Wednesday, August 1, 2018

Battered, Bashed, and Bruised - But Still Afloat

The U.S. Navy destroyer-minelayer USS Aaron Ward (DM-34) in the Kerama Retto anchorage, 5 May 1945, showing damage received when she was hit by several Japanese suicide planes off Okinawa on 3 May. Note the three-bladed aircraft propeller lodged in her superstructure, just forward of the after 5"/38 twin gun mount.
(Source)
It's been a rough cuppla days, not sleeping well (too damned sticky and the air conditioning is raising Hell with my left shoulder) and work, though remaining interesting, has been a mite annoying as of late. But this too shall pass.

The shoulder thing is annoying. Back in the day I attempted to exceed the low altitude record while catching a football at, what passes for my version, of full speed. Eye on the ball, a perfect pass from my brother-in-law, the ball in my hands, and...

OH SHIT OH DEAR!!

Where there had been dearest Mother Earth only moments before was now a yawning chasm into which my feet, and my balance, vanished.

Okay, it was a drainage ditch of some kind down Louisiana way, on England Air Force Base (now defunct) where in the summer it seems to rain every damn day. At least that's how I remember it. Oh yeah, there are freaking fire ants everywhere as well, But I digress.

My right shoulder impacted the far edge of the drainage ditch at such an angle to inflict the most pain but the least apparent damage. (And yes, I held onto the ball, I made the damned catch.) As I began to wonder just how damaged I was, the womenfolk called us in for dinner.

I realized at that point that a trip to the emergency room on base might be in order. I could not lift my right hand at all, my whole right arm had become this semi-useless appendage fit only for weight and balance purposes.

Just as I had completed the catch, I also completed my meal before begrudgingly agreeing to be hauled off to the clinic. (I do believe the love of my life insisted that "another beer is not going to make it better" and that I had best haul my ass out to the car.)

To the clinic we went where the first question was, "Have you been drinking?" As I was in no mood for U.S. Air Force clinic folderol, I produced my ID card to the airman two-striper before me and pronounced, "The correct verbiage is have you been drinking, Staff Sergeant? The answer to that question being, not enough to impair my senses, reflexes, or tolerance of bullshit from lower ranking individuals. If you ain't a doctor, get one. Now." Yes, I was in something of a bad mood.

I was in intense pain by that point so I wasn't ready to play administrative games with the lower orders who seem to gravitate towards clinics and take great pleasure in harassing sick or injured fellow airmen. Shoe clerks most of 'em.

At any rate, some captain with a medical degree was produced, I was the only patient in sight, and the doc proceeded to check me out. The check out seemed to consist of gradually moving the afflicted arm in various directions and judging the amount of pain induced by said movement. As I didn't pass out, deck the doctor, or whimper like a wee bairn, the doc figured that it was a simple bruise and that I should ice it up and take some Tylenol.

Back to the abode I was taken where ice, Tylenol, and a number of cold beverages were produced which may or may not have been beer.

After a bit I wasn't feeling that much pain, so I wrote it off to a simple bruise and that if I rubbed some dirt on it, I could most assuredly "shake it off."



Which I did, for a number of years. Then in Germany I rather aggravated that shoulder again playing softball. This time I couldn't shake it, the Air Force medicos sent me off to the Netherlands for physical therapy. I pictured something like this...

(Source)
In reality my therapist was a lovely Dutch lady who used massage and ultrasound therapy to fix me right up. At first the massage part was rather painful, but as she worked the joint and used the sonar, er, ultrasound, I gradually felt much better.

Here it is, years later, and my right shoulder is fairly sound (no pun intended) but there are times when I can predict a storm from the ache in that shoulder and in my right knee. The knee I damaged twice, once by slamming it into an opponent's head during a football game, knocked the other fellow silly, though I did limp off the field, down by the bow with a significant list to port. The second time I slammed the knee into the side of a slippery F-4D Phantom, the canopy of which I was trying to open by brute force as the crew chief had not seen fit to service the pneumatic system. No, the Phantom was not knocked silly, but again I limped off the ramp, again down by the bow with a significant list to port.

Anyhoo, having cold air blowing on my previously undamaged left shoulder made it very unhappy. Going to a Foo Fighters concert that night (after awakening with a very sore shoulder) and waving my hands in the air like some demented 12-year old for three hours probably didn't help.

So sleep is only found after shifting through numerous positions until I find one that doesn't hurt. As the pain lessens, and shifts position itself I might add, the position which makes sleep possible also shifts.

Sasha, the alpha cat who shares my side of the bed, has made her displeasure known at times during the night with a gentle tap on the face, as if to say, "Will you stop freaking thrashing about you foolish human!" She turns 15 next month, which is like 78 in cat years, so she's even more of a curmudgeon that me.

But yes, the paw to the face, executed with extreme precision with just enough force to wake me up, does get my attention. After chastising said feline, I attempt to go back to sleep. As I do so I have nightmares of spam comments overwhelming the blog and Beans executing some demented coup d'état where he rules behind the scenes with Juvat and Tuna as his unwilling vassals...

Uh, no, not really. Beans is fun to pick on because he's the new guy. And though he knows how to used edged weapons and could probably bludgeon me into submission with some obscure medieval weaponry, he's miles away in Florida.

And though we here in New England consider what we're having to be "hot" weather, a Floridian would probably freeze to death in the low 80s we're experiencing. (Whereas a New Englander might actually melt down there. I've been there and it was close!)

So yeah, sleep is as precious a commodity to me as gold is to King Midas, and it just ain't happening lately. So yeah, I'm a bit grumpy. (But not cranky, never cranky, you can put that baseball bat down Joe!)

So, I'm off to bed then, I mean it's almost 8 PM! (I think I'm becoming my grandmother, the only thing missing is watching Lawrence Welk at seven.)



And what the Hell do you mean July is over!?!?!

70 comments:

  1. I was at the scene of a flipped over IH Scout, and as the driver was wearing his seat belt, and had enough sense to lean flat on the seat as the truck rolled, all I had to do was bend the vent window frame, and we got the door open, and out he came, without a scratch. As I turned to go back to my car, I slipped on the wet grass, and found that under the right conditions, my left knee would also bend to the left and right. So, for 37 years now, I have known about approaching low pressure, long before it arrives.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Sorry to read of your pains and not being able to get a good night's sleep OAFS. I hope things improve soon.

    Thanks for the post.
    Paul L. Quandt

    ReplyDelete
  3. Besides the usual spate of knee proving it is a fragile little thing back in my "just-before-going-to-boot camp-days", recently my wife and her siblings tried their level best to collect on my life insurance. They had decided to clean paint residue (long story--don't ask) out of their late father's dishwasher, and in the process, placed the bottom tray on the floor right in the middle of the kitchen's interstate highway.

    Naive li'l ol' me, I din't know nuttin' about it. So, stepping and planting my left foot, with the aim being to deposit some trash in the appropriate receptacle (a.k.a. a "trash can"), my right foot found its way into said tray. Which then proceeded to roll sideways, right through the laundry/mud room door.

    My right foot followed. My body tried to follow. It almost did. But then it realized it was not a nubile 14 year old cheerleader, capable of doing the splits. My brain then caught up with my body, and acknowledged that a 66 year old male is not a 14 year old female cheerleader. My mouth then opened, and agreed with my brain. "Crap!" is all I said; however, my internal vocabulary immediately reverted to my days aboard ship. Fortunately, my mouth remained closed, and such reversions remained unsaid.

    A very tasteless photo was taken two days later by my bos--er, wife--which showed a goodly amount of "bruising"--it was really the result of the hamstring, abductor, aductor, conductor, passenger, and engineer (or whatever all those muskle-thingies are called) suffering a considerable amount of micro-fissures or something. Meanwhile, right where the hip socked is located was a really ugly black spot.

    It reinforced my thoughts of Southerners: They are so lackadaisical, they don't ever pay attention to detail. Grrr....

    And so now I stroll, sorta, and don't feel nearly like I used to. They realize that I'm not a happy camper, and are a little more obsequious around me. That attempt on my insurance policy occurred back in April of this year.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh dear Lord, bless their hearts.

      'Tis a great story Jim, and well told. Surely the pain is worth it?

      Rhetorical question, it's only "worth it" once the pain is only a memory. Though at our age it takes longer and longer for that pain to go away.

      And oh yes, ouch!

      Delete
  4. Actually, Many PBS stations have Lawrence Welk reruns at about seven :-)
    Ain't age wonderful?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Still?

      Good to know, Cap'n. Just in case...

      Delete
    2. The good Captain beat me to it, regarding the Lawrence of the Welk, as I unroll my nefarious scheme. I have secretly hired the crew of the Draken Harald Hårfagre to storm up the local waterway, make a quick raid onto your property, and, well, you'll see. Muhahahahahaha

      Delete
    3. Heh.

      The Guardians of The Chant remain ever watchful.

      Delete
    4. If you pay them with the same checks you pay me, well, you get what you pay for.

      Delete
  5. During my Senior year of high school my ability to throw anything accurately ended. My father, in his "wisdom", had agreed to overwinter a Suffolk ram that would butt you anytime your back was turned. Butted me, in the packed snow, against the barn and I tried to break my fall with my right arm. Tore up some important parts.

    Doctors? No, cowboy up.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah, I can't throw to save my life after that shoulder incident.

      Guys used to kid me that as a catcher, I shouldn't need to relay throws to second via the pitcher. Not true but that's the reason I didn't play in the outfield.

      Delete
  6. The orthopedic surgeon who worked on my a few years ago had a sign on the wall in his office. It read, "If you're over 50, wake up, and nothing hurts, you're dead."

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm slowly, gradually, beginning to see the absolute and utter veracity of that statement.

      My Doctor: "Why didn't you mention this on your last visit?"

      Me: "I just assumed it's because I'm getting old, there's no manual for this."

      My Doctor (after multiple tests): "Well, yes, that hurts because you're old."

      Me: "So why am I here?"

      Delete
  7. Shoulder injury, hmmmm. Do you take Glucosamine? It will help restore the soft tissues that are messed up, including your knees and fingers (knees to help sit, fingers to help beer.)

    Also, go take a shower, put as hot a blast of water on the affected area for as long as you can stand it. Rotate the affected joint and massage using the other hand, or a massage-ball-on-a-stick thingy available on Amazon or at most stores near you (as seen on TV!)

    Take your favorite anti-inflammatory before going to bed. Whether Vitamin I (Ibuprophen, also known as Fighter Candy) or Aspirin (so 19th Century!) or Tylenol. One has to be somewhat careful with I and A, if one tends to take more than the listed dosage at a time (no, I have never ever taken 4 Ibuprophen at a time, nope, just don't repeat afterwards,) and one should not ever ever ever exceed listed dosage (2 at a time) as Tylenol toxicity and death is a real thing and is a horrible way to die (one of the ways ERs know someone is self slabbing for real (whether they mean to or not,) they OD on a whole bottle of Tylenol. Death will ensue.)

    Preventative measures include the aforementioned Gabapentin to help rebuild the joint(s) and... Indian Clubs. Yep, those stupid wooden clubs you see in the old movies, that are the best for low strength muscle and joint rebuilding. You can use a hammer if you don't have your very own set of clubs. Just hold the hammer by the handle, extend your arm, and start moving it around in circles and such. When you get to a place where it hurts and catches, back off, then move back into that area. You can go from a standard hammer to using a small sledge or even a large sledge (though I recommend, unless you're a freak of nature, that you grasp the large sledge near the hammer head and extend the handle out.)

    Thus is the way of the warrior at fixing boo-boo shoulders and other joints. Seriously, one of my Marine Recon friends does this stuff. I learned it independently. And I don't take Ibuprophen at the MR levels, seriously, 6 200mg every 4 hours?

    And you can buy electric pads that go on shoulder areas, also. Might help.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. If this persists I will. Good advice and thank you. (Now call off those bloody Vikings!)

      Delete
    2. Nope, won't. When Norske go viking (viking being a verb after all,) they make places better to live in (see Ireland, England, France, Russia and potentially northern China and an island off of Japan if you believe the conspiracy theorists.. Seriously, an island with red-haired euro-Asian people..hmmm..)

      Delete
    3. And after reading about some of the stupidity in the NE section of this fair country, well, maybe we need some more Norske and Danes (especially their wimmins! but don't tell Mrs. Andrew I said so, shhhhh)

      Delete
    4. Beans @ 1:30 PM - Well, yes, you're right about the verb part, but to liberate this area of the country, perhaps an alliance is in order. (After all, if the DNA test was accurate, I do have a wee bit o' Norse in me.)

      Delete
    5. Beans @ 1:57 PM - Yup, Norwegian chicks are alright. As are the Danes. The only Swedish lady I ever met was married to a friend of mine, she was blonde, attractive and smart as a whip.

      I learned a thing or two in NATO, yes I did!

      Delete
  8. I believe the proper term in all cases here, and I include myself as well as the USS Aaron Ward, is: Bloody but unbowed.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Oh, and check out a Chiropractor. See the new, 20th Century versions of medieval torture devices. Might help, Will Hurt!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Either go to the cute dominatrix cleverly disguised as a chiropractor or massage-therapist or go to a real Turkish bath and have 7ft Jannisarries toss you around a hot room like, well, a victim in a Turkish bath.

      Seriously, always wanted to get a Turkish bath. Last time I tried even a hard-massage massagenist it was like, meh, okay, I can almost feel it. Said so and the massage lady (who was, well, fastpitch softball strong (that's a complement, by the way) asked me what I use to get the shoulder muscles to relax. My answer was "Beat them with a hammer." She didn't believe me. I showed her, by taking one of those massage balls on a stick and whacking the carp out of my shoulder muscles, and then throwing myself rearward into a doorframe, which started loosening up said muscles. She gave up at that point.

      One of my friends who I never see anymore is a massage terrorist. She worked on my back for two hours, whacking with her fist, a club, electrical torture, the whole nine yards. Finally got the tension out of my shoulders. I sighed in relief, took a deep breath, and sat up, thereby immediately tensioning said muscles back into fleshy steel. Oh well, it is what it is.

      May have to go to an actual madame-dominatrix to get hit hard enough for my muscles to mellow. One of the problems I had when fighting was that other fighters thought it was, well, weird when I giggled when they hit me. Come on, guys, it felt good, for the most part. Yup. Weird. Beans is.

      Delete
    2. I suffered "frozen shoulder" in my right shoulder. It crept up so slowly that I wasn't really aware of it and kept compensating until it was obvious even to my addled-in-the-egg conscious mind. The first sessions of PT were pure hell. I have nowhere near the pain tolerance of my wife, and I was seriously considering asking if they could just amputate the arm, instead. Two weeks later it was noticeably better even if it hurt, and I could work at it with bearable levels of pain. The next month, Mom came down with it in her right shoulder. Obviously reverse genetics and I gave it to her via the 'spooky action at a distance' that Einstein derided, but turned out to be A Real Thing. The next month, my left shoulder started up, but I recognized the symptoms fast enough to grin and bear the pain on my own as I stretched my way out of it without PT. The experience with PT convinced me that if captured, I'd spill everything non-classified before torture even started, and the best I could hope for would be to die from a heart attack before torture rendered me hopeless. That was humbling, to say the least. The best I could hope for would be to spout so much plausible BS that they couldn't sort it out, but knowing how interrogators work, I have my doubts about that. They know their business, and whatever you say doesn't exist in a vacuum. Sorry you had to go through that.

      Delete
    3. Everyone breaks. It's only a question of when.

      Delete
  10. Unwilling vassal? Don't be so sure. But more importantly, who ratted us out? Hope your shoulder heals enough for your cat to stop bothering you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I sense a disturbance in the Force!

      Delete
    2. Tuna, I think you answered the question as to who the leaker(s) was/were in your last sentence. Remember, dogs have masters, cats have staff (sergeants.)

      Delete
    3. You must not be the Feeder of the Cats. Our cats mostly ignore me, but a bit before 5:00 am, they start trompling and sniffing (with tickly whiskers) the Feeder, namely my wife. A 20-lb and 14-lb cat (the runt of the litter) aren't easily ignored. But sometimes they take after me. Usually when they put a paw on my face, it's a possessive gesture as they fall asleep. No harm, no foul. Especially since I tend to mostly (but not quite) sleep through anything familiar. It's the unfamiliar that has me rolling out of bed, grabbing the flashlight and handgun, but that's only happened twice. The runt cat used to 'bounce' my wife, leaping 5' into the air with an absolutely crazed look on his face, coming down on all fours on my wife's bladder just after dawn. I happened to be awake twice in 8 years to witness it. Man, if I only had my SLR camera at the ready in burst mode! That would've been awesome. Thankfully, my wife feeds them, and I only have to clean litter pans. That spares me much morning aggravation! :D

      Delete
    4. Beans - Yup, Tuna revealed himself didn't he?

      Delete
    5. Larry - Actually I am the default "feeder of the felines." Sometimes, maybe one a month, they will "let" me sleep and make mama feed them.

      My cats really do own me.

      Delete
  11. Way back in the way back, but not as way back as you Sarge, (Sorry, I couldn't help myself) I separated both shoulders at different times. Once it happened playing football in HS and once it happened playing the dorm idiot in college. Never did proper PT afterwards. Then spent several decades sleeping with one arm tucked under my head, on my stomach like. Now in my early 50s I have in both shoulders arthritis, tendonitis, tendonosis, fraying of the rotator cuffs, and a partially torn labrum. When the pain became too much I stopped boxing and after a rest tried Crossfit last year. Damn! The mobility exercises and stretching they did made the pain go away. then, thinking I was healed, I tried an exercise I knew I shouldn't and the next morning woke up in miserable pain in my right shoulder. I've tried my go to Active Release Technique which helped a little, gel shots, which cost a lot, then started working with a trainer at my gym. He's specialized in injury rehab and is studying to be a Physical Therapist. Since February it has gotten a lot better, still not pain free and it's very weak, but it is much better. Weights and dynamic stretching seem to heal most of my injuries. I went from not being able to walk due to a herniated disk, to deadlifting my weight for sets. I haven't had any real back pain in several years.

    Try ART. A lot of PTs and Chiros do it. It's deep tissue massage while engaging the muscles. It can hurt but I swear by it even though ti didn't help this particular should injury very much. I think it may have been too soon for it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Sounds like good advice. It also wouldn't hurt for me to lose about 40 pounds as well. (All this riotous living ya know.)

      Delete
    2. Weight and dynamic stretching are the core principles behind training with India Clubs. Which were developed by (dot) Indians to build up and develop sword combat muscles. Soft (non-jerking) motions are much better for joint and muscle health than hard (jerk or punch) motions.

      (So whacking a pell (sword target for training) is great for allowing one to develop the feel for hitting, but will trash all the joints, eventually.)

      ART sounds a lot like Rolfing, which I heartily enjoy. Hard deep and painful. Nothing feels better.

      Delete
    3. Man, you guys are suckers for punishment.

      Delete
    4. If only I could find an ART practitioner who administered the "punishment" while looking goo in high heels and stockings...

      DLM

      Delete
    5. If you do, you'll let us know, right?

      Delete
  12. I got to the part about "have you been drinking' and vaguely recalled a story about a football, beers and blood (voluminous quantities)......was that you?? LOL
    One day I will tell you about how I hit the tree (the ONLY tree in a 5 acre radius) whilst sledding in speed demon style, face down and forward. Hubby banned me from sledding (or even teaching me to ski) and has stuck to his guns ever since.

    ….and no, I had not been drinking. LOL

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Uh, that might have been me. Maybe. :)

      My brother once managed to go head first into a brick wall on a sled which everyone else had managed to avoid. It hurt like Hell but hey, he's got a hard head. Didn't seem to affect him (much) in later years.

      Delete
  13. England AFB...I was in grade school. I remember my father taking me into the Operations Center when he had weekend duty. And taking me out to the flight line to let me sit in the F-100 he flew. Good memories of standing near the flight line and watching C-47s and F-4 Phantoms take off (the Phantoms were always impressive!). Oh yeah, the time my father took his father and me to the gunnery range to watch F-100s shooting up the large target "sheets". One made a pass and then Dad came runnning onto the platform of the wooden tower yelling, "Daddy! Daddy! Watch that F-100! It's about to crash!" Crap! Engine failure, pilot ejected with a good chute, and the F-100 glided (like a brick) into the distance. Dad took us to the crash site over near Boy Scout Hill (Road?). Some old farmer was driving down a dirt road and that F-100 just belly-flopped onto the road a couple of hundred feet in front of him. No loss of life or injuries so it worked out better than it might have. -Barry

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dang! Great story Barry.

      You actually got to sit in the cockpit of a Hun?!?! I am SOOOO jealous.

      Delete
  14. First day with teachers back, so late to the fight. My take on all this?

    Thank goodness I'm not the only one who wakes up hurting. "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" ain't a nursery rhyme around Rancho Juvat.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I know I'm alive when I wake up, put my feet to the floor and hear what sounds like a warehouse of china come crashing down. Yay me.

      After reading some past posts, I am glad you never became a member of the Martin Baker club, and I am sure your back feels the same way. Though after dealing with a herd of free-range teachers, I can see the need of an ejection seat where you currently work.

      Delete
    2. Juvat - Bwaaaahaaaahaaaa!!!! "Heads, shoulders, knees and toes" indeed!

      Delete
    3. Beans - from what I've gathered over the years, Juvat is eminently qualified to herd cats. They are far more cooperative from what I've observed.

      ;)

      Delete
    4. This is the first time in over forty one years that my wife isn't one of the returning teachers.
      We are now both retired.

      Delete
    5. Retired is good, yes? 18 months give or take and I'm retiring. Again.

      Delete
    6. Herding cats is easy. You just have to make sure that they think they're in charge. I used to be a cat puncher in a previous life... story idea out of those experiences.

      One of the weird effects of being 'retired-retired' is that suddenly all the businesses designed to pamper to you become an all-day affair - such as dealing with insurance companies... Grrrrr.

      Delete
    7. Ooh, I can hardly wait.

      That "letting them think they're in charge" thing works well with lieutenants as well.

      Delete
  15. We're all in The Olde Fartes Clube!

    6 or so years ago I was coming back from one of the very, very few spaces on my ship that had no interior access. Naturally, it was raining when I had to go up there to check some radio gear.

    On my way back I had to use a particular stairway, as it was the shortest route to get back inside.

    WELL.....three steps from the bottom I found myself staring at the sky, followed by the solid thump of me hitting the deck.

    I wound up with a gigantic bruise down my backside from my waist to my right knee, and because I had a death grip on the left hand railing, I tweaked my left shoulder to a new level.

    I'm now more accurate than the NWS when it comes to predicting the weather......

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We could probably start our own version of the Weather Channel.

      Delete
    2. Yikes, drjim! Yikes, I say!

      Dad had some... interesting (said with steepled fingers) stories about life on range tracking ships and hazardous conditions.

      The things they did to 50lb Balonies shouldn't have happened to any lunch meat... (shudder, shudder...)

      Delete
    3. Heh. My father-in-law hurt his shoulder in a gusty parachute landing. Then, as a Marine platoon commander, fell off an M-48 in Vietnam when it lurched forward just as he was about to jump off the rear deck and landed on same shoulder Then got shot by the NVA in same shoulder (missed all bone, healed as well as could be expected). Finally, as a captain commanding a rifle company, got shot in the thigh quite badly. Evacuated to hospital at Clark AFB (as it was known then), then to Guam. Dad was at the Wullenweber antenna array (the Air Force called their's FLR-9, which had added unnecessary complexity, not least of which was the USAF "Tech Control" which only added another whole superfluous layer of electronics and people that could fail, but who had an inordinate pride in themselves and their job. I dealt with them later in my USAF job, and found them as pointless a complication as Dad did (those huge antennae were often shared between Army, USAF, USN, NSA, Canadian Armed Forces, the Brits, and possibly Aussies, depending on location). My wife's father was recuperating on Guam while we were there. Several surgeries later, he still struggles to maintain even a fraction of the range of motion he should have. But he can predict bad weather with the best of them.

      Delete
    4. Beans - As to the 50 pound bologna, not sure I want to know.

      Delete
    5. Larry - Fate seems to have it in for your father-in-law's shoulder. Damn!

      As to the USAF makingthings more complicated than they needed to be... No! Say it ain't so! /snark (Tee hee, that's my Air Force!)

      Delete
  16. No good excuse for being late except that I got my left knee xrayed today, then spent a grunch of time on the phone with DEERS, and a failed attempt to speak with a human at Humana East. We are off to get new IDs this Friday, and according to DEERS, we are both in Tricare For Life as of today.
    I didn't even know I could injure my knee by spending some considerable amount of time kneeling down and fixing the mower. I wish I could add drama to the story, but that's the simple truth.

    Good post and good comments.




    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ouch.

      And yes, Tricare For Life. Definitely a thing, and a new ID I must get. (Why does a retiree ID expire? I can understand a retiree expiring, but his ID!?!?)

      Oh, and thanks John!

      Delete
    2. John, don't understand it but it's one of those rules in life that joints will go kerflunky when most needed. (hmmm, another story idea in that one)

      Delete
    3. Sarge.
      I had gotten a new retired ID card when I turned 65, but now DEERS says I need a newer new ID card, and we simply missed that my wife's card needed to be renewed.
      The Tricare For Life was a bit more complicated because I was covered by my wife's medical plan and that plan goes away at the end of August.
      DEERS has a call back routine after you spend enough time on hold, and they called back at the exact minute that they said they would.

      Delete
    4. Beans - A new story idea, I get them here all the time.

      Delete
    5. John - Nice to know that DEERS functions close to "as designed."

      Delete

Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)