My Rough Weekend

Now that I know everything’s going to be okay, I think I can put it in words.

I got one of the scariest phone calls I could anticipate getting last Thursday. My friend JC, who I’ve seen as my little brother/child almost since I met him four years ago, was shot in Iraq. His mom called me the morning after she found out. She barely got this words out before the tears started flowing and my hands started shaking. I was completely panicked, drawing on mental pictures of my dad in the hospital after being shot when I was in 5th grade. His mom gave me details that should have made me feel better about the situation, but I didn’t hear them. I couldn’t get past the first sentence. That was around 10am. I cried on and off most of the morning quietly at my desk until I could escape at a reasonable time for “lunch” when I went to see my mom. It helped to tell someone, so I was able to mostly hold it together for the afternoon. By 5:30, I thought I had it together enough to call JC’s mom to ask for all the details she tried to give me in the morning.

He was med-evac’d to a hospital not far from me by Friday night, so I went to see him Saturday. It was tough to remain calm until I could see him. I saw him everytime I closed my eyes and I couldn’t stop thinking about his family and the soldiers who were with him and his girlfriend. And I just wanted (and still want) my husband to be home so badly.

I cried on the way to the hospital, riding in the car with Hug’s dad, and my hands shook when we rode the elevator up to his floor, not knowing what to expect. I don’t think I breathed in between the nurses station and his room, and I barely noticed anyone else in the room until I saw him. Luckily, he didn’t look anything like I had pictured. He was sitting up, smiled at me, and hugged me back when I asked if I could hug him. I stood next to him, talking for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders, before I finally turned and acknowledged JC’s family, who was all sitting in the room. We stayed for a while, talking, joking, pretending nothing was odd about the fact that JC was laying in a hospital bed with bullet wounds through both legs. He looked fine despite the drainage tubes – no monitors or IVs and all limbs intact (thank God), but there was a distance in his eyes. Well, what do you expect after being shot, having two surgeries, and being in three different countries in less than 72 hours?

I still didn’t sleep Saturday night, because I worried about his little brother, my husband, and JC’s girlfriend, and the look in his eyes. I gave up on sleep at 5:30 Sunday morning.

Sunday, we went back over to the hospital and I had a moment to talk to JC alone. I felt a little better hearing him be honest about wishing he was back with his unit and being frustrated about being confined to a bed for now. I felt even better after talking to him Monday and hearing his optimism after having the wound on his left leg sewn up and meeting the physical therapists, and I felt like a freaking rock star on Tuesday after hearing he not only stood up out of bed, but walked down the hall, wanting to go further, but being reined in by his therapist.

By the time Hug gets home (which will be soon – hooray!), JC should be on crutches with full use of his left leg. I believe in Guardian Angels, and he definitely had one looking after him that day. While he’s certainly not lucky to have been shot, the fact that those bullets missed bones, organs, and major nerves and arteries makes him one really lucky kid. Between that and JC’s upbeat attitude and determination, he’s going to impress doctors and be back on BOTH feet in no time.