This is the first chapter of my book. It has nothing to do with parenting or kids, but it's my blog, so I guess I can write about whatever I want. It is my mostly true account of being the wife and caregiver of a soldier seriously wounded in Operation Enduring Freedom. It will probably never be published, but I write it for myself.
"Stephanie? This is Captain Milecki."
I knew who it was. I knew by the awkward pause before he spoke who it was. I knew that if ANYONE was calling me from Afghanistan and it wasn't my husband, it was Captain Milecki. There was only one reason he would take the time to phone a soldier's wife and it was bad. Very bad.
"Everything is OK, but there has been an accident."
I know this is a lie because if everything was OK, he wouldn't be calling.
I could hear myself saying the obvious......"What happened?"
I sat in the passenger seat of my mother's Avalon while the Captain told me what he knew. "He was hit, Stephanie. He was working on an IED...no one really knows what happened....we are still waiting on the reports....he was fighting....he's going to make it.....ummm.....he took an IED blast to the face at close range........he doesn't look good. He is burned. He is being moved to Bagram just to run some tests, do an MRI....He would be calling you himself, but he's intubated. He had to be sedated to keep him from pulling all the tubes out."
Yeah. I am not a medical professional, but I know that you don't get intubated unless there is a big chance you cannot breathe on your own. I am thankful that our sixteen month old son is asleep in his car seat right now and that I am not driving. My mother is in tears. She is the queen of reading one end of a phone conversation and has already put two and two together. I am oddly focused. Practical. Numb.
"We will call you as soon as we can.....you should hear something within a few hours...seriously, he was writing notes to the guys...." I know the Captain well enough to know he is leaving out something very important, but I am too overwhelmed to think about it. I feel like he is rushing me off the phone and I don't know why.
Once I hang up, I know it will be impossible for me to call Afghanistan, so I try to think of every question I should ask. He tells me there is nothing I can do right now. Great. No where to put my nervous energy.
My thoughts are like a runaway train of unanswered questions.......an IED blast to the FACE? Can he see? How badly is he burned? Are there brain injuries? What was he wearing? The bomb suit? Helmet? Was anyone else injured? Was it his fault? Was he thinking of us? Were his teeth knocked out? Will this haunt him forever?
Then it occurs to me that I am going to have to call Jon's parents.
"Thank you for calling." Did I really just say that? Thank you for calling? I just got the phone call every military wife prays will never come and I thank him for the call.
We are home now. The baby is sleeping and my mother is in her bedroom. I can hear her on the phone, struggling for words, but I am unable to explain what happened. I know if I look at her, I will loose control and that can't happen.
It's time to call Jon's parents.
