Beautifully Broken

by Paige Wetzel

  Paige and I were on the slopes for almost eight hours a day. That was my first time trying to ski. I’m not sure how monoskiing compares to skiing on legs, but Breckenridge was incomparable to anywhere I had ever been. The scenery was beautiful, which was one of the main reasons I crashed my monoski. The activity was so cool, but the ski was hard to control and I could hardly take my eyes off of the vista. A monoski is kind of like a single-person bobsled mounted onto one ski, and I used outriggers (handheld poles that had mini skis on the bottom) to lean and control my turns. Unlike with regular skiing, I was going to have to manage my speed by using my core and outriggers to cascade down the mountain. You can’t use the “v-shaped pizza slice” technique when you have only one ski. The monoski was heavy, and if I got going fast enough, those turns became wipeouts. No wipeout would have been as bad as when I almost took out the five-year-olds in the “Tot Ski” class. Those little kids were all lined up following an instructor down one of the steepest parts of the hill, and they were still having to march their feet because they didn’t weigh enough to actually ride their skis down. I felt my momentum gaining as I headed into the higher traffic at the bottom of the hill. I saw an opening that I thought I could squeeze through, but if I pointed my ski down the hill, it would mean possibly crashing into the fence at the bottom. I zigzagged a little more, but the tiny skiers kept inching into my opening. As I was gaining on them, I finally decided to just go for the opening. I zoomed by them with a “Sorry! First timer!” and tried to get my zigzagging back, but it was no use. When I got near the bottom, I just turned the monoski sideways and laid it down, spraying snow everywhere and almost dislodging from my seat. However, no kindergarteners were hurt.

  When we weren’t skiing, we were living the lodge life—sipping wine around beautifully crafted stone fireplaces and eating lunch on verandas. The trip was set up so well for people like us trying to find a new normal and still have fun. We had heard that hospital-sponsored trips were so structured that people felt like they spent a week doing communication exercises and talking more about combat than experiencing the location. The Breckenridge trip had a great balance of downtime, ski time, and social time. We actually got to know people on this trip, like Travis and Kelsey Mills. We learned that there were a lot of people at Walter Reed who had served with Travis. We also learned that Travis drank the Kool-Aid of the 82nd Airborne Division, so we got to listen to annoying cadences on the bus ride from the Denver airport to the resort. We had fun picking on each other for choosing the “wrong” side of the Army. Paige was able to chat with Kelsey at the oxygen stations at the resort while the two of them tried recovering from altitude headaches. Travis was another quadruple amputee that I had seen in the MATC before. I wondered how he would do on this trip, but that question was quickly answered after I had my fifth wipeout of the day and Travis came cruising by me on a snowboard with no arms and no legs. Following up two solo trips with learning a new sport made me think that not only were we on the road to recovery, but we might actually plan things like this for ourselves one day. We could go on vacations and find ways to do normal things. We weren’t going to think about going places or trying new things just to be filled with fear and doubt that we probably couldn’t handle it. Breckenridge opened our eyes to the future, and we spent time daydreaming of the places we would go.

  PAIGE

  I felt liberated when we came back from Colorado. I was under the weather the whole trip, but the scenery was not going to keep me inside. It blew my mind that the first time Josh had ever tried skiing was after he had lost both of his legs. I was so proud to see Josh enjoy a nonessential activity. We had great physical therapists who tried to offer rehabilitation in fun environments. Walking wasn’t so bad when it took place at a ballpark. Video games might have seemed unnecessary, but they were a great way for him to get occupational therapy for his hand. Skiing was not an essential skill for an amputee, but it was fun for both of us. As a planner, achiever, and caregiver, I felt like my role thus far had been to find the purpose in everything we did. If it wasn’t necessary, why were we doing it? If it was necessary, then what was taking so long? I remember sitting by a firepit, looking around at all of our friends, and thinking… Having fun is one of the most crucial forms of rehabilitation. It is so hard for them to do even the simplest of things. All of them deserve to have fun, because it’s an essential part of healing, not because they need to achieve something. For the first time since we had gotten to Walter Reed, there was no pressure to accomplish anything. If we wanted to sleep in, we did. If we wanted to lie around and eat all day, we did. If we wanted to ski until we felt like Jell-O, we did. I was so excited that Josh enjoyed the trip because the monoskiing looked really hard. It made me feel like going to the beach or maybe exploring the outdoors was within our reach. I was thankful for trips like this, because I never in a million years would have suggested skiing as an activity for an amputee. But the combination of adaptive sports engineers and Josh’s love for fast-paced danger created something he stuck with for an entire five days, even though he had never done it before. Every night before we went to sleep, Josh would say, “Man, what an awesome trip.” I normally would have responded with a million other things we could try, which would often leave Josh giving me a less than enthused look. But this time I chose to just sit and listen. Before I fell asleep each night, I thanked God for allowing us to experience something that set Josh free from both feeling handicapped and the expectation to complete some sort of physical therapy on this trip. The ability to enjoy life was the rehab we both needed.

  However, I was not physically feeling so great. Inevitably, being around so many germs along with the physical demands of caring for an amputee caused a lot of the wives come down with something eventually. Many women would get terrible bladder infections because they could just never leave the room to relieve themselves. Others would get skin rashes from touching the Afghanistan dust that had lingered on their husband’s skin right when they returned. Then, there were the run-of-the-mill colds and flus that none of us could shake because we never slept, we were dehydrated, and we ate meals out of vending machines. My situation didn’t really fit any of that, though. Sure, I had all those problems at some point, but it was in our first ninety or so days at Walter Reed. We were well into seven months. Whatever it was, I was completely sidelined by the time we got back. I could sleep from 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m., take a two-hour nap midday, then fall back to sleep at 8:00 p.m. again. I had no appetite, and I was losing weight. After about a week and a half of this, I woke up one morning with the same groggy feeling. Then, before I knew it, I was running to the bathroom in a cold sweat. Not to get sick, but rather, from a thought.

  “Paige?” Josh asked. “Are you okay?” I opened the door to the bathroom and stared at him. He returned a quizzical look. “Babe? What’s wrong?” I tossed an object at him, which he clumsily caught. Sitting up in bed, fumbling for his glasses, he finally looked at the plastic stick with two double lines. All the color drained from both of our faces.

  My voice shook with fear, excitement, fear, happiness, fear, and disbelief. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  JOSH

  It works!!!!! I thought to myself.

  Eeewww was my next thought. “Did you pee on this?”

  “Yes, Josh! Is there anyone else here? I just took that test. I’m… pregnant.” She had to sit down for that one. I could tell that the gears in Paige’s head were turning faster than she could process. She stood up, sat down, and paced around the room, more than likely thinking about what we would have to do to get ready for a baby. All I could think was, I’m going to be a dad. I’m going to be a dad! I just couldn’t stop saying it.

  Watching Paige, I realized that she had not felt good in a while. Of course, none of the caregivers ever felt like themselves. They hardly slept, and they were constantly on their feet, helping us out. I guess I had actually noticed less of that. Her usual buzzing around had significantly slowed down in the
past few weeks. Even in Breckenridge she couldn’t really stay up late and didn’t feel like eating the amazing food. I just thought it was the altitude!

  Paige continued to pace and think, which made her already look like a mom. This would be tough for her, no doubt. But I just couldn’t help but think about how fortunate I was to be one of the lucky few who could do this after all I had been through. Man, I can’t wait for my urology appointment next week! They always ask, “How are things going?” Ha! They are going to fall over when I tell them that Paige is pregnant! Despite the odds and the undesirable conditions we lived in, Paige was pregnant. I was just so unbelievably excited. Paige started doing that thing where she chews on her cuticles, and I grabbed her hand to invite her to sit next to me. “Paige,” I said, trying to call her back down to earth. She looked up at me with a nervous expression. “Paige, we’re going to be awesome parents.” That was all it took for a smile to break across her face and for both of us to start crying.

  PAIGE

  The next obvious step was to make an appointment with an obstetrician. When the appointment day came, there I sat at the doctor’s office next to a lady who was clearly in her third trimester filling out a lengthy form. It was the same form I had on my clipboard. The pink sheet asked the following:

  1. Are you currently pregnant?

  2. How many weeks?

  3. Have you been to our office before?

  4. How many children do you have?

  5. How many pregnancies have you had?

  6. Have you had any images on the current pregnancy?

  Being a new mom comes with its own level of cluelessness. But every military mom knows that the level of cluelessness increases exponentially when you’re a military spouse. As much as I hate to say it, military health care is both slow and impersonal. I learned I would not have the same doctor at Walter Reed Medical Center throughout my entire pregnancy. I would see a different doctor or nurse practitioner every time I went for a check-up. Doctors and nurses rotated with deployments just like the soldiers, which made the OB-GYN office a lot more like the DMV. I glanced at the other pregnant mom and wondered how this must feel for her. Not really knowing whether this worked differently in a regular hospital or not, I just accepted reality and filled out the form.

  After seeing my positive at-home pregnancy test, I expected to do something. It was weird to learn that I was growing a human and all I needed to do was make sure I didn’t drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, or do any illegal drugs. Looking back, I am thankful that I was so clueless, because I didn’t realize that most moms get to choose and befriend a doctor they will see for the entirety of their pregnancy. However, I now know that someone probably should have gone over some literature with me about signs of preeclampsia, what the timeline of baby growth was, and what to expect at each stage, or at least tell me that losing weight from having no appetite was normal. But after getting blood work done on that initial appointment, I got a “Yep, looks positive” from a very young-looking guy in a white coat and was sent back to Building 62. I later learned that the guy who gave me that brilliant diagnosis was a medical student doing rotations and wasn’t even specializing in obstetrics! He probably couldn’t have answered my questions anyway.

  In the first fourteen weeks, I experienced food poisoning and spot bleeding and had the flu so bad that my sister had to drive us from Alabama back up to Walter Reed Medical Center after we visited home for Christmas. In all of these instances, many fellow pregnant women might have called their doctor. But I didn’t have one. There was no one to call. The maternity ward had office hours when someone sat by a phone and answered basic questions. The next alternative was the emergency room. I was going to have a baby at an amputee hospital. Nothing there was set up for me like there would be at regular, civilian hospitals—where regular people went with normal hospital needs, like, you know, having a baby. Nonetheless, our baby continued to grow like normal.

  During my pregnancy, I began to reflect on the oddity of my time at Walter Reed Medical Center. Someday, our life here would end, either because Josh finally retired or they kicked us out. We now had Auburn, Alabama, as the location for our civilian life, so we at least had a backdrop for where our child’s life would take shape. Our life in Tacoma had officially come to a close. All of our things were in storage as we waited to see when this chapter would end. Other caregivers around me seemed like they were soaking up the experience of Walter Reed in equal but opposite ways. Some caregivers were really being trailblazers for their spouses or kids. They were pursuing opportunities to help their veteran learn things like adaptive sports or using accessible equipment to gain independence, even pushing for government reform to make life better for post-combat vets. Others seemed to love living a life free of rent, cooking responsibilities, and only coming out of their room to sign up for a cool trip. We were in no position to judge either group. All I knew was that neither Josh nor I could risk getting away from the things that made us successful if we wanted to get out of this place. Even in sickness, fatigue, soreness, and conflict, we still had to show up for our responsibilities. My group of friends grew to be people who wanted the same thing. I had gotten to know Danielle Kelly (the one who came to our room with the cupcakes) and Lacy Reichenbach under the same conditions: They wanted the highest level of independence for their husbands and from Walter Reed. I wouldn’t know Lacy if I had not met her son, Landon, first. Landon was playing Navy SEAL one day in physical therapy with a fake M-4 and whacked me with a pillow for sitting on the table he was using to shoot all the Charlies. His dad, Bo, a real SEAL, just facepalmed and laughed the way parents have to sometimes when their kid does something embarrassing. Landon was the oldest of the kids in our friend group at Walter Reed and moved to the hospital at four years old. Lacy was somehow a wife, caregiver, and mom to a little kid who didn’t understand much of what went on around him but was old enough to grasp bits and pieces. Yet, she created an environment where Landon was part of his dad’s recovery. She taught Landon how to be helpful when Bo needed something but also let him ride a scooter down the hallways. Bo was still severely injured, and Landon was still a little kid, but somehow Lacy created a world that fit them both.

  Landon was about to have a life outside of Walter Reed that his parents were trying to figure out. He would have to start kindergarten soon. Would that happen here or back in their home state of Montana? Then there were other kids like Easton Mullee, who had only ever known Walter Reed. Kelsey and Travis Mills’s daughter, Chloe, was only six months old when Travis was injured. Would she live here long enough to have memories of this place? The pace of the VA and Josh staying consistently healthy were the unpredictable elements that determined when we could start the next chapter. Except this baby was still coming, no matter when the other things happened. I wasn’t really sure how I would be a parent in either scenario. I could hardly picture myself as someone’s mother. But one thing I was sure of: I had a village that would help me. The wives of Walter Reed would add one more kid to the babysitting rotation. We had all taken turns playing with Chloe, Easton, and Landon while their parents went to appointments, surgeries, or dinner by themselves. In fact, they were so used to us that I think the hospital staff was confused about who each child belonged to. I wouldn’t have grandparents or aunts and uncles close, but even if I did, there wasn’t much that would compare to a group of friends who knew life as caregivers and parents.

  JOSH

  While Paige stayed busy growing a new life, I was getting an itch for something new. All around us, we were watching amputees learning new sports and skills. and I couldn’t wait to try them all. It was so cool to see amputees thriving in hunting, golf, video games, public speaking, and going back to school. Their interests were paving the way for their futures. I was still stuck in this limbo of inpatient, outpatient, filing for retirement from the Army, not really knowing what a career outside the Army could even look like. Auburn was so close and yet so far away with all the unknowns of
red tape and formalities to be relieved of duties in the Army. There was a sense of restlessness in our apartment as Paige and I both were navigating uncharted territory and feeling like we saw nothing but the confines of Walter Reed. The trips home and to Colorado had been so nice and so freeing, but so temporary. We didn’t have a plan for what came next. After one afternoon of building tension in our home, Paige started opening up to me about feeling unfulfilled. She explained that while she had not been out solving the world’s problems before I had been injured, her life before had either been too busy or moving too fast to ever really feel stuck. Now, here she was at Walter Reed, where outpatient life is the ultimate “hurry up and wait” of the military. She struggled with knowing what the purpose of her days was. I needed her less and less to do basic things, and the transition was harder than she anticipated. At the direction of my therapists, every level of independence had required Paige to back away. She explained that while she was so proud of me every time I learned a new skill, it was disheartening to know our next step in life could still be years away. Was she going to be left with nothing but passing the time? In a daily routine that was never about Paige, for Paige, or concerned about Paige, she really wanted the power of influence over something. I could see how she had dragged herself down with each passing month, day, and minute at Walter Reed.