsupervised.
PROZAC NATION: DEL MAR HOUSING
I want to talk candidly about the reality of depression and anxiety that military wives can experience.
My goal is to make you laugh or at least smile, and that’s why I’m focusing on the humor of the situation. Maybe if I tell you what I went through, you can avoid falling into the same pits I did.
It took me a while, but I finally talked to a doctor about my anxiety attacks.
I remembered becoming frustrated trying to talk to a twenty-eight-yearold naval doctor who sat there reading off a checklist. Was he checking to see if I was abusing alcohol or being destructive?
He put me on one bizarre mind-altering pill after another. Nothing worked. In fact, they all had intolerable side effects. Sometimes I felt things moving inside my head. My personality changed depending upon the medicine I was on.
I tried to do “talk therapy” with a naval psychologist. That was a blast. After an hour of convincing her my husband did not beat me, my parents did not beat me, no one had raped me, and I was not out drinking and having sex every night, I walked out.
I wished she could have focused on the condition at hand. After all, I was twenty-four, newly married, separated from my family, and my husband was in a war zone. I couldn’t sleep or eat. You’d think that was the reason I was upset and feeling unbalanced.
If you have trouble finding help like I did, don’t give up.
I stopped going to therapy because I thought no one was listening. I also stopped taking the pills.
Instead, I turned back to prayer, watched Joel Osteen, and listened to Dr. Laura.
I have since found an excellent talk therapist who has done wonders for my attitude and perspective. I’m disappointed that I didn’t find one to help me at that point in time, although I now know I shouldn’t have given up so quickly.
Do as I say, not as I did. If you are having problems, don’t give up until you find what works.
Prayer is great and so is positive thinking, but you can’t ignore your physical body and the effects of anxiety and depression. I was having racing, unrealistic thoughts. I worried about everything, constantly.
When my thoughts were under control, the physical problems—panic attacks and teeth grinding—started.
It was the dentist on base who first listened to me and made me feel comfortable. During a routine teeth cleaning I mentioned my jaw was killing me. He looked closer and saw I had been grinding my teeth down.
“I can fit you with a $600 mouth guard,” he answered. “Or like all the military wives I have seen this deployment, I can give you a prescription for Xanax to help you calm down.”
Finally, someone had gotten it. He didn’t look at me like I was someone who wanted to abuse drugs. He didn’t treat me like I was about to kill myself. He was older and had been a dentist for the Navy for more than 20 years. He recognized what was really going on.
We talked about panic attacks and the physical signs of anxiety.
I didn’t have to take Xanax every day. It didn’t permanently change my thought process or thinking. The medication simply dealt with the physical side effects.
Who knew a dentist would be the one to figure it out?
Ladies, you know your body better than anyone else. Do the research. Get to know your symptoms. Be honest with yourself, and don’t give up.
If one doctor won’t listen, go see another. If one drug doesn’t help, ask your doctor to let you try another. And don’t rule out talk therapy.
At some time in her “career,” a member of the Silent Ranks needs to confide in a professional. It is a necessary catharsis.
I recommend combining talk therapy with exercise and eating right. All factor into your well-being.
Also, let it be said that not every person needs to be put “on something” just because she’s going through a deployment. Don’t let anyone—friend, family, or doctor—convince you to take meds if you really think you are OK.
It’s not a requirement. Just be honest with yourself.
Don’t be in a hurry to throw your pills away when your husband returns, either. Consult your doctor first. Many SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor) drugs have to be “weaned” from your system.
It’s a step in the right direction to know you are ready to get off the antidepression or anti-anxiety drugs, but it is a process and you need to do it right.
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Now that the lecture is over, I want to share some of my not-so-fine moments while I was getting used to being on Xanax. This drug is pretty powerful.
If you take it at the beginning of a panic attack, it will stop the dizziness, tightening of breath, blurred vision, and racing heartbeat.
If you take a Xanax and you do not have a panic attack starting, you will become very loopy. I had delayed reactions, slurred words, and didn’t care about anything else in the world.
It also helps to have a full stomach when you take Xanax, especially when you first start taking it. I discovered this the hard way.
The first time I took a Xanax I didn’t know you’re not supposed to drive, and that you should take it with food.
I was starving, so I took one and headed for the commissary (which makes sense if you think about it). By the time it hit me, I was standing in the checkout line. I don’t know what came over me, but I went nuts.
I am normally very independent, but when the young and very muscular bag boy offered to carry my groceries out for me, I accepted his offer. (Maybe he offered to carry my bags because I was swaying.) I babbled non-stop all the way to the car.
Then I started harassing him.
As the poor boy loaded the bags into my car, I started to compliment him on his large muscles and how chivalrous he was to be helping out a poor lonely wife who was in need of a man.
He eyed me now and again as he began sweating and loading the bags into the car as fast as he could. I swear when I tipped him, I tucked it into the front of his shirt. He actually ran from me.
I am probably now on the list of “women who offend teenage baggers.” I’m glad they didn’t have a union, or a grievance against me would have been filed.
On another day, I had been freaking out pretty bad and decided to take a Xanax and go to sleep. I don’t know what happened next, but a few hours later I “woke up” and found myself driving my go-cart up and down the street, weaving in and out of my lane.
Michelle came home to find me with eyes glazed over and drool on my face. I didn’t even hear her yelling at me.