My mom and Paige made it clear that they didn’t understand. They laughed at how panicked I was about not being able to get back on post after we went out to eat, and in hindsight I can see how that was something I should not have worried about. But in that moment, nothing would have calmed me down. Incidents like this were really starting to make me feel isolated. Paige knew I was having a hard time with memories from my deployment, but as my wife and mom worked every day for some peace and normalcy, I knew there was a lot about my condition they didn’t understand.
I didn’t really have a plan for fixing it. I am not good with words, and I was hurting my case every time I had a freak-out. The panic I felt during times like this was comparable to my painful flare-ups in my legs, so my mom and Paige just defaulted to what they did when I was hurting: They defused it as fast as possible and got me away from everyone. I knew this wasn’t going to work long term—emotionally, mentally, or physically.
After a particularly bad day in PT, I was lying in bed just wishing I could trash the rest of the day. I heard a knock at the door and seriously considered just yelling “Go away!” But when I looked to see who it was, oddly enough it was a sight I had not seen at Walter Reed in the six weeks I had been there. In rolled double amputee and fellow Alabamian Aaron Causey and his wife, Kat. I knew I was in an amputee hospital, but I had no idea that I would feel so relieved and mesmerized by seeing someone like me. Not only did they want to check on me, but they did everything short of stripping Aaron’s clothes off so I could see what his amputations looked like. Aaron was coming up on the one-year anniversary of his injury, his “Alive Day,” and I was amazed at what year-old amputations looked like. Aaron and I also talked about my ongoing deployment. I think he could sense that I was trying to be strong and tough for my platoon, but it probably wasn’t in the right ways. Aaron gave me a valuable piece of advice. He said, “Look, man, now is not the time to be a hero. Don’t wait until you’re hurting to deal with pain. The only way this stuff works is to stay on top of it.” I knew to some degree that I had been told this before, but hearing it from him made it truth. I couldn’t let myself be in a lot of pain to look tough. Sure, there were highly trained doctors and specialists for people like me, but there was nothing like talking to someone almost a year past where I was.
PAIGE
The most important form of therapy for me was meeting new people. Within six weeks at Walter Reed we had met celebrities, professional athletes, and government officials between the hourly run-ins with doctors and nurses. But none made us perk up like seeing another amputee. Aaron and Kat Causey did more than just educate us on injuries and wheelchairs; they set the tone for amputee etiquette at Walter Reed. From that point on, it was okay to ask anyone about anything. As a wife, I needed this. I needed someone to ask questions of who was not a doctor or nurse. I realized I needed other wives. I needed people who wouldn’t expect me to be a model American military spouse and accept me as I was when I was exhausted, frustrated, and over it. We both needed friends in our corner who wouldn’t let our rough day get too rough, even though they might be having a rough day themselves. On surgery days, veterans with missing legs, arms, eyes, and even parts of their skull would roll past our room, followed by a parent or a spouse who looked like me to some degree—flip-flops, sweats, messy ponytail, no makeup—and was probably thinking about that nap they were going to take once they got their husband or son into surgery. People who once looked like grouchy neighbors now seemed like the people who would help me get through this.
Josh and I agreed that we needed to meet more amputees. With more friends came more education on what to expect and (bonus for Josh) more great war stories! Naïve like the rest of the world, we assumed everyone’s injuries were on the surface. At first, the therapist came to check on Josh every day, but Josh kept saying he was fine. But he soon realized how much he needed to talk to someone about his traumatic experiences. Josh started going to therapy every few days once we learned that his struggles were just like everyone else’s. Just listening to Josh call to set up the first therapy appointment made me realize how difficult it was for him to even admit that he had been through trauma. You’re missing legs, dude! No one would blame you for having some scary thoughts that you can’t get out of your head! Apparently, this kind of outlook was not exclusive to my husband. I still had a lot to learn about Josh, but one thing I had figured out was that Satan could pin him down with “It’s no big deal; we don’t have to talk about it.”
I wasn’t sure how, but I knew we would find growth and understanding if he would just open up to me. Josh wanted to show our
