Tag Archives: Veteran
Armistice Day And Veterans Day
(Image: www.phillymag.com)
I must say, I am very proud to be a part of two of the greatest countries, and do count myself lucky.
I’m not going to use this post to point out a particular individual who doesn’t deserve the title “Veteran” nor go into detail about it, as this is not what this post is about.
Instead, I am going to praise all the Service Men, Women and Animals – in particular those who gave the ultimate sacrifice – their lives, so we have the (somewhat) Freedom we are so fortunate to have.
I have read up on war stories. I have listened to a great deal also.
Some of these Men and Women, in particular Men, have seen things that we as civilians, have never seen, nor could we ever imagine what they have had to live with for many, many years.
Some of these Men were executed by their own for cowardice, rather than be treated for what is now known as PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).
To both British and American soldiers, past and present ~ Thank you so much for your service. ❤
Our Son Is Born
Our son Max was born in Wellstar Hospital, Marietta GA on December 15th 2012. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was happy about having my son, but it was not as joyous as it could and should have been.
All *Steve could think about was eating. When the nurse came round to get my food order, I’d order what he liked just so he would shut the hell up. I simply went without. I was used to it anyway. as I’d been going without for quite some time now. He just thought about himself. It was all about him. Don’t worry about me, the person carrying our son, who had to have the longest, most frightening looking needle inserted to the base of my spine, preparing me to be cut open. No, I should have thought about how he felt, no matter what situation I was in…
I ended up staying just two nights in the hospital. Having been told I could stay longer if I wished, I declined, because unknown to them, I had no idea where we were going to live just four days after I would leave the hospital. Rent at the mouldy Extended Stay Hotel would be due by Friday at 11:00 am. I needed to give a physical address for hospital records; P.O. Box’s are not accepted. I was so afraid I was going to lose my son, so I left early. I’m just so glad it wasn’t the case of someone coming to check to see whether or not the place was suitable for a new born. I was also worried about my remaining two kittens Oxanna Monroe and Phoenix Azalea. I wanted to make sure they had eaten and their litter tray was clean.
Needing strong pain killers and antibiotics, there of course, was no money for medication. Steve had bought junk food the night before and God knows what else, yet there was no money for parking either. Due to having medical cover from the Army (Tricare), my medication was discounted, so we should have definitely been able to afford the costs. But no. I couldn’t even wait for someone to come along with a wheelchair to take me to the car, due to not being able to afford $5/£3.50 for a whole day’s parking! When I swiped the debit card I had on me, it was declined. Trying again, the same thing happened. In the end, the nurse helping me to check out of the hospital paid for my medication out of her own pocket, because Steve hadn’t left any money in the bank account.
When I told Steve what had happened, he was not bothered at all. I said we needed to send the money back to her and to say “thank you”, but he refused to pay her back. Just like he refused when I said we should send *Peter’s mother some money for our eight night stay in their home. (See “Finding Ourselves In Up State New York“).
The doctor said I had to relax for two weeks. No household chores. As soon as I got ‘home’, I had to clean straight away. It took forty-eight hours with no sleep to clean up, whilst Steve rested, which could have ripped open my stitches.
Max ran out of formula at three days old. Yes, that’s right, there was no money to even buy our son something to eat, but there was money when he wanted to eat and to buy cigars and cigarettes. The nurses at the hospital had been very generous, supplying me with extra diapers/nappies and ready made formula. I’m pretty sure they sensed something was up, but didn’t want to ask. But there was only so long that all they had given to me was going to last. I didn’t have my valid credit card with me. The new one had arrived at my mother’s house in the UK. The one I had with me had expired.
I was frantic. I wasn’t producing enough milk, so I had no idea how my baby was going to eat. All because his father had been and was still being irresponsible with money. I checked store after store online. None of them allowed you to shop and pay online, then go into a store to collect. Finally, I got to Babies ‘R’ Us. I was able to order and pay online, then collect the items two hours later. I bought formula on my UK credit card using details my mother had given to me months earlier via Skype. Thank God they accepted international payment methods and I didn’t have to present an actual card to them. The relief was so great… my baby would not go hungry after all.
Max got ‘lucky’ again the next day when we took him to see a paediatrician. She gave us two cannisters of formula (powdered), which would last at least a month. I cried in front of her. She hugged me tight. I didn’t have to say a word, for she sensed something wasn’t right, and told Steve that he had to make an effort to help me; to support me; to save our relationship. Was it that obvious we had fallen apart?
Two days after that, we had to register with WIC (Women, Infants and Children) who would give me vouchers with specific items on them. Max would get the amount formula he needed, without me having to worry how he was going to eat the next day or the next week. He was my only concern. They did give vouchers to me too, for eggs, milk, beans etc – basic nutritional foods. Once I started obtaining these food items, Steve would eat them in front of me. (See “It Was His Money, Not Mine“).
As a mother, as a responsible parent, I will never just sit back and let my son do without the basic means to live, to survive. First and foremost, I make sure he has food in abundance. I would and will go hungry for him. Secondly, I make sure he gets all the medication he needs when he needs them, without me having to panic that if he is sick, I won’t be able to afford it. I would and will go without medication for myself for him. Thirdly, I make sure he has clothes, outerwear and footwear, unlike when we arrived in the UK with literally just the clothes on our backs. I would and will go without for myself for him. My son will always be my number one priority. He doesn’t need his selfish, narcissistic father. He has me.
(*Not their real names)
A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing
“It’s just that, in my past relationships, I’ve had some problems.”
*Steve had a bad habit of slagging off his daughter’s mother, *Dawn, as well as others from his previous relationships. It was never his fault when things went wrong. He wanted me to ‘join in’, but I refused, which led to numerous arguments. The way I saw it then and still see it now, their relationship has nothing to do with me. I wasn’t there when they were together, nor was I there for the duration or the end of it. It’s none of my business. My main concern was for the child who seemed to the centre of it all for monetary gain.
It was one thing bad mouthing his ex’s, but his daughter’s mother? That’s just disrespectful. But it got me thinking… if he could say those awful things he did about her, what was he capable of saying about me?
(*Not their real names)
It Was His Money, Not Mine
(*Steve stationed in Germany when he was a US soldier).
During our discussion in December 2011 to have a child, Steve had said he would purchase my maternity clothes, should I fall pregnant sooner rather than later. In fact, he told me I wouldn’t have to work at all. (See “My Green Card Application“). As I was returning to the UK for seven weeks before my permanent move to the US, I figured it was a good idea to have a Contingency Fund. So, within the this time, I was paid for the last of the T.V., Film, Commercials and Corporate Videos work I had completed, sold my car, got my deposit back from the apartment I was renting, got all credits due to me from utility companies (I always overpaid) – it all came to $6,500.00/£4,642.00 A nice little sum for a rainy day.
It all went wrong from the moment I got to the US. I had to pay for his car (see “Paying For His Car And More Lies“); buy a dinning table and chairs so I wouldn’t have to eat off the floor, (when I was allowed to eat, which was very little); buy a sofa as I was sitting on the floor which was making my back worse during my pregnancy; plus more for the household; buy him clothes as he was constantly complaining that he needed some and would discard items after one wear. I ended up with only $87.00/£62.00 to buy my own maternity clothes. When I reminded him of what he had said just months earlier, he said he had no money, so what did I expect him to do. Wow…really? Instead, this is what I was offered:
- I had to walk to the hospital on numerous occasions wearing broken shoes, limping in agony whilst he spent what little money we had on things he wanted, such as cigarettes, cigars and junk food. These were the same broken shoes I would have to use as slippers once I was admitted to hospital to have our son. There was no money for hospital parking for me to attend my appointments (even though prices started at $3.00), nor was there ever enough money for gas/petrol to take me in the first place.
- He’d bought me a $7.00/£5.00 cotton nightdress for the hospital, because I was wearing my pyjamas for hospital visits as well, but it didn’t last long. Upon leaving the hospital, he ripped it off me because he bought it and we had had a disagreement.
- I was wearing pyjamas on the street as I had no clothes. In fact, I remember a bunch of immature guys in a car ridiculing me for the way I looked. I felt so low. It was at that point I knew I’d really hit rock bottom.
- I was so upset, I found myself wandering and crying in the street. A guy approached me and asked me what was wrong. I told him I’d come from the UK and was homeless and hadn’t eaten. He could see I was heavily pregnant and offered to buy me food. Out of nowhere, Steve approached and told the guy I was over-reacting because there was food at home. You could see the guy didn’t believe him so Steve’s classic one-liner came out “I’m a veteran“. Every time he looked bad, he’d used this line. I was livid. I screamed that he wasn’t a veteran because I saved his career (see “I Saved Him From Being Kicked Out Of The Army“). The guy didn’t seem concerned about him at all; he was more concerned that I hadn’t eaten. The police were called and Steve disappeared.
- My hands were wrinkled and sore from all the cooking, washing and cleaning I had to do for Steve. I remember telling him how terrible I looked and felt, and my hands looked like that of a hundred year old woman! He ‘told me off’ for complaining about my hands, and told me they didn’t matter. Besides, what was the obsession with them? (I was not obsessed, I was merely stating how awful they looked since I gave up a better life in the UK for him).
- He gave me his hand-me-down male clothes which could no longer fit him, as he was getting bigger and bigger from eating too much in front of me, whilst I was shrinking in size, although pregnant, because he would take food away from me, telling me his money bought it. He told me he didn’t need to get me a coat during the winter because he had a perfectly good mac and fleece jacket I could wear… although they were in storage in New York and we couldn’t get to them, as we were in Marietta, Georgia.
- Even when WIC (Women, Infants and Children) started supplying me with vouchers just a week before I was due, to buy staple food such as eggs, rice and milk, he’d have it all. One time, after purchasing twelve eggs with one of the vouchers, he sat in front of me and ate seven in one go. He drank all the juice I was allowed to purchase at any one time. He wouldn’t allow me to purchase brown rice as he didn’t like it, so instead, got tortilla wraps which he promptly threw away, because they weren’t as nice as he thought they’d be.
- I had to buy comforters/duvet sets as we didn’t have any. Something he was supposed to buy before I moved out there. Is it me, or does this go without saying?
- He made sure he always had an allowance each week, regardless of whether bills were paid or there was food for me or not.
- Even when there was only enough money to just about cover rent for the week, he’d still want to go out to eat, and curse me for being responsible, because I felt keeping a roof over our heads were more important.
These are just some of the things that happened to me because it was his money. I never treated him like that when I was earning, and cannot wrap my head around how someone could possibly behave in such a way, and not feel any guilt nor remorse for it.
(*Not his real name)
Blog of a Mad Black Woman 