Chapter Eighteen: Blessings and Answered Prayers

My pregnancy and the deployment seemed to creep by.  I tried going out and being as active as I could, but I still did not know but one or two people in town and my morning sickness made me miserable at all times of the day.  I was hoping things would get better as I was now well into my second trimester, but the nausea and exhaustion continued.  My mom convinced me to come home for a month so we could take family pictures and so she could throw me a baby shower.  I was so excited for the opportunity to see my family and to celebrate my pregnancy with other people.  Seeing as I lived alone and knew next to no one, the prospects of going home before I became too pregnant was just what I needed.  All my siblings were in town and it was so nice to feel their love and support as they reached out to me as they tried to understand how emotionally draining a deployment was.   It was fun having family members rub my belly and give me the excitement and touches my husband was missing out on. 

My mom, once again went out of her way to put together a party for me where she invited her friends and mine to celebrate the miracle that was my pregnancy.  I was so appreciative and felt wrapped in love as person after person reached out to me with gifts and kind words to help bolster me up for the solitude I was returning to.  My mom tried to talk me into staying longer, but I was growing close to my third trimester and wouldn’t be able to travel much longer; somewhat reluctantly, I returned home.  When I did return home, I enrolled in a class at the hospital to give the information I would need about childbirth and child care.  My sweet aunt drove the hour to attend the classes with me so I would not feel as out of place and alone as others attended with their spouses. I learned a lot that gave me some peace of mind as I furthered my knowledge and had the support of all family members as they celebrated this time with me as they attempted to fill the gaps that were missing along with my husband.

I was still only averaging a call a week, usually meaning a twenty minute conversation.  Most of our conversations were all about me and the progression of the baby.  Josh would only talk about the sand storms or weather and occasionally about some of the friends he had made, but he avoided talking about his job other than it kept him busy.  There were a couple of times he would tell me weeks later that he had been on a patrol or a convoy and there had been no incidents, but I got what little information I did as he decided to share it with me.  I know he was trying to keep me from worrying, but I always worried, especially when there would be days of no phone, e-mail or facebook, which meant they were on blackout.  Blackouts terrified me because that meant a soldier was wounded or killed.  Everyone always told me that no news was good news, so I tried not to worry when sometimes I didn’t talk to my husband for two weeks rather than one.  It was hard to ignore the risks though as I knew Josh had already attended funeral services for two fallen soldiers since he had been over there and there were literally more every day.  I could tell Josh was becoming more aloof, but I tried to understand as I could only imagine the stresses he was dealing with over there. 

Shortly after I returned home from my vacation with family I began noticing how often my stomach was tightening up, causing me cramps on a very regular basis.  I called my doctor and asked if that was normal and was told to go into labor and delivery immediately.  I was terrified.  I was thankful to the classes I had been attending as I was at least familiar with the hospital and had been informed what to do when checking in.  Upon arrival, I was attached to machines to be monitored and it was determined pretty quickly that I was in fact contracting.  They began shots immediately to get the contractions to stop.  After four hours and three shots, my contractions were back under control.  The whole experience frightened me as I had no idea I had started labor other than a few cramps.  I was proud of myself that I had gone through the hospital ordeal on my own and talked myself up into believing that even if Josh didn’t make it home for the birth, I could do this.  Josh’s superiors were aware of my due date and had promised to schedule his two weeks R&R (rest and recuperation) during my due date in hopes the baby would come while he was home, but as always, there were no guarantees.  As you can imagine this disappointed me and stressed me out as Josh had missed all the firsts in his son’s life already: first kick, first hiccups, and the first hospital trip.  I hated to think that he would miss this miracles entrance into the world.  All I could do was have faith that everything would all work out.

After my trip to the hospital and my continued contractions throughout the days, I was put on bed rest.  Basically any time I started contracting, I needed to sit down, put my feet up and drink lots of water.  Seeing as I contracted every time I stood up, I spent most days in bed or in my chair watching television or playing on the computer.  Seeing as these were my only activities, the days seemed to stretch longer and I grew weary of doing the same things over and over, but was willing to do whatever it took to keep my unborn child safe.  The problem was that I was still all alone, which meant I still had to cook, clean and shop for myself.  I tried to always listen to my body but hated the days I ran out of food which meant the dreaded shopping trips.  I couldn’t walk down an aisle without having to wait several minutes before I would stop contracting enough to hit the next aisle.  I had tried to eat well most of my pregnancy, but once I hit this stage I was pretty much only capable of making frozen pizzas and macaroni and cheese as there was little to no preparation.  I puttered through my days and longed for the random times I would finally hear from my husband and hear the reassurance I needed that all was okay.  I know Josh continually worries about my condition and often times I found myself doing the same thing he did: I would only tell him the things I felt he needed to know without all the details that would make him worry.  Most important though, we always expressed our love and respect for one another so even though we were continents apart and abridging our experiences, we were still growing closer together.

I was surprised when one Sunday morning I saw an 888 number calling in; I knew that meant it was Josh but he had never called me during this time before as it was late over in Afghanistan.  I answered excited for the surprise call, but I could tell by the short sharpness of Josh’s voce that something wasn’t right.  I asked him immediately what was wrong and he let me know that he has been injured.  I asked him what happened and he explained he couldn’t tell me a whole lot due to safety and classifications but that there had been an incoming RPG (rocket propelled grenade) and he had gotten hit by some shrapnel.  He tried to joke it off as if there were nothing to worry about, saying it was just a scratch.  He said he had the opportunity to call me first and to be aware that the Army would be calling me to inform me that he had been injured and he didn’t want me to worry.  He then said he had to go and would call as soon as he could and quickly hung up the phone.

I literally felt my world crumbling around me.  The one thing I had feared had happened.  Josh’s conversation had been so short it didn’t put me at ease as I could tell there was something wrong and that it was certainly more than just a scratch if it was serious enough for the Army to call me.  I felt my hands trembling as I sat down and tried calling my mom and dad, but they were at church and no one was answering.  My mind was spinning with the information I had, knowing my husband was injured and half way around the world and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.  I called my siblings cell phones and my parent’s cell phones and finally called a friend and explained through my teats the call I had just received.  She promised to pray for him and sat attentively as I cried out all my deepest fears.  Fifteen minutes into the conversation I got a call back from my dad and switched phone lines to tell him the news.  He said he would spread the word around and have people start saying prayers for my injured husband.  I then had the task of calling Josh’s parents to let them know Josh had called me, but he had been injured.  I relayed the conversation word for word and I could hear the same fear in their voices as they thanked me for letting them know.  When I got off the phone I felt numb.  I knew very little and there was nothing I could do.  All I could do is sit and worry and wait for the phone call from the Army where I hoped I could get more information.  I tried to calm myself as I had at least heard his voice and he was able to call me, but if it wasn’t serious why had he not called me back yet?

I finally received a call from the army that afternoon.  A sergeant on rear detachment called to inform me that my husband had been injured over in Afghanistan.  I asked him what information he had, and he said he didn’t know much other than Josh’s wounds were classified as extremely serious.  Josh had been flown on a flight for life to Kandahar Air Field where he could receive some emergency medical treatment before they moved him to a hospital in Germany.  He informed me that Josh was in surgery as we spoke.  The sergeant then asked if I needed anything, but my head was empty of all thoughts as all I could think about was my husband stretched out on some hospital bed in a country I didn’t know.  I hung up the phone upset that Josh had left so much of the story out.  A scratch?! Why was he in surgery? What had really happened? Seriously injured?  If they were moving him to Germany, I knew that meant it was serious.  The fear I had that morning intensified as I wanted nothing more than to be by my husband’s side.  Not too soon afterwards, I received a call from my father in law as he had been told the same information.  He wanted to make sure I wasn’t upsetting myself into early labor and talked with me for an hour as we tried to come to terms with what was happening.  My mom and dad called my aunt and uncle who came up and sat with me as did my one friend in Clarksville.  I was so grateful for the love and support, but my heart ached as I waited desperately for more information.

Time crept by and I tossed and turned all night as I tried not to let my contractions intensify.  I cried for all the unknowns, I cried for my wounded husband and I cried for our unborn child in fears that he might grow up without a father.  Everyone tried to reassure me that Josh would be all right and I tried to believe that and honestly, deep down I did, but there was no proof that he would be.  I kept reminding myself again and again that at least he had called and he had been coherent and joking about a flesh wound, but I still feared.  I called the sergeant I had talked with back the next morning and asked for new information, but he still didn’t have any.  He said he would continue trying to get through and would call as soon as he had any new information.  The waiting was driving me crazy.  All I knew was Josh was hit by shrapnel from a bomb and had needed surgery and that it was serious enough to evacuate him out of the country.  My day was another mess of emotions as I waited with my phone gripped in my hand all day. 

Almost twenty four hours after I received a call from the Army I received another call from my husband.  I know he could hear the fear in my voice as I desperately demanded he tell me how he was doing.  He told me he was sore, but he was okay.  I asked him where he had been hit and he informed me that he had taken shrapnel to his neck.  The reality and the seriousness of the situation hit me hard.  I tried being strong for Josh, but there was no hiding my sobbing over the phone.  Josh assured me that he was okay.  I told him that he should have told me how serious it was and I was upset I had to find out from the Army that he had needed surgery.  He apologized as he thought he had told me that information and once again assured me that everything was all right.  I argued that he needed to stop down playing his injury as I already knew they were going to be sending him to Germany.  This piece of news caught Josh off guard as he had not heard that himself and said he didn’t think that would be necessary.  He told me how during the surgery they went in to collect the metal that had entered his neck and they had been able to get everything out except for one small piece, which was perfectly safe staying inside of him for the rest of his life.  There was no threat to him bleeding out or having any further complications so he hoped they would not send him to Germany.  He then said he as receiving morphine and would need to hang up.  He promised to call as soon as he could and with that I once again was left with my emotions and the little pieces of new information that I had.

Josh had been hit in the neck.  Had the shrapnel hit his jugular, I knew I wouldn’t have gotten a phone call from the Army; instead I very easily could have been getting the dreaded knock on the door.  Only later did I learn that Josh’s injury was only 6 mm away from hitting the crucial blood vein, meaning he was only 6 mm away from death.  Later that evening I received another call from the Army to inform me that Josh was out of surgery and stable, but that they still planed on moving him to Germany as soon as a flight opened up and to be expecting call to make travel arrangements if I wanted to go be with him in Germany.  I was feeling frustrated as Josh kept making it seem like he was fine and the Army made it seem like my husband was dying.  Then a whole new fear hit me.  I was seven and half month pregnant and on bed rest, no airline or doctor would okay me to travel to Germany.  None of this seemed fair.  Every time Josh and I seemed to be starting life over, something big and traumatic happened.  This was our first deployment, Josh was only a support MOS who very rarely left the FOB, why was it him that had been seriously injured?  On the other hand I knew even in his injury it was miraculous that he was even still with me, so I tried not to be upset or bitter, but it felt like every time we took one step forward, we seemed to take two steps back.

The days passed with conflicting information.  Josh kept telling me he was headed back to his FOB, while the Army kept telling me they were sending him to Germany.  The Army even called to make arrangements and agreed that I would be unable to travel in my condition, but assured me they would fly Josh’s parents out to Germany if they wanted.  After a week, Josh was released from the hospital and put in one of the recovery tents at KAF (Kandahar Air Field) where he began hearing the experiences of some of the infantry men in recovery.  Josh continued to downplay his injury until he admitted to me he relived it in detail and realized just how close a call it was.  I asked him if he would tell me about it and he promised he would when he got home, but for now he wanted me to focus on my pregnancy and he would focus on his recovery.  Although I was glad Josh had the miraculous recovery that he did, I was disappointed that e had to go through all that we did and after it all Josh still returned back to work.  After two weeks Josh returned to his FOB, and it was back to waiting for his calls and hoping this baby didn’t come before Josh’s R&R.

I now worried more than ever for Josh’s safety as I learned that even on the FOB, there were no guarantees to a soldier’s safety.  A month before my due date my mom drove out to stay with me which was a very welcome help and comfort.  I now no longer feared going into labor and not having anyone to drive me to the hospital.  I now had someone to help with the grocery shopping, housework and cooking and I finally had a friend and companion to share every day with.  Mom helped me get the last of the baby stuff I was still in need of as well as gave me suggestions for nursing bras.  We organized and got the nursery ready and began getting me out of the house in small doses to get me in shape for delivery after my long period of inactivity due to bed rest.  Before I knew it, there were only a couple days left before Josh was due home for two weeks.  I spent many of those days dreaming about what it would feel like in my husband’s arms after six months apart.  I couldn’t wait for him to feel our son kick through my belly and to see me in my entire pregnant splendor.  I longed to feel his kisses on my lips and I longed to run my finger over the scar that almost changed our lives forever, which was now my husband’s pride and joy.  There was so much we missed out on two weeks just didn’t seem like enough time, but that always seemed to be the problem: I just never had enough time with my husband.

The day I long awaited for finally arrived: it was time to pick Josh up from the hospital.  I was a little nervous about driving to the airport in Nashville by myself being as pregnant as I was, but I would go cross country to see Josh if that’s what was needed.  I had my doctor’s appointment that morning and found out I was dilated to a three.  With the happy news I quickly made my way to the airport and arrived just as Josh’s plane was landing.  As I didn’t arrive soon enough to meet him at the gate, I waited as patiently as I could by the luggage carousel.  Soldiers began spilling over the stairs and I couldn’t help but cry as I watched fellow spouses and loved ones like me find their loved one.  I waited patiently for my reunion until I finally saw Josh come down the stairs.  As soon as he saw me he galloped and skipped stairs, embracing me in a power hug that I had been needing for the last six months.  He rubbed my belly and grinned, commenting on how large and pregnant I looked.  I couldn’t help but smile back, thinking that finally the world was right again.

We went out and got lunch and spent the day in each other’s arms, making up on all the lost time we had spent apart.  I could tell it was a bit of a culture shock being back from Afghanistan as he woke up confused and looking for his weapon several times during the night and mumbling incoherent shop talk, but I didn’t care.  Josh was home and he was home in time for the birth of our son.  The next day we began predicting when Dorian would make his appearance.  We went for walks and talked and napped throughout the day.  I was craving pizza so Josh and I went out and tried a new pizza parlor and having finished decided to finish off the day with a nice stroll by the river.  As soon as we got to the river though I felt leakage in my pants and was horrified that I had just peed myself.  I asked Josh if we could go home and somewhat reluctantly told him the reason why.  He of course obliged and grinned at my embarrassment, but I felt the same sensation again.  It was an odd experience as I didn’t feel like I had to urinate, but I had heard several woman complain of such mishaps especially in the ending stages of their pregnancy.  When I got home I emptied my bladder and changed my underwear and walked into the kitchen where Josh was to try and explain it was a natural occurrence when it happened again.  Seeing as I had emptied myself, I knew whatever I was leaking, was not urine.  It was a clear liquid and reality finally hit me.  My water was leaking.  It was time to go to the hospital.  Our baby was on his way.