Not easy being Abby

I came home to a NastyGram in my email from one of the full-timers at my Reserve unit. "Your name has been passed to the Battalion Commander," it read, "because you have not yet completed the Post Post Deployment Health Survey."

[sigh]

Kudos to the Army for caring about Soldiers after deployment, and all that crap. I went online, found this form, and filled it out.

Before deployment, we all filled out forms that more or less consisted of: are you happy, or sad? are you in good health, or bad? etc etc

When we came back, the forms were a little more complicated:
I have seen dead people -
a - often
b - sometimes
c - rarely
d - never

I have been exposed to depleted uranium -
a - often
b - sometimes
c - rarely
d - never

And so on and so forth. The Post-Post-Deployment form basically boiled down to - felt like hurting yourself or others lately? How ya doin'?

But after you fill out the form you have to call in and speak to a provider. I called, experienced a short wait, talked to a very nice woman, and then a very nice man. The very nice man was the actual provider, and as I was speaking to him, I was in the bedroom so I could change out of my work clothes.

So, said Mr. Nice Healthcare Guy, how's re-adjustment? You doing okay?

At that very moment, Jack raced into our room. He stuck his head in an open dresser drawer, yanked out a sock and took off.

My normal reaction would be to curse wildly and pursue him across the house, making wild threats about chainsaws and beatings.

Except I was on the phone with the Army Medical Guy.

Me? I said, gritting my teeth, I am fine. Mellow and happy.

I finished the call after explaining how mellow and stable I was, then threw the phone on the counter and took off after the dog, ranting like a madwoman. I hope I hung up effectively...