perspective

So, why did this have to happen to us?

Just wondering. It sucks. No one else is affected. Just us.

Everyone else can still go back to their normal jobs, work, and lives, etc.

I don't feel like anyone really understands and is grateful for his sacrifice.

He chose this job, and he said today he'd go back in the infantry if he could. (which he probably could, but we won't even go there) He loves it. I don't know why. I'll never get it.

But a lot of others don't get it either. And I get very irritated with everyone who just has a normal life right now. Even the nurses who are just here doing their job, doing the job I normally do and don't think twice about (even though it's not in this setting), I don't think they really get it. They must be numb to it.

I mean, we've got people talking to us who we haven't heard from in years, expressing their condolences and gratefulness that he's ok. But it just doesn't seem genuine. Am I being too picky? Yes, most likely.

All he keeps saying lately is, "Man, they never tell you about this part of it, or show it in the movies..." It's true, they don't tell you about the ungodly amount of stool softeners and laxatives you have to take because you're also getting about 5 different kinds of narcotics. And, oh by the way, your whole left side is numb so it's not like you can just get up and walk to the bathroom, and you couldn't anyway because you're missing part of your right leg. (He wonders if he'll wake up in the middle of the night and forget that foot is gone, and fall on the floor when he tries to go to the bathroom) They don't tell you that you can't shower for who knows how long because of the incisions and sutures and surgeries still to come which will involve skin grafts and wound vacs until the skin grafts are healed. We asked last week when he could shower - "Well, you can get your right hand wet..." Yeah, that helps, thanks. They don't tell you that you pretty much won't be able to do anything for yourself until these wounds are healed. That you probably will feel terrible about yourself and the fact that you're depending on everyone else to do things for you when before you were just on a normal patrol and everything was ok. You could poop like normal, take a shower all by yourself, get yourself dressed, tie your own shoes, prepare your own meals, and cut up your own food. To take this away from a 25 year old man, is torture.

As I'm learning, men have to do things for themselves, it part of that Y chromosome I guess. And I can't imagine what this must feel like for him. It's in my nature to want to do this for him, both as a woman and a nurse, so I get comfort in being able to help him, but I'm positive he's cursing the moment he stepped in that certain place every single time I have to help him with something.

As I was pseudo hugging him tonight, I said "I still can't believe we're in this situation." It's not really like I have my husband back, because I don't. We can't do the things we used to do. We can't talk about the things we used to talk about. We can't just be alone for days like we used to. Even if family isn't visiting, there are doctors, nurses, or corpsmen in and out.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm guilty of staring at people out in public. You are too. I usually am trying to figure out what's wrong with them or what happened to them if there's a physical handicap. I think I'm going to find him that t-shirt that says "I had a blast in Afghanistan". But now we get to be those people being stared at. He hates being the center of attention, much less having any attention brought on him. We should be ok through the winter time, but as summer approaches, and shorts and t shirts season is back, there will be stares. They'll stare at his arms and legs and wonder what happened. But I bet they won't think "Man, I bet he lost his leg for this country and everyone in it, I should go thank him. And then I should probably put my life in perspective." Then they'll probably think "That must be his wife, I wonder what it's like to be married to someone with a fake leg." Jason hates when I care what other people think. Because he's a man, and I guess that kind of stuff doesn't affect men, although I know the stares will. But it affects me. I don't want peoples pity stares. He's my husband, and he will have a fake leg, and it's going to take me a while to adjust to that. But life goes on. Clearly.

I've always said "I could never just drop everything and move like some people do. I have to mentally prepare myself first!" But somehow, I did it. And I didn't like it. I knew I would always be worried about the little things at home - the things I'm worried about now, but keep somehow putting off figuring out. Because I'm technically still not moved.

I really think someone is playing a sick joke on me. They know how much I worry about insignificant things, and how much my things at home matter to me, even though they shouldn't, because they're things. So I feel like someone just said, "She needs to learn what life is really all about." And here I am, living out of two suitcases in a hotel for far longer than I've ever wanted to be in a hotel, walking to visit my husband in the hospital every day, who can not catch a freaking break, only thinking about what we're going to eat for dinner, and whether or not he's brushed his teeth yet, because if I think about more than that, I won't be able to get out of bed.