May 2016 – robinchartier

BXX, our new address

We have a house. It’s been confirmed. I saw a sketch of the floor plan and it freaked me out a bit. It’s big. Huge. Cleaning it would be a full time job! It’s a traditional Middle Eastern home with an inside kitchen and a separate “dirty kitchen” that is accessed from the outside for all the heavy cooking so the smoke and food odors don’t spread throughout the house. Just imagine me frying things up out there by myself. #notgoingtohappen It appears to be palatial, but I think I’m going to miss our smaller open-floorplan home here. Our house has great character with crown molding and tray ceilings and wrought iron railings, chandeliers, and sconces. It’s also really dated, with harvest themed tile in the kitchen, cracked bathroom fixtures, and old plumbing, but our one of a kind house has been perfect for us.

This new house has enough bedrooms that the kids have already started claiming ones for themselves, but I’m tempted to still have them share. They do not need their own bedroom and bathroom. Yes, the house has enough bathrooms for each person to have their own too. So much for the growing up years being “good preparation for college” in the Chartier household. My kids are going to show up in the dorms looking for a place to lay their Persian carpet and wondering why their private bathroom has 5 stalls and 3 showers. Rude awakening indeed.

But I don’t care how many bedrooms and bathrooms it has (though the extra square footage does have me rethinking my carpet inventory). The important part . . . is there grass?

This is not our house (I don’t actually know which house in the compound is ours), but on Google Earth I see some GREEN! It looks like some trees or bushes are growing around or near all of the houses. If I could show you a screenshot of the entire area you would see a little green patch in a sea of brown. It looks like the oasis I’ve been hoping for.

One step closer. We’ve cleared medical, been assigned a house, and the kids are in communication with school counselors to determine class placement for next year. Josh comes home tonight after 3 weeks away completing training for this new job and his next steps will be to schedule our shipments, both car and household goods, and then all of our lease termination paperwork and schedule temporary lodging in a hotel for the final 10 days before we fly out. And I’m supposed to do something with these pets. The big expensive unknown. Good thing we love our kids because international transport of animals is a pricy pain in the behind. (And when I say kids, I mean our human kids. The animals are a costly kid accessory and in no way count as kids themselves.)

Tick tock, tick tock. Time is starting to speed up. One more month of school and many, many goodbyes in the next few weeks as the exodus has begun. Packers are coming already, cars have been shipped and the first departures took place this week. More will join them as people try to get out ahead of the summer rush, to get settled at various duty stations in the US and get their household goods delivered on the other end before schools start up in August. Now there’s even less reason for us to rush with a furnished house waiting for us in Abu Dhabi. We’ll arrive with our pile of suitcases carrying the things we can’t live without and everything else will arrive whenever the slow boat gets there.

Inshallah, 9 weeks to go!

For Kristy: Our address is not actually BXX, it’s B(something else). I know you were wondering. 😉

Church of the Cross(Fit)

I was originally going to write a post about how CrossFit is similar to a church community and how it takes the place of church for a lot of people, but that topic has been done to death. Google “CrossFit as church” and you’ll find a million comparisons that can be drawn: from the detailed discussion of the scripture passage (WOD/workout) to a shared communion of coconut oil and chia seeds, a lot of people are finding their religion in the body as their temple.

CrossFit is definitely not my church, but I had a spiritual experience there today. Since it’s Thursday it’s destined to be a difficult workout. Sort of that “last chance before the weekend” thing that all the rah-rah athletes get behind. In my mind all it does is make me tired and sore and ruins a perfectly good weekend, but whatever. In preparation for the pain I put on my running shoes instead of my lifting shoes this morning. Even though it’s over 100 degrees outside, there’s little chance for mercy on a Thursday. And sure enough: 5 rounds of 800 meter runs with other junk in between. For those not on the metric system, 800 meters is about 2 laps around a high school track. Not terribly far, but too far in the heat and when you can see that the exercises in-between runs are going to make your legs wobbly and tired and make running even more difficult.

But off I go. I had promised a friend that I would pray for her and I realized that the running rounds would be the perfect time for prayer. I’m usually praying for myself to survive it anyway, so why not add some other people to my list? I dedicated the first round to her and the words started to flow through my head as the steps passed beneath my feet. I’ve never been a good prayer or a good runner, but this combination seems to be working. I run with my eyes closed anyway (seriously, I do — if I close my eyes then I can pretend that I’m not actually running and that I’m somewhere else more enjoyable) so all I was focused on were my thoughts of her and God’s love for her.

The second round went to Calvin, my oldest son who is traveling, playing sports, and seemed to be getting sick when I briefly talked to him the night before. I prayed for his health, for today, for his future, thanking God for making him who he is and for keeping him close . . . I covered it all (I run really slowly). Before I knew it I was back around to the start and I hadn’t even taken a walking break yet.

Rounds 3, 4 and 5 were more of the same, but along the way I felt like I was praying from my spirit. I’m usually a distracted prayer: “God please be with my kids as they are at school toda– did I remind Caleb to talk to his teacher about his missing assignments? Hmm, do they have enough lunch tickets? Crap, I’m supposed to be praying — Lord, please help them to be kind to the kids that they come in contact with and show your love to them . . . I wonder if I have time to go to the store before they get home? We are almost out of milk.” And so it goes.

But praying while running meant that if my mind wasn’t occupied by prayerful thoughts then the only thing left to think about was the pain of running and measuring how much further I had to go. I almost felt like my friend who is a true prayer warrior, who can go on and on with passion and persistence — when I pray with her I spend much of the time wondering how she can think of all those things to say and not run out of words. (I prayed for her today too!) When the choice was between thinking of other people or thinking, “one more step, one more step,” the people in my life who I love and care about were a welcome distraction.

I finished. I survived. Hopefully some people in my life have been blessed by the prayers I was able to construct through my pain. And now I need a nap. And a few Motrin. (try swinging 50 lbs from the ground to eye level 150 times and you”ll be hunting for a Motrin cocktail too. And wondering why anyone participates in this craziness.)

The Long Goodbye

As people get ready to leave Bahrain, they will often get nostalgic and post countdowns on their Facebook pages: 10 Things I Will Miss About Bahrain (or 10 Things I’m Happy to Leave Behind if they are feeling cynical about their time overseas). It’s a bit different for them because they are headed back to the United States, to a completely different way of life — no more Dairy Queen delivery where Blizzards arrive by moped, no more affordable house help or daily car washing. No more hot desert nights, surrounded by palm trees and warm breezes (unless you happen to be stationed in 29 Palms!) Abu Dhabi will be different than here, but after 5 years in the Middle East it’s less like moving to Mars and more like moving down the street.

I don’t like drawn out farewells. I’d rather enjoy a place right up to the last minute, with no regrets, and then be gone and throw myself into the next place. So far it’s been easy because we don’t plan on moving until the end of July. See how that military preparedness creeps into every area of my life? I have learned never to announce any time frame as fact.

At first the end of July was four months away, 1/4 of a year — WAY in the future . . . but I realized the other night that we are almost at the 2 month mark. Yikes! Before I know it we’ll be counting down in weeks. But there’s still Ramadan to get through, the end of school, and even more paperwork. Plenty of time.

The point being, I’m still here. Still present. I haven’t done any planning for Abu Dhabi since our move doesn’t seem real, but I’m beginning to see the signs. The gardeners came to trim the date palms in our yard and tie up the developing bunches like they do every spring and I felt a twinge realizing that we won’t be here to eat this harvest. The kids’ school held reregistration for next year and I had to send in the the packet marked, “Not returning.” Church has plans/dreams for moving to a new location with better space and facilities, but we won’t be here to make the move with them. Supposedly. I haven’t emotionally made that leap yet.

I will be excited to go, but not because I’m tired of Bahrain. No need to rush out of here, but I am excited about Josh’s next job. I have high hopes for the next 2 years. We need a change. We have all experienced a lot of advantages from our time in Bahrain, but time as a family hasn’t been one of them. Even when Josh is here, there are demands on his time and energy that end up being a drain on all of us. Supposedly his next job will offer more time with us and less pressure. I guess we’ll see . . .

Josh was gone over Mother’s Day so I picked out my own presents. Just 2 new runners . . .

Yes, I know it’s ridiculous to have carpets lying on top of carpeting all right next to each other. But I’m calling it artwork for the floor. I wake up and the line of carpets makes me smile.

This Persian beauty (the far one in the top photo) is about 50 years old. I was at a rug flop and it stole my affections the moment he rolled it out. I had to fight off a few other people for it. Worth it.

And this is a closeup of my other new one (middle of top photo). Persian, 20 years old, wool of course . . . I’m thinking in our next house I might place it on the floor next to my side of the bed. Collecting carpets these days feels a bit like hoarding for the future — to take care of any carpet needs I might ever have because once we leave here, I’m probably finished. Everything is more expensive in Abu Dhabi and we would have to form new relationships with carpet sellers to get the best prices. It’s possible I’ll make a carpet connection there, but I’m not taking any chances.

Since Josh is gone Camille insists on sleeping with me “so you don’t get lonely, Mama.” No chance of that with barely any space to breathe! I’m reminding myself that it’s nice to be loved.

patient update

Calvin is 95% better — well enough for soccer practice at 5:30 in the morning, unfortunately. I’ve been so spoiled this year since Josh has been dropping him off and then going to the gym to work out himself. Two days of driving and I’m already weeping for his return.

One more funny hospital story: since I didn’t have any signal in Calvin’s hospital room I would go downstairs and outside every few hours to make sure I didn’t have any messages. One of those times I was headed back upstairs and got in an elevator with 2 of the hospital’s janitors (I’m assuming based on their jumpsuits). I pushed the button for the first floor (British system, the first floor is the first level above ground floor) and the elevator doors slid closed. Except for a 4 inch gap. And it didn’t move. The guys hit the “doors close” button — nothing. Then they hit the “doors open” button, but again nothing. I started to get a little panicky about being trapped inside an elevator inside of a hospital — a turducken of my nightmares.

Channeling Carter and his Egyptian elevator escape, I wedged my hands in the crack between the doors and tried to pull the doors apart. There was no way I was staying in that elevator if it was humanly possible for me to get out. Fighting and pulling as hard as I could to get them to slide open, I managed to wedge a space large enough for me to hop through and I dove toward the light. The janitors popped out right behind me (both smaller and skinner) and one of them muttered, “broken,” under his breath as we all headed to a completely different bank of elevators to try again.

I would have loved to have taken the stairs, but I couldn’t find them. 3 days in the hospital and I never found any. All doorways that looked like they could be stairwells led elsewhere. I found the electrical system and the janitor’s closet, but no stairs. Glad we didn’t have a real emergency!

Tales from a Bahraini hospital

It cracks me up when I’m downloading photos from my phone and find that Camille has left me some surprise selfies. Her faces are the best!

This one about sums up our weekend.

I was looking forward to a relaxing 3 day break — the two older boys were going to a teen retreat all weekend, Josh was heading off to training in the US, and I was planning on lying poolside at the British Club, sipping on Pellegrino with lime, while my independent swimmers played in the pool. (We have reached that glorious milestone — Camille can swim all the way across the pool unassisted.)

I was about to leave for church when Calvin, who had been sick for several days, called for help. I will spare you all of his symptoms, but just say when Mama sees blood, it’s time to head to the hospital. So I dropped everything, left the rest of the kids at home, and took him to the ER.

Thankfully we haven’t had much cause to utilize the hospital services here. We’ve been a few times to visit others, but that’s about it. First of all, the hospital always smells amazing. (That’s not what you thought I was going to say, right?) They have air fresheners going full blast that pump out the scent of night blooming jasmine and it smells calming and sweet. But I guess that’s a matter of perspective. My friend has spent quite a bit of time in the hospital with her kids and her son walked into the lobby, inhaled, and announced, “I can smell all the germs!!” I about died laughing.

Another difference: the ER was totally empty. We walked in on a Friday morning (same as our Sunday morning) and they had Calvin in a room quicker than I could hand over my military ID. When the system works on cash for treatment and ER prices are $53 to see the doctor (up to $106 to see the specialist) people take care of non-emergent needs for less at their local clinics or at the free public hospital.

The reason we chose this hospital is because they are familiar with military patients and they take care of calling our insurance company and getting all the approvals for treatment. All I have to do is sign the paperwork. Done.

Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.

The doc came in (Calvin judged that he was Palestinian based on his features, accent and mannerisms — interesting details that you pick up living over here). He was a bit of a scary grandpa type — looking down his nose at us over his glasses. He got a bit fixated on Calvin’s previous gallbladder surgery (something that I was afraid would happen) and was aghast that a 5 year old would have had his gallbladder removed. “Why?! What was the reason for his gallstones?! Didn’t they bother to find out? It could have been related to a blood disease!” with a disapproving shake of his head. OK buddy, I’ll let the specialist at Loma Linda hospital know that you, a doctor who has spent 30 seconds with my son, is second guessing the surgery that he performed 12 years ago that ended his stomach pain permanently. Whatever. Let’s move on.

Anyway, it was much better when the gastroenterologist showed up. Much warmer and more relaxed. Interesting that so many of the doctors here are Indian (and most of the nurses are Filipino or Indian), but all three of Calvin’s doctors were of Arab descent, including a pink hijabed woman. Once we left scary grandpa behind, our experiences with the doctors were much improved.

Another big difference at the hospital here. They did some bloodwork and ran other tests and said that they would have the results back in about an hour. In the meantime, they would give him some painkillers. I was a little concerned because I was thinking about painkillers in the American way — nope, in Bahrain painkillers = Tylenol. No joke. So he got his Tylenol IV and then some salt solution IVs and then they said based on the blood tests, they were calling the gastroenterologist, but since he was coming from home it might take a while. Yep, I’ve done this before. 3 hours waiting for the specialist to arrive.

But not here. A guy in running shoes and a t-shirt walked in less than 10 minutes later, checked him over and based on the type of bacteria, his symptoms, and his general fatigued appearance decided to admit him overnight. As he left, Calvin whispered to me, “he must live really close by!” Either that or he’s related to the Incredible family and his gift is super speed.

They moved him upstairs and we settled in. Calvin was already perkier and chirpier from his IVs. Or maybe it was the Tylenol. I was starving because I never ate breakfast and had been at the hospital all day. I tried to buy something from the coffee shop on site, but they didn’t have change and didn’t take cards. It’s a huge problem in this country. The ATMs spit out 20s, but God forbid you try to use one anywhere but the grocery store or the gas station. When they brought Calvin a late lunch around 4:00 I pretty much ate the entire thing. He was supposed to be on a bland diet, but no one had told the meal people that. Salad with honey mustard dressing, grilled chicken, creamy chicken soup, steamed vegetables — yum for me. Calvin still wasn’t eating so no harm, no foul.

Josh came by after work for a few minutes, (he went from church to work, then home to pick something up, downtown to drop it off, to the hospital, back to work, home to get the kids to go feed them dinner, then home to pack and off to the airport. His day was crazier than ours!) and laughed as he saw me licking the bottom of the soup bowl. (because I was starving)

My baby spending the night solo in the hospital. Once he figured out how to unplug his IV unit from the wall to roll his way to the bathroom he was fine.

The rest of our time in the hospital was spent trying to get wifi or 3G signal (the dumb cement block structures are excellent signal blockers), watching animal attack shows on National Geographic Wild, getting blood drawn and IVs hooked up and emptied, taking antibiotic and other medication and killing time. They came around the next morning and took his food order for the entire day and I thought “Um, I think we’re going home today, no need to order food.” NOPE! Visible signs of blood equals a longer stay and at least one more night in the hospital.

At that point a friend messaged me and said she was going to come and get the two younger kids and take them to her house overnight (Carter was off on the retreat) so that I didn’t have to worry if Caleb and Camille were getting along OK at home alone and so I didn’t have to drive back and forth all afternoon and evening. Bless her.

And she sent me photos to show me how much fun they all were having together. Bless her even more.

brothers and sisters — so sweet!

All that was left for me to do was to pester Calvin about drinking the “cloudy water” that they had given him (some sort of rehydration solution) and to encourage him to eat as much as possible.

This was us — Big Bang Theory, lots of wild animals, Shrek 2, plenty of Ellen, and some Jimmy Fallon. Good times.

Another darling friend came by and brought Calvin puzzles and mind games to occupy his time (and snacks for me!) for those hours that we were tired of TV.

And I found out a friend’s son was in the hospital at the same time with similar symptoms so he came and visited a few times. IV buddies.

Sunday was a holiday so it was nice that Calvin wasn’t missing school, BUT it meant the hospital was running on holiday hours. Drs rounds weren’t until noon and then it took forever for the nurses to bring the discharge information. There wasn’t even paperwork to sign — just a bottle of tylenol (Bahrain runs on Tylenol, lol), some rehydration powder and antibiotics. And then we busted out of there like our hair was on fire — peace OUT!