Light meets the Dark

If your just joining the story, you may want to go back and read the past post.

Leaving Ryley at Mentis was one of the most painful things I have done as a mother. As he was settling into his new environment, I was preparing to meet with high ranking officials. The next three weeks for me would be filled with daily meeting and me pleading my case for his transfer close to home.

One would think it would be a no brainer to send a wounded soldier with a head trauma near family; it’s common sense. One would think that it would be beneficial for his healing. One would think that having family involved with his healing would help the process of recovery… Now I sound bitter. Let me just continue with my story.

As I was coming and going from the Fisher House. I met a family that was there to visit their son. Now, I can’t go into detail as to what happened to their son, that’s their story. I can tell you, he was injured and the army flew his parent in to be with him. It was so nice to have some companionship in the big house.  The Fisher House is the biggest blessing you never want to need and because most people who walk through the doors are there for a common reason, friendships forge very naturally.

One morning I was preparing to go see Ry first, and then meet with an ombudsman for direction and strategy, when I had the opportunity to have coffee with Melanie. Let me just say, my heart lunged towards her immediately. She was a woman of faith and that in itself was a connection, but to also have two sons in the army and then to have one injured, well, now its providence. We had a few minutes to chat about our families, our soldiers, our fears and our hopes of healing before we both went our separate ways for the day. Her and her husband went to the hospital and I went to see Ry and then to a very scary meeting.

After taking Ry a Mocha Java Chip and praying with him for the day, I then left to meet with the ombudsmen, that I will call Bob. Bob was a large man that had a very intimidating presence. The first time I met Bob, was after I spoke with Ryley’s nurse case manager, because I was questioning Ryley’s care.  His NCM then directed me to Bob who was a very matter of fact and stern ombudsman. I was a nervous wreck but knew I needed to hide my fears.

 I called Joe every morning and he prayed for the day’s events and meetings. I pulled my shoulders back and prepared to pretend bravery as I went to see Bob. The meeting was necessary because he was going to connect me with the right leaders to advocate for Ry, but I felt so small and unimportant.

As I walked up to his office for our 10:00 am meeting, I saw the door was open but he wasn’t at his desk. His radio was on and a soldier told me to have a seat in the hall and Bob would be right back. As I sat down to wait, I listened to the music that was floating out of his office. It was Chris Tomlin’s song “How great is our God”! I was amazed and excited. Could it be God was placing a Christian man to be my ombudsman? Yes! How great is our God indeed.

When Bob came back he invited me in to his office. We had some small talk and then we went right into the reason I was in Texas. I told him it was my desire to have Ryley transferred closer to home so he could heal near his family. That having a head trauma and personality change required more than rehabilitation, it required those who knew Ryley. I also voiced my concern for the medication he was on, because his last blood work said his liver was failing and the doctor’s excuses were feeble to say the least.

Bob listened as I shared everything with him. At the end of our conversation he said he would help me with whatever he could. That he was a neutral party, he was the middle man that made sure the soldier was taken care of.  He then gave me some much needed advice. “Mrs., Ruddock, you must keep in mind, these high ranking officers are not your boss. You do not need to be intimidated by them. Be confident when speaking with them, do not stumble or stutter over your words. State your case and be the brave woman you are.

It reminded me of the story of Esther when Hegai told Esther what to do, wear or say.

 …When it was Esther’s turn to go to the king, she accepted the advice of Hegai, the eunuch in charge of the harem. She asked for nothing except what he suggested…. Esther 2:15

This was just another divine connection God was giving me. Bob went to work setting up a meeting with the Major who was over the Wounded Warrior Barracks. This would be one of many meeting I would have. My day was filled with chatting with Ryley’s NCM, his sergeant and his captain.

 I went back to Mentis to pick up Ry to have dinner with me. Ryley was all over the place again. He didn’t want to listen to the music I had on in the car, he was angry and frustrated. We spent the evening together and it took all my energy to endure the few hours I had with him. I felt so guilty to feel so tired and worn. As I returned Ryley to rehab and signed him back in, I kept wondering if this was the best thing for him. I really want it to be, but I wasn’t convinced.

I called Joe on the drive back to the Fisher House and cried the whole way. I wept because Ryley wasn’t Ryley. I grieved because I couldn’t make it better, and I hated myself because I couldn’t wait to take him back to rehab, it was hard being around him when he was like this, and I was a little afraid at times. After all my days’ efforts, the reality was still the same. As I cried to Joe on the phone about how horrible I felt, he began to sing to me the song by Tenth Avenue North:

 “This is where the healing begins, this is where the healing starts, when you come to where you’re broken within the Light meets the dark.” What an amazing man I have.

My heart settled down and I chatted with Joe about the great things that happened that day. I got my perspective back.

This song would become my Rocky like “Eye of Tiger” power song.  Every time it played I would be reminded that this is where the Healing begins.  We were on a journey for Ry. The Light collided with the dark that night and comforted a very tired and weary mother. And tomorrow when I met with the Major who was over the WTB, the Light would run into the dark again, for I was informed that the
Major was a devout Muslim. Now it gets interesting.

Here is the link to hear Tenth Avenue North's  Light Meets The Dark

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFUHrXfuNU4

The Green Felt Pen

When we returned home from El Paso, we strategized how we were going to help Ry. I was winding up for a fight. It was a war that injured my son at it would be a war getting him home. I really had no idea what I was getting into. One doesn’t just walk into the Army like Moses did with Pharaoh and say let my people go: Although that would have been pretty sweet. This battle was new to me. I needed to hear Gods word and precise direction as how to battle in this new territory. On paper, the Army owned Ryley. However, Ryley was bought and paid for by the Blood of the Lamb and marked by heaven long before the Army “owned” him. This was the authority I would be walking in when treading on unknown ground and standing before high ranking officers and Generals.

We were in constant communication with Ryley. We planned my next visit a few short weeks later. Putting our ducks in a row, I took a leave of absence from my job and Joe would stay back and work as I began the long journey of advocating for Ryley and his care. This meant I would be alone wrestling the unknown.

Family pulled their resources and helped send me back to Texas. We were on such a tight budget; I packed food from home and lived on canned soup and apple juice. I flew into El Paso once again and settled into the Fisher House and then went straight to the hospital for a meeting. The timing of my first day was unexplainably divine. While I was at the hospital meeting with the patient advocate, I got word Ryley was being brought into the emergency.

I was terrified, I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see. Ryley was wildly out of control and seemed to be having what everybody thought to be a mental breakdown. They brought him to a room and I followed along, gleaning as much information from his sergeant as I could. He was on constant 24 watch and all his superiors believed Ryley to be insane. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Everything seemed like a whirlwind. I then spoke up while the ER doctor was in the room. “Are any of you aware that Ryley has a head trauma?!” the room went quiet. I had there attention. I then explained to them what we knew and advised them to check Ryley’s chart. His TBI was documented but not all that is documented is read or even paid attention to, and I was finding this out more times than I cared.

I shared with his sergeant and the ER what Ryley informed us of when we visited him last time.

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The injury

While Ryley was deployed he was working on a truck when a large artillery shell fell, weighing what we were told around 60-90 lbs and hit him on the head. Ryley was working on the back tire when it fell. It cut his right front lobe and rung his bell, made him dizzy but did not knock him out. Therefore no incident report was filed. Shortly after the injury the seizures started as well as migraines and the personality change. Because he was told at the Kandahar hospital his problems were not due to a head trauma he believed he was going crazy.

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As they researched his medical records they saw the report of the head trauma from the MRI. This information would change Ryley’s care and the way they would view him.  They were treating him as if he was an uncontrollable soldier who lost his mind. My what a little research can do…

I was at a boiling point for my son but was not able to explode. You see, I was in the room with Ryley who was clearly not himself. I had to bring peace to the room. I was finally left alone with him while the doctors made phone calls and began to actually manage his care. At last I was able to pray like a mother, quietly of course. One of the hardest prayers of my life was releasing Ryley to God to take him home if it meant preserving his soul. My son was all over the board with anger, suicide, depression, fear and a confusion that was heart wrenching to watch.

I felt Gods peace fall in the tiny hospital room. As Ry calmed down, we chatted about little things, I drew on his arm with a green felt pen coloring in his tattoo, It seemed to quiet him. The room was finally still and the gentle touch of the pen along with my whispered prayer, ushered in the presence of God. It reminded me of the time when he was two and pulled a mirror down on himself and cut his chubby cheek. The nurses had to wrap him in a papoose where only his cheek was exposed. I had to get down on my knees so he could see me out of the corner of his eye. I sang “Jesus loves me” to calm his scared little toddler heart.

Well, here I was again on my knees, praying for God to calm his heart. And just like that time when he was little, Gods perfect peace spilled from heaven and comforted our souls.  

What seemed liked hours was really only 30-40 minutes when the doctor came back and asked me to meet with him. “Mrs. Ruddock?” “Yes” I said with hesitation. “We would like to admit your son to a neurological rehabilitation hospital.” I sat in the archaic army hospital chair trying to soak it all in. “What does that mean?” I asked. The answer: It was a rehabilitation center for soldiers with head traumas and PTSD. Could it be we were on the right track that was going to be the start of proper care? Only time would tell.

The Long Drive

By the first of September, Ry left Germany and was sent to El Paso, Texas for further care and evaluation. When he arrived he called us from the hospital. He did not sound like our Ryley and we were still confused as to what was going on.  He was having several seizures a day and the root of them was unclear. He stayed in the hospital a few more days while they ran test and then was sent to the WTB (Warriors Transitional Barracks) in Fort Bliss. 

We began to make plans to go to El Paso. Ry told us he would have results from his test’s October tenth (dates is not exact). We left in our little rabbit and headed across country, Washington to Texas. One stop in Utah for the night and we were in El Paso by night fall the next day.  We were parents on a mission.

We went to the hospital the next morning to meet Ryley. We hadn’t seen him since last Christmas. It was a tearful reunion to say the least. We chatted with him for a while trying to figure out what was going on and to evaluate for ourselves the situation. We then all met with the neurologist and discussed the findings of the test.

Ryley did have a head injury. The MRI showed trauma to his frontal lobe. This explained the personality change and the unexpected moods swing but they were unclear if the TBI was the cause of the seizures. That would require more testing.  They had him on high levels of anti seizure medication along with mood enhancement meds.  He was a mess physically, mentally and spiritually.

We spent the day and evening with him and then dropped him off at the WTB and we went to the Fisher House (housing for families who military families are in the hospital, sort of like a Ronald McDonald house). We were so grateful for the accommodations, it was a free place to stay and we needed all the help we could get. The Fisher house would soon become a frequent place for me to stay while advocating for Ryley and where I would meet two incredible mothers.

We carried our bags to our room and we quietly settled ourselves in. Our hearts were so heavy. The worst part of all of all of this was we were helpless in the situation. The Army was in charge of Ryley and they decided his care. I wanted to gather him up and take him home. I knew he needed his family if he was going to get back to himself. The people of Fort Bliss didn’t know who Ryley was before his injury so how could they possibly gage what was needed to get him back to normal. This would be the argument I would use to fight for his treatment and his transfer, which I will share later.

We spent 3 days with Ryley and in those 3 days we met with doctors, sergeants, captains, nurse case managers and Army administration. We requested Ryley be sent to Fort Lewis in Washington so he could be close to family as he recovered. I explained that with his injury he needed to be near family and friends that knew the old Ryley. That as much as I respected the care providers at Fort Bliss, they could never help Ry become himself if they didn’t know “who” that exactly was.

Nothing is easy when dealing with the Army and its administration. Everything we requested had to go through hoops, loops and quite possibly Saturn’s rings. Paperwork had to be filled out, the transfer had to be approved and in the mean time, we just had to wait.

The answers were not going to come while we were there this time. We had to leave Ryley and head back to Washington. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. This was MY son who needed me, how can I leave? My heart was tethered to Ry; I felt sick departing but knew our hands were tied. Plus, we still had two children at home, Sydney, who was attending college at the time and Jessey who was in High School.

None of this was fair for any of us. As my advocating for Ry’s transfer would get more aggressive, Syd would eventually drop out of college to help around the house and get Jes to and from school. Let’s just say the mom guilt was piling on! My heart and head was on overload. Cody was still deployed and worried about his brother. This caused us concern because he needed his mind focused on his job. We were worried about the two kids at home, although they were old enough to leave, Syd could not play mom forever. Jessey had swim meets, youth group and activities; we needed to go home, but how did we leave our son who needed us? We prayed hard and put all our trust and faith in our Heavenly Father and headed the long trek back to Washington. My legs felt like lead as we walked to our car. Add the heavy heart and giant concern and I was one weighty anvil that was sinking in an ocean of trepidation. It was the longest drive of my life. If crying burned calories I should’ve been a size six by the time we arrived home...to be continued.

Follow our journey.at http://motherofmilitary.blogspot.com/

The Phone Call

It started with a Facebook post from Ryley, around the second week of August 2011 that read.” I just had a seizure. That was weird.” 

The last time we spoke with Ry, was around the first of August and he sounded a little strange. He was talking about memories that weren’t his but his brother’s. He was angry, frustrated and confused. I asked if he was OK but he just brushed it off.  Then to read this post on his Facebook page a few days later terrified me. Something was wrong, but what?  It wouldn’t be until August 18^th that I would speak with Ryley.

I will never forget the phone call. It was a summer day in Washington.  I was working at a church at the time when Ryley called. I ran outside so I could speak with him privately. He sounded discombobulated and agitated. He was calling from the hospital in Kandahar, Afghanistan where he was medically evacuated due to grand maul seizures. From what I gathered he and the doctors were unsure as to why he was having the seizures. I asked, “Ry, did you hit your head?” he said, “Yeah, something fell on it, but they don’t think that is the cause of the seizures.”  We chatted a few more minutes before he had to go, When I got off the phone with Ry, I was more confused and afraid. I went into the sanctuary and cried out to God. I wept so hard and so heavy my body hurt. I explained to one of our pastor what was going with Ry and shared what little information I had. He then prayed with me and sent me home for the day. I called Joe and told him all that I had heard from Ry. It was a waiting game now.

While he was in Kandahar he continued to have the seizures. He spent a month or so in the Kandahar Air force Base (KAF) hospital being treated and undergoing test. They then sent him to Germany around the first week of September, which was the first time we spoke with an Army doctor.  It was late at night when the German Hospital called. The doctor informed us that Ryley’s symptoms and seizures were classic signs of a head trauma. I didn’t understand, Ry said they didn’t think it was a head trauma. Now this doctor is telling us it one. The confusion grew and so did our frustration. What in the world was going on? And why wasn't the Army informing us of everything? The answers would slowly unfold and they broke my heart.
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I’ve heard it said once, “You’re only as happy as your saddest child.” This statement screams volumes to me. The range of emotions that were flooding me, was a direct result as to what I perceived in Ryley; sorrow, anger and fear.

 The TBI was just the tip of the iceberg. As a mom I wanted to make it all better but I couldn’t kiss this boo boo away. Yes, time does heal all wounds, but it takes more than time to heal a broken spirit or a troubled mind. Those types of wounds require the Creator of time. The Prince of Peace. The Comforter and Oh how we needed him.

 The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed. Psalm 34:18 NLT

 It was Ryley’s crushed spirit that had me anxious and it would be an atmosphere of peace that would be the healing balm on a shattered heart. 

When Worry is Big and Your Faith is Small

When Cody and Ryley were on deployment I wasn’t sure what to expect or feel. As I mentioned before, this was new territory that we were pioneering. My husband and I would talk out our emotions and plan how to keep our eyes up and our hearts encouraged. It would be a lot harder than I thought.

Cody was better at keeping in touch with us than Ry. As a combat engineer, he would go out on missions and come back to his FOB and Skype us or shoot us a private message. Ryley, however, was infantry. Although he joined as a mechanic, his job was changed to mortar man and then to infantry. He would be out on mission as well but was unable to communicate with us as often as Cody did. It drove me crazy!  

One strategy Joe and I did practices was the quoting of scriptures over them, not just any scripture, we prayed passages of safety, covering and protection; we would plead the blood of Jesus over them and their brothers. Cody would share with us bits and pieces of how God protected him and his unit. There was a time when they were doing route clearance and after about 300 yard passed the area an IED exploded. He said it was as if an angel held the detonator down until they were all out of harms way. There are more stories of Gods protection I would love to share but I can’t. But believe me; I knew God was watching over my sons, but my faith would have strong days and weak days.  I was like the father in Mark nine asking the Lord for a miracle. He brought the heaviest burden of his heart and hoped with all his being that Jesus would heal his son if he could.  I love the way Jesus answer this father,

“What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes.” The father instantly cried out, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief! Mark 9: 23-25 NLT

I entirely understand this daddy. It takes all the faith he can muster to believe in something he has hoped and longed for but never quite seen. To dismiss all his disappointment and just let faith take the lead, is easy to say but not easy to do. To hope beyond the impossible and wait for God to perform a miracle isn’t natural, it’s supernatural. His words, “Lord I do believe, help me overcome my unbelief.” make more sense if you have ever faced the impossible and held out for God to do as he promised. When you have literally slid down to the end of your rope and you are hanging on by vapors; it is more God holding you than you holding on.

My faith walk was on a tight rope and I needed more rope and a giant net underneath me, because I was certain I would fall.  "Lord I believe, help my unbelief".  I wanted to be stronger than I actually was. I wanted to be faith filled. But what I've learned in all of this was grace was just as importand to have as faith.

Sometimes we think more faith is needed, but in essence we need to give ourselves grace during the hard times. What this Military Mom journey has tought me is trusting God is extremely important but when worry is big and your faith is small, His Grace will see you through to another day.

Home Front Warriors

Nothing prepares you to be a home front warrior. There is no boot camp, class or seminar to take. You are just thrown into it. Your heart muscle is not prepared for the stress it will carry. Your legs are not strengthened for the weight it must bear. And your mind is not trained to not think on the worse case scenario. One feels vulnerable and exposed. It is a sink or swim battle. You feel guilty for feeling all these emotions because your son, daughter of spouse is actually in harms way. Then you feel helpless because you can’t get to them if they need you.  The first deployment is the worst in my opinion because you face every unknown all at once. It is a flood of fear.

When the phone rang at our house and it was an unknown number, I ran over any and everybody to answer. It could be Cody or Ryley who were both deployed in Afghanistan. Just a two minute phone call could settle my heart for at least 24 hours. I never felt such pride and fear at the same time.

 I hated watching the news and it wore on me, hearing of yet another young person killed in action. I tired of people feeling the need to share with me “news” of the war and all that entailed. I had ways of dodging these informants. I would be late for church and swiftly leave during the closing prayer. I was a pro at subject change and when the hint wasn’t caught, I would excuse myself to the restroom. Mission accomplished: The distraction worked and I was able to dodge anther conversation about the war.  

That being said, I am a patriot. I love our country, our freedom and the history of our beloved land.My family tree is filled with verterans and it swells my heart.  I am grateful for those past and present who have fought and died to give me the right to write what is on my heart. I am eternally grateful for the heroes who have laid down their lives so I can freely give mine to Christ. And my heart is awakened to those who unwillingly sacrificed their sons and daughters for our nation. Their tears that fell are as precious as the lives that were cut short. A heartache that will never heal, just a void you learn to exists with.  I can’t help but ponder on the loved ones that live life on the home front with the forever absence of their precious family. No wonder our statue of Liberty is a woman. Only a mother could stand on the shores, rain or shine, sunny days or stormy nights declaring. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free …Well Lady Liberty, there are an awful lot of weary people right here on your shores needing to feel refreshed.