FRIDAY, July 2, 2004. 10:37 pm. This-is-the-I'm-sick-of-military-garbage-and-will-write-civilian-today-format.

First, a brief (ha!) explanation of my job as division yoeman: When 88 some odd people between 17 and 30 years old (in our division, though the range can vary slightly from that, of course) and from almost every background come together and have 8 to 10 weeks to turn into sailors, there is a lot of paperwork and scheduling to do. There are things the whole division does (from both academic and physical tests to haircuts or live fire range time) and there are things only certain groups or individuals do. Since none of these people have a calendar (except me and the medical and dental yoeman who are under me, both of whom work hard and do good jobs) or are allowed to be remotely independent anyway, the yoemen's jobs (theirs mostly in their specific fields and mine in everything the division does or might do) are to get the division, groups, and individuals all to their scheduled appointments and activities, to make sure everyone has what they need (ID cards for certain events, etc.), keep track of who is where, when, and if they returned on time, and be at every beck and call of our RDC's every moment of the day. If a form is filled out incorrectly (includng, say, the barracks check out sheet which recruits use when they sign out to say they're away from the division) I or my sub yoemans get dropped (as in physical training) for it. Push-ups are passe, you see... here, we do "8-count body builders" which are much, much harder, and they control which step we're on and what speed we're using. I'm sure there's an explanation of 8-counts somewhere on the net, so I won't even try here. But anyway, the point is that it's a lot of work and a lot of stress, and I sure wasn't quite ready for it to be quite like this.

So, throw in some other quirks and I had a very bad week. I already talked about the other divisional (recruit) staff, the inspection garbage, and the resulting lack of motivation I've been feeling since. Here's the real kicker, though!

In middle school, I had a root canal done, very poorly, on one of my bottom molars. In high school, I had all 4 wisdom teeth and another tooth pulled out. Since then, I had had 3 further teeth pulled (remember that my goal is to become a waffle-house waitress), all molars, and the root canal molar was still there with its stubby, jagged little remains. (The cap had fallen off and been replaced several times, and finally I just left it off.) So, since my body is now property of the US government, they decided that tooth would be surgically removed here at bootcamp to give their "I-came-in-as-a-lieutenant-and-yet-I-have-no-idea-what-the-snot-I'm-doing" newer dentists some practice, and make them earn the $100,000 a year they pay them (as the dental staff said over and over). And of course, I had no choice in the matter, just as the decent portion of my divisional shipmates who had 2 or 4 of their wisdom teeth pulled had no choice. The removal of my tooth was surgical because there was so little left above the surface that they had to cut my gums in order to yank the stub out, which, by the way, was held in with a metal post.

Ok, so I've had 4 teeth AND my wisdom teeth removed, so I can handle this, right? Except that in the process (this was Tuesday, mind you, and it's now Friday), the dentist cuts my cheek (behind the good tooth behind the one they were pulling) and takes 2 chunks out of my lower lip. Thanks, I didn't want that lip anyway. You know, it was such a pain how it held things in my mouth when I ate or drank...

And then there's the nerve damage; my right cheek still looks swollen, except it still feels like there's Novocaine inside, and it's because he damaged my nerves. Whether this lasts weeks or months or forever, at least right now it makes talking, running, and looking in the mirror very difficult in various ways.

This dentist, worst of all, has the gall to tell me that my "lips were too chapped, so small pieces of them came off during the procedure." I stinkin' FELT you hit them with your grinder tool and your sharp tools! The Novocaine hadn't gone that far up, buddy! Cut them deep enough they didn't bleed much, either. I come back to my division and everyone says I look like my lip was burned. So I'm on 4 different medications just for that, because it's so painful... 3 of them, actually, are painkillers. They had me on Vicodin and Motrin first with some bacitracin to put on my lips, but I had a severe reaction to the Vicodin and the doctor at the hospital took me off that without prescribing anything else. When the pain was keeping me from eating and sleeping much, a post-op dentist prescribed another gel (triamcinolone acetonide) that helps numb "oral lesions" and that has helped a bit, but not much. During my follow-up appointment, she prescribed MLB Rinse (which is Maalox, Benadryl, and lidocaine mixed and MUST not be swallowed), which numbs what it comes in contact with, including taste buds, and that helped a little. But then we had a PT session today including a lot of running, and it nearly killed me, the pain did. So backk to dental, where they prescribed naproxen, which still isn't enough, but all these pills are tearing my stomach apart. That's 5 medications now, just for the one problem, not to mention the physical damage done and all. But it is healing, very slowly and painfully, and I don't feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame as much anymore when I go around people other than my girls. Even with the males in my division, I was really self-conscious. And since I don't have but 4 molars left, not even lined up with each other, on my left side and it's too painful to chew yet on my right side (on which the 5 molars left are a little more lined up), and then I was feeling like crap aesthetically, and I was in pain just breathing and moreso eating, and I had to pass up on several of my favorite foods because they'd need more grinding than I could do... since all those factors are there, I've cried every meal from Tuesday to now, and I cry many places we go when the pain flares up particularly badly.

I've realized that I have a bad attitude about all this, and I've prayed for Christ's joy to reign instead and for strength and mercy. And then I go somewhere and my lips hurts and my divisional RCPO (pronounced "Ahr Pock") gets an attitude with someone and doesn't get IT'd (the punishment version of PT) for it or an inspection happens and they mess with the results, and I get so bothered. Meanwhile, I still realize that I have a bad attitude and that a lot of this is what bootcamp is all about, but it's breaking people into little shreds, and I really think the shreds have got to be the smallest out of my division. Because no matter how much I work at things, I get shin splints, or a dentists messes me up, or whatever else happens, and something completely outside my control destroys my hard effort.

Oh, that's not so different from my civilian life, eh? Except when I'm on major drugs, I can't sit at home and rest... no, no... I have to be at bootcamp of all paces, looking and feeling like this. So what did I come here for? Can I really believe it'll get better? That the Navy's benefits will make all this worth it?



SATURDAY, JULY 3, 2004. 2225

Yes. Yes, I can believe it'll get better, and that it's a good thing I joined the Navy. I still struggle, sometimes, but I'm optimistic again. I hate feeling like some moody chick, swayed by every whim and writing different tones each night; however, I had as much dental/lip pain as ever today (maybe more) and yet had a pretty good day overall. It started off really bad, but by lunchtime I was feeling like progress was being made both in the division and in me and my yoemen getting caught up on our work, so now I'm going to bed rather content and rather excited about having holiday routine the next days (!!!) because of observance of the 4th, and sleeping well tonight (hopefully) and writing more tomorrow. Not that this isn't long enough.



SUNDAY, 4th of JULY, 2004. 9:26

Sundays are the most wonderful thing here, at least 'till 3:30 when our free time ends. Tonight's gonna be a lot of work on bunk and locker drills, and for me prolly a lot of work in the office, too. But it should be good, and tomorrow should be good and in 4 weeks we'll graduate and one week after that I move on to my "A" school.

Lots of letters to write today, so I'm off now. Love y'all!

Oh, yes, blog readers, one more bit. I was selected for yoeman (if I didn't explain yet) because I'll be personellman which is a related field, and because I aced my ASVAB.

A typical day -- well, that really doesn't exist so much. We wake up usually between 5 and 6 (and I have to wake up half an hour early to get things rolling and get my own rack "on spot" before Reveille... and we all know how much I love waking up early...), and usually go to chow soon after or run a bunk drill, but some mornings we'll be doing PT first. Then we may have a class, a test, more bunk drills, marching practice, and/or shots/medical processing/etc. and then lunch. Then more of the same, or time in the barracks learning more about folding our laundry or marching certain steps or movements, or usually PT. Then we'll do dinner and hygeine (which means 44 girls have 10 minutes total to shower, get dressed again, and be ready for RDC time. And evenings after chow are usually being talked to by our RDC's or PT or getting in trouble and being IT'd and whatever it is, it's followed by a LOT of cleaning. And then Taps is 10pm.

We do receive mail (by law) the night it gets to our barracks, which does sometimes take a bit longer than it would, say, to get to my house. But not too much longer. No mail on Saturdays, Sundays, or holidays... The Saturday part is a bummer, of course. But it's nice getting mail during the week.

So, 4th of July, and I had Wootbear and ice cream and a cheeseburger and fries and baked beans and (to make it as American as possible) Apple Pie!

Yay for Independence Day!

Love y'all!
Patty -- Seaman Recruit Tracey