My Fort Hood

Fort Hood was my home for four years. I remember when news of the 2009 shooting broke like it was yesterday. When news of yesterday's shooting hit my Facebook newsfeed it made my stomach turn. It made my heart hurt for friends that are still there, and it made me incredibly angry that this was happening. Again. There. In the same place where I started my journey as an Army wife. It was the place where I sent my husband on his first deployment when I was eight months pregnant with my second child and where, 10 months after he returned I gave birth to our daughter. I love "The Great Place," so I've been thinking a lot about the good memories I have of my Fort Hood. If you would have told me eight years ago that this story would be one that I counted among the good memories, I would have thought you were nuts!

Let me preface this story by saying that my husband never gets sick. I think in the fifteen years we've been together I've seen him really sick maybe three times. One of those times happened to be about ten days after Danica was born. David came home and he looked horrible. I could tell that he was not doing well. He was pale and sweaty and clammy. As soon as he hit the door he grabbed a garbage can and was puking. I could tell that it was bad and he should really go to the urgent care clinic across post. I didn't want him to go alone, but I had just had a c-section and hadn't been cleared to drive. Maybe it was the pain killers. Maybe it was my infinite wisdom, but I decided we should load up the kids and all go to the clinic. Lucky for him, I had been given a minor overdose of anasthesia while a student was attempting to place my spinal block and I came home with a lifetime supply of hospital vomit bags. We grabbed a couple of bags, the luggage that goes along with having two kids in diapers, and loaded up.

As soon as we got Danica in the carseat, she started to scream. Unfortunately, I didn't have a bottle ready for her, but I did have a commercial grade, double sided pump and a converter to plug it into the cigarette lighter. I've never set up to pump a bottle (two, actually) in my life! Keaton was sitting next to Danica trying to comfort her. "It's o.k. It's o.k." The more he said it the madder she got. Kaiser was very concerned about David. Everytime David would heave into the bag, he would ask, "You okay, Daddy?"

We made it out of the driveway and about 300 feet from our house. David made a less-than-complete stop at the stop sign and pulled out just in time to see a military police car. The MP pulled out behind us and David said, *heave* "Don't be a hero, copper!" *heave* Sure enough, within seconds there were lights in the mirror. I can only imagine what was going through that poor kid's head as he came to the window. I'm sure he could hear the chaos before David even rolled the window down. The officer got David's ID just in time for him to make another deposit into his bag and asked if everything was okay. David explained that we were on the way to the clinic. He leaned into the car and said, "Ma'am, maybe you should drive?" Danica was still screaming bloody murder. David said, "She's getting a bottle ready for the baby." The kid, and I say kid because he was maybe 19, and clearly confused by what was taking me so long, leaned down further. He obviously had not heard the steady whir, whir, drip, whir, whir, drip, of the breast pump over the screaming and was not aware of the mini dairy operation I had going on in the passenger seat. Once he realized that the only thing standing between him and the show of a lifetime was a fluffy pink butterfly blanket, he left us with a "Y'all drive safe," and a brisk walk back to his car.

I've always wondered how he wrote the report for that traffic stop.