Sometimes you should let it go to voicemail

So I’m following the doctors’ orders.

Yes doctors plural.

Each of them has said the same thing. No lifting, pushing, pulling, or carrying. No sitting for extended periods. No standing for extended periods. Basically it’s important to just lay here and grow this baby.

So I’m sitting in Archie Bunker’s chair AKA the leather recliner and the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Reid? This is Padre Levy.”

I hear the thunk as my heart hits the floor and rolls into the dusty world of Undercouch.

Padres only contact you if you ask them to or if your man is injured or worse. The “or worse” part is done in uniform in person – I hope.

“Y-yes?” I manage to stammer.

“I need to speak with you – is it okay if I call you in a few minutes?”

“Sure,” I respond. And he hangs up.

I’ve heard horror stories of padres calling the houses of spouses just to see if they’re home before making the drive out into the country to tell them the worst news. I don’t exactly live in town.

I start to shake.

He’s supposed to be coming home. He’s supposed to be coming home. Please don’t do this. Please don’t do this. The “prayer” spins and repeats in my head.

A full ten minutes later and the phone rings again. A cat in a room full of rocking chairs wouldn’t be as jumpy. I force myself to let it ring a second time before answering it.

Another thud from Undercouch.

“Mrs Reid – Padre Levy again.”

I usually have no problem being heard – I’m definitely not the shy retiring type – but my voice has been reduced to little-girl-on-stage-in-an-auditorium-full-of-people status.

“Is Rick okay?” I ask. Might as well get to the point before I have a stroke.

“I was just talking with the Major and wanted to call and check on you,” he responds.

I can feel the sarcasm/anger/relief/disbelief bubble to the forefront of my mind. Thank goodness my brain-mouth filter is in place or the Padre would have had his kneecaps removed at fifty paces by my sharp tongue.

I want to scream – How dare you call and frighten me to death? How dare you stress me out further? You just made me think that something had happened to my husband – do you even realize what you just did?

All of these thoughts are right there – if I stuck out my tongue you could read them on the tip. Only for the grace of God I don’t let them fly.

I answer the Padre’s questions about my health. Somehow I get the feeling that they’re sort-of confirming what Rick has informed them about.

I suppose I should be grateful. Most employers would have asked for a form in triplicate before you’d get an hour to go to an appointment. The Army is pulling him based purely on what he’s told them. But after the fright I’ve been given – I’m not feeling that charitable.

My answers are short and to the point. Trite, I believe, would be the accurate term. I thank him for calling and hang up.

I’m like a leaf. Trembling and shaking like a tornado just blew through.

I race for the washroom and dry heave until the tears come.

Rick – I need you.

Day 218