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 anyone except one or
two people in town. On top of that, 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 learn 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, which
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 due to my husband’s absence.
I was still only averaging a call a
week from Josh, 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 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 tears 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 his injury 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 he had to go through all that he
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, that 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 airport. 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.
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