Tilt-A-Life (a continuation)

An update on my last entry and the developing situation:

It could have been worse. A lot worse. But things weren't as good as I had been told. After conversations with both of my husband's parents, I learned that I hadn't been told the whole truth about my husband's gunshot. Whether by miscommunication or misunderstanding, I'm not sure and I lay blame with absolutely no one. The situation was hectic and at least some word was gotten to me as soon as things began to happen.

I must remain a bit vague as I am unsure how much I am allowed to reveal. But in the simplest of explanations: a 9mm misfired and the bullet flew through a fellow soldier's pant leg (he was the victim of the "graze"), bounced off the ground, and went eight centimeters into my husband's upper left thigh from behind. The shot went so far into his leg, it had to be taken out through the other side (it was about three or four centimeters from the surface). He was medivac'ed through different bases until he reached Tripler Army Medical Center here in Hawaii, where I was waiting to meet him.

Seeing my husband for the first time in six months should have been absolutely thrilling (which, in part, it was). But I certainly had mixed feelings about seeing my exhausted, wounded husband being wheeled down a hallway toward me in a gurney. I should have been waiting in the bleachers in a massive warehouse, searching a formation for his face in a welcome home ceremony. But that isn't what I got. Nevertheless, he was home. And we were both in for a rough seventy-two hours, full of constant visits by the medical staff, bandage changings, a lot of pain, medication, and very little sleep.
Yet by late morning on the third day, they were ready to release him.

Needless to say, we have had quite a chaotic three weeks, from wading through in-processing for his wounded warrior unit to tri-weekly hospital visits to struggling to get housing and waiting for our household goods to arrive. Until today, we haven't had a whole lot of time of time to even sit and rest, bedtime being our only reprieve. I use "we" a lot because I have rarely left my husband's side this whole time. He cannot drive, must use a cane to walk, and can't dress or bathe without me helping him. Everything is highly painful for him.

The way things stand, we have a very long road ahead of us. My husband's wound is still more than six centimeters deep and he just got the staples taken out of the other side of his leg. We have to go into Tripler every other day to get his bandage changed and wound repacked, which is probably the most painful undertaking for him, especially as damaged nerves and muscles are healing. We're grateful those were the only things damaged, as the bullet missed bone and barely nicked his femoral artery. It could have been much worse.

Neither of us asked for this to happen. Not in a million years would we wish this on anyone. It's a difficult and wearying experience to deal with. We have our good days and our bad. It will be a while until my husband is running and back to the place he was before the incident. But every day is another step forward, ground gained. We are surrounded by people who are full of positivity and want the best for us. giving us opportunity and doing everything they can to get my husband healed. It is by no means over but things are going to keep progressing and we are full of hope.

Tilt-a-Whirl (it's time for a spin!)

A single phone call. That's all it takes to send your world spinning.

It could have been like any other phone call I've gotten from my husband. But no. This one would be different.
Crackle, crackle. "Hey sweetheart, can you hear me?" Yes, I can hear you. Crackle, crackle, crackle. "Babe, are you there?" Crackle, crackle. For heaven's sakes, I'm here! "It seems there's been a change of plans..." What do you mean? CRACKLE CRACKLE STATIC STATIC "--sending me home early for medical reasons."  crackle crackle. silence. The call's been dropped.

A dropped call isn't uncharted territory for us at this point. Happens once or twice on a good day. But his mention of "medical reasons" gives me a bit of pause. He's had some other, non-severe issues that I wouldn't think would merit getting sent home early. But I can't (and don't want to) think about anything else that could fit that description.

My phone rings again. Hey. "Can you hear me?" crackle crackle. Yes, hun I can hear you. What's going on? crackle crackle. "--been shot--" crackle crackle. What? What happened?! Are you okay? crackle crackle  "Just a graze--"crackle crackle. silence. Yet again.

Now I'm worried. Did he just say he got shot?! Or was that my overactive imagination? What happens now? What do I do? What happens to him? Should I call somebody?

Before I have time to think of any more panicky questions, my phone rings one more time, like I hoped it would. Only this time the line is clear. And it isn't him calling me. It's his platoon leader, making I understand what's going on. Yes, Zach was shot, grazed really. He's fine, "in good spirits" was the phrase his platoon leader used. Asked how I was doing and if I was okay (handling the shock of everything). I assured him that while shaken, I will be all right. He updated me on the situation and where they would send my husband next. While he was sent out early for medical attention, he may not be home any sooner.

You can bet I did some crying last night. It hit me that my husband had been in danger. Oh, I know he had been in danger before, on missions and things. I usually avoided thinking too hard about it. It isn't as much of a reality though unless that danger actually harms them. And on his way home, too! You never know when things like that will happen. I suppose my tears were more out of relief though. Relief that it wasn't a different phone call I received. The one that no wife would ever want to answer, although they still do. I'm so grateful that while he may be coming home injured, he's still coming home alive. When we found out in 2010 that he was going to be deployed,  I was terrified that he was going to get killed. It doesn't happen as often, but it still happens. And we've had some pretty close calls.

I'm so thankful that my husband is alive. I honestly don't know what I would do without him. I won't have to do without him for much longer though. And we are definitely going to appreciate the time we have together. Some aren't as thankful until they've gone without. It just looks like I'll have to pull a Florence Nightingale once he gets home. Practice for the future.