Game called on account of rain

During the last few days I can’t seem to get a quote by Mother Theresa out of my head. In an interview with the CBC she said – “God does not give us more than we can bear. I just wish sometimes he didn’t trust me so much.”

I think it’s become my anthem of late.

Kate’s EKG was followed up a few days later by an EEG. Unlike the EKG – she had to remain sedentary for the duration of the test. A nice way to say – I held her down for six and a half hours.

By the time we left the hospital I was tired enough to sleep for a month of Sundays. Terri-Lynn sat with us for the last couple of hours or so and I tell you if I didn’t have her support I think Kate and I would have been recorded bawling together for that time.

Two days after her EEG it was my turn to be given some news.

Medical complications due to pregnancy have caused the doctors to put me on restricted duties. I’m technically not on official bed rest – but it’s close enough for government work. I’m not allowed to lift, push, pull, or carry anything that weighs more than a 2L bottle of pop.

Great! How’s this going to work?

I can’t do anything. I can’t grocery shop. I can’t take out the garbage. I can’t bathe Kate. I’ve failed my one basic task as the spouse of a deployed soldier. I can’t hold down the home front.

And do I tell Rick? Or better yet. What do I tell Rick? Do I tell him everything? Do I tell him nothing? I’m too tired to even think about it.

I think this is the straw. I feel like a cartoon character that has been given so much to carry that its legs just go out flat. Wylie Coyote in the flesh.

I’m defeated. The punch drunk pugilist whose coach throws in the towel. I thought I could struggle on and muckle through the rest of this tour but now the doctor has benched me. Game seven of the playoffs and coach has ejected me from the game.

I’m scared.

It’s too early for her (yes she’s a she) to survive on the outside. She weighs just better than a pound at 23 weeks. Not good odds for life yet.

I laugh as the doctor tells me to reduce my stress.

“Good bloody luck with that, Lou,” I think to myself.

I make it home, shaking and bewildered.

No answer when I call Rick’s parents. I manage to get my Dad on the line, but trying to talk between sobs has never been my forte.

When Rick pops online I’m so emotionally overwrought I tell him everything.

His response was one line, “What do you need?”

I fight the urge to scream “YOU!” and instead reply that I need help – anyone would do I just can’t do it alone anymore.

I don’t expect him to leave the sandbox – oh, it would be nice. But I know that half his crew is already in Cyprus for decompression and to expect the remaining group to function another man down is hoping for too much.

His mom calls me a few minutes later. “We’re coming,” she tells me. And I’m so relieved all I can do is cry. They’ll be crossing on Friday night and will be here on Saturday. Only a couple of more days to muddle through.

I recite my own version of the serenity prayer – God give me the courage to be strong for the children, the strength to get through these next few days and the wisdom to not screw up too badly.

Day 214