The upside-down feeling in the pit of my stomach

Yesterday, JT took a sick day. Really, a mental health day, because when I woke up he was shaking in a cold sweat. He begged me not to make him go back. What do you say to someone when they say something like that? I tried to keep my composure and told him that I would support him no matter what. If this wasn't for him, better to find that out now.

He made some phone calls to the city jail he used to work in, and to the dispatch center, inquiring if he could get his old job back. They said he might be able to get the part-time dispatch position that just opened up there.

He asked me if I could find a full-time job, so that our baby would still have benefits. I said I'd try. I made some phone calls and did some web searches. No, there aren't any full-time librarian jobs in our area right now--there were some a few weeks ago but I knew they'd fill quickly. I also researched secretarial jobs.

Then for some reason I decided I desperately needed a waffle from IHOP. I was hungry, stressed, overwhelmed. I had a lot of homework to do. I invited JT to go with me but he refused, since he had called in sick and this wouldn't do. So I left him with the baby. I needed to eat, unwind, work on school and forget about anybody but myself for a while. I couldn't find an IHOP or anywhere that serves waffles but I had some pancakes.

JT sent an email to the sergeant at his police dept., explaining the real cause of his aversion to the rope. He told the sergeant about his crippling fear of heights, in hopes that he'd get farther by being honest than by continually covering it up.

In the evening JT talked to his parents, his friends, his former coworkers, and I talked to one of the other recruits' wives. They told us to stick with it and hang in there. They said that what he was going through wasn't that different from the other recruits and he bought it, he went to bed promising me (and his sergeant) that he would go back to academy in the morning.

Today, JT got up and still felt like quitting. I wasn't much help to him this morning. I had been up with JY all night (while I was eating pancakes yesterday she was having a very long nap and couldn't understand that 3 o'clock in the morning doesn't count as "morning"). I asked JT when I would ever get sleep again, and he said "When I quit."

"No," I said. "You really think my life is going to be any easier if you quit? Think again. If you want to do something for me, you will go to academy and you will stick this out."

I didn't know today would be his last day.

As he suspected, JT was given a lot of hell for calling in sick yesterday. But he willingly went to the Lions' Den to get the flags this morning. He says that my words made an impression on him and that he made a commitment to continue and stick it out. But somebody had other plans.

The tactical officers asked JT if he'd been in touch with his sergeant lately. He said he had told his sergeant about the fear of heights. Their mouths dropped. They had been contacted by this sergeant and they were starting to put 2 and 2 together.

As class was ending this afternoon, JT was asked to fall out and go back to the tactical office, at ease.

They said he was a great candidate and would make a good police officer. They said that they were impressed by the way they kept challenging him and he kept coming back. They made him class sergeant that first week and as hard as they tried, they never broke him. They applauded him on his progress at climbing the wall. And although he couldn't climb the rope, they reminded him that this is actually not a requirement for the POST certificate in our state and assured him he wouldn't have this difficulty in another academy.

They said that it wasn't personal on their part, and that they liked him. They wanted him to stay and graduate, but his sergeant had given instructions for him to clear out his locker and report to the police station at 1100 tomorrow. They said that they hoped he would still have a career in law enforcement and that they would have a lot of positive things to say about him, if prompted to give a reference.

So it was his sergeant--not him and not the academy--that finally pulled the plug.

Possibly he will still have a job, and will be sent to a different academy. Or maybe the sergeant has decided to let him go. We don't know. I'm scared right now. I feel like my whole life will be flipped upside-down now. I'm afraid that I'll have to work full time and go to school and take care of the baby all so that JT can walk away from one career and try a new one. Give up my career goals, my future, and go back to office work.

But in the short run, just for tonight, I can think of a few reasons for rejoicing:

I will not have to wash or iron a uniform tonight.
I will not have to wash PT gear.
I will not have to make sense of the messy, disorganized equipment JT needs for class, because he will not have class.
I will not have to pack a lunch.
I will not have to stay up late.
I will not have to get up before dawn.
I will sleep longer tonight than I've slept in a long time.

That is, if I can sleep.

A Talk with the Captain...and a Dressing-Down from the Sergeant

JT was called into the hallway for a chat with the academy captain one day last week. She told him that he wasn't the first guy, nor would he be the last, to struggle with the wall and the rope. She told him to hang in there and not to quit, even in spite of the tactical staff telling him to.

But a few nights later, JT wrote an email to the sergeant he reports to, telling him that he will be working on the rope every weekend in his time off. This sergeant wrote back that this was unacceptable and he should have gotten it by now. He also wrote that he will be getting a report from the academy about JT's progress this week and it had "better be good."

So since then, JT's understandably been in another funk. I would be pretty upset by an email like that, too. He's been talking about quitting. Is that normal to want to quit even after several weeks in? Will he get past this hump eventually?

Another Man Down

Another recruit dropped out today. It was his first day as class sergeant and he couldn't take it. I don't blame him. At one point during the day JT tried to talk to him but he said he didn't want to talk and that he was fine. Then an hour or so later he left, turned in all his stuff and next thing the class knew they were down to ten.

JT and his classmates are concerned they might close the academy due to the low enrollment and they'll all have to wait until the next class in November. JT would still be employed at his department but I don't know what the independent guys would do until then.

I went out with two of those guys' wives. These women are amazing--they probably get less sleep than I do and still manage to work forty-hour weeks. Their husbands are military veterans and they were supposed to be getting support from the government. But they're not! One of the girls said she'd write an angry letter to the President, if she could find the time or the energy.

We commiserated over drinks and then went to see "Dinner for Schmucks." I laughed a lot but it's that uncomfortable kind of humor, where you're laughing at something that's really sad. Still, after that movie and the good company and conversation, I felt like my anxieties and frustrations had melted away and I could go home whole to my husband and Jedi Youngling.

F.A.T.

JT recently made the "Fitness Auxiliary Team" at the academy. And no, it's not a coincidence that the acronym for this organization is "FAT." The guys were tested for their body fat percentage, and if it was over 15, they were automatically on the team.

JT's was 16%.

So now he has to have his lunches checked out by the tactical staff. I think he even has to go to the Lion's Den to have them check it. He also will have to report what he ate on the weekends. So while we are still going to go on a "date night" Saturday, we may have to consider that veggie tofu grill instead of Applebee's.

Another guy dropped out. I hadn't really been counting but just for the record they are now down to eleven recruits (from fifteen). This guy dropped out because he failed a couple of tests and decided he couldn't do it. This is unfortunate, because ideally JT could have tutored him and helped him out. It's a shame he had to quit.

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I haven't been exercising as I should, but I am rejoicing that I dropped another two pounds and my figure's looking good! That's the nice thing about carting a baby around everywhere like I'm a single mom--she gets heavier, and I get lighter! ;)

The other day I was filling my gas tank and a stranger asked me for directions and then tried to hit on me. He said I was pretty. I think I blushed and said "thanks" and climbed hurriedly back in my car. It wasn't a big deal but I looked at it as a reason for rejoicing: If I am still attractive to some men, there's a chance my husband might still really be into me!

It's taken me six months, but I am slowly becoming more confident with my mommy bod. :)

Another Monday

Yesterday, I tried to make the day about JY. She's almost six months old. First I called the library to sign her up for storytime. Those of you who have small children under 2, check out what your library has to offer them! Many libraries have increased their services for the 0-4 crowd and their parents, offering storytimes, sign language classes, and more.

Then I spent the morning before she got up putting photos into her Baby Journal. And in the afternoon, we did arts and crafts! We made some hand prints and foot prints. They hang on the wall next to her crib now. I don't think she understood what we were doing at all (Mommy why are you coating my hand in black sticky stuff?), but I hope it was fun for her. I actually used an old fingerprinting pad from JT's former jail job for the foot before realizing that the kit came with an inkpad that's non-toxic, so I used that for her hand. It didn't all wash off though, so I'm making her wear those newborn mittens until it does.



Daddy came home, and the first thing I noticed were the drops of blood on his sweatpants, and the open sores on his wrist where they came from. He was crying. "They've singled me out as the weak one, and they're trying to weed me out. They want me to drop out." I put my arms around him. "They won't let up on me. They made me class sergeant again--who knows for how long this time."

This development actually happened on Friday. JT was telling me then, how he'll be class sergeant for the day and whenever he comes to something that he knows and can do well, like the twelve daily exercises, they pick somebody else to be class sergeant for that task. I told him this makes sense: academy isn't about showing off what you do well; it's about being beaten down for the things you don't until you do.

For JT, his memorization and academics are what keeps him going. He scored 95% on a test Friday that half the class failed. He took a spelling test yesterday and got a perfect score.

What did the tactical staff have to say about that? "We're gonna call up your police department. Tell them that you can spell but you can't jump a wall and you can't climb a rope. We're gonna tell them that you're not ready for this. You're a disgrace to your department." Then they give him more physical tasks like these as punishment for not having been able to do them.

So you can imagine the state in which my husband came home yesterday, and the work I had to do to put his self-esteem back together.

I held him for a while. He caught me staring at the blood spots on his pants, and asked me what I was thinking. I told him "a lot of things." Sad that he was bleeding and in pain. Wondering how I was going to get the stains out.

He was distraught that he might fail the physical part of academy, and have to look for a new job. He emailed the sergeant of his police department explaining the situation and all he got back in response was a curt, "Get it done." But he's trying as hard as he can--if these people could see the bruises sleeving his arms and the blisters crowding his palms they would see that, wouldn't they?

I brought him dinner in bed, told him that we'd be okay. "I shouldn't have said those things about your masters degree," he said, "because for all I know that may be the very thing that saves this family." I told him he didn't need to worry about providing for the family--that's just extra stress. We discussed what would happen though, if he didn't make it. I tried to do a little "best case, worst case". Best case, he would keep practicing and eventually climb that rope. Worst case, he would fail out, but then you have a range of other possible consequences to consider. Maybe he would just get sent to academy all over again. Maybe they'd send him to a different one. Or maybe he would have to look for a new job, a new path in life, and that's okay. We have a little money set aside, we'll be fine.

He asked me to go to a sports store and get some things he needed--under armour, wrist bands, and athletic tape. I also needed to buy some more Dryel for his uniform, which I've had to clean almost every night. I took the baby with me, carried her around the sporting goods store and and then made another stop at Albertsons for the Dryel and other cleaning products. The baby had been so good throughout this time, but as soon as we came home she started crying.

On our way in I accidentally brushed through a barn spider's web. This used to freak me out but last night I was apologetic for wrecking her hard work. I can relate to spiders now. I have restful mornings but my real work begins at sundown.

As I walked into the door with the baby in her car seat, the first thing JT said to me was, "By the way, I had to write a report because you ironed my uniform wrong. The collar isn't supposed to be stiff, it's supposed to lie flat. I'm just letting you know."



And my night went downhill from there.

You know, there are recruits who do all of this on their own. There's a single guy who lives with his parents and his mom absolutely refuses to do any of this for him. She says it was his choice and not hers, so he can iron his own uniform. I don't want to be that unsupportive, but sometimes I wish I could say the same thing.

I strapped the baby to me in one of those Baby Bjorn type infant carriers (although mine is actually a cheaper Chicco knock-off) and JY hated it. She fussed and cried while I tried to remove everything from JT's uniform, collect up his sand-caked PT gear, and put the one in the dryer and the other in the washer. She was hungry, but I selfishly wanted to get to bed before 1 a.m. and therefore needed to get the clothes started washing before I fed her. "I'm sorry, little bird," I told her. "In a minute your daddy will feed you and you'll have some nice Daddy time."

JT had told me, before I'd left for the store, that he would feed the baby when he was done writing reports. By the time I got the clothes loaded he was done, and already settling down into bed. But he wasn't getting off that easy. I brought his daughter to him and some rice cereal. I stayed with them a minute. When it quickly became apparent that his idea of feeding her was shoveling huge spoonfuls of food down her throat before she even had a chance to swallow, I lost it.

I took the spoon away from him and took over. "The one thing you said you'd do for me tonight was feed our daughter. But I'm not going to sit here and watch you choke her to death! You have to make sure she's swallowing! PAY F---ING ATTENTION!"

I'm sorry, but you put my baby in danger and you're gonna wake the bear.

A while later, the baby is fed but still not happy, and I'm making JT's lunch, and JT is in bed, crying out in pain. I'm starting to feel like Nurse Ratchet, like my house has turned into an insane asylum. I asked JT what was wrong and he said he thought he might have a bruised rib. I was freaked out. I said we should take him to the hospital but he said no. I asked how he's supposed to climb the wall and do ten pull-ups if he has a terrible stabbing pain in his side. He said he didn't know, but he didn't want to look like a baby by reporting his injury and sitting out from PT.

I was like, "Well, which is it then? Are you injured or are you a baby? Because if you're not going to treat this like a real injury then I'm not going to either. I've already got one crying baby to deal with and if you aren't really injured then maybe you could try to keep it down!"

"Ma'am, Yes Ma'am!"

I felt bad for how I was acting. It's just that I go a little crazy with all the crying and fussing that goes on around here. And to be honest, I don't think JT would have handled it any better if it was the other way around. He would have told me to quit. The times when I've been emotional or sad, he always yelled at me because he didn't know how to handle the stress of it. I think, on the whole, I've done okay...

I nursed the baby and put her to bed, and JT took some vicodin and fell asleep. I stayed up at least an hour longer, ironing his uniform and putting all the metal stuff back on it, getting his PT gear together, and cleaning up the kitchen which was a mess.

Then five hours later (at 5 a.m. this morning), I got up with him and walked him out to the car. I apologized for the way I talked to him and asked how he was doing. He said he was feeling okay. I hope his day goes better today. He knows that if he has chest pains again he needs to say something.

Moments of Weakness

This morning as JT was trying to wake himself up, he had this nervous leg twitch and kept hitting me with his knee. I don't think he knew he was doing it so hard... He was also talking to himself, loudly. In the shower, he was saying "Sir, I didn't mean that sir." I asked him if he thought he was talking to a tac officer. He said, "Why, because I said 'Sir, I don't know, sir'?" And that wasn't what he said. Then he got out and got ready, all the while stumbling around the house like a drunk person.

I asked him if he'd like me to take him there. He objected to my suggestion that he might not be awake/alert/sane enough to drive. I was crying. All I could think was, I'm not going to lose him to the academy, not like this. I don't know if I was even thinking straight myself. We'd both had only three hours of sleep again, since today was an inspection day and there was a lot to be done. PT clothes to wash, shoes to shine, uniform to dry-clean and iron...

I was really beside myself. I begged him not to go and he yelled at me for making him late. When he insisted he'd call me when he got there, I finally let it go. He did call, and apologized for snapping at me.

My cracks are beginning to show. I am not the super wife I try to be. Late tonight, around midnight, I asked him: "So did I tell you that I got the scholarship? One of the biggest scholarships a library student can get?"

"Uh-huh." (writing reports)

"Every year, students from all over the state apply. And I've tried for it several times in the past. This year, it went to me. Isn't that cool?"

"That's great, honey." (more writing)

I don't know why, but I just feel really left out, upstaged. The fact is he's never been very supportive of--or remotely interested in--my masters degree or anything else to do with librarianship. When I was working full time, taking classes and volunteering/subbing at libraries, he used to get mad at me for leaving a textbook or two lying out in the living room or leaving the dishes unwashed. He'd say things like "You're not living up to your responsibilities around here," and he'd scoff at higher education in general, which to him isn't worth much. (God, we are so different.)

Contrast that with how things are right now: The police academy has invaded every room of our house. JT does nothing--and I mean NOTHING--but academy. He doesn't even eat or sleep, let alone help me out with the messes he scatters over every square foot of our floor. And even with him doing nothing but academy I still have to do like 90% of the prep work for that, because it takes him until 1 a.m. to finish writing his reports. But every day when he's down, I tell him he's my hero, that I'm proud of him, that I think what he's doing is brave and noble and hard and I'm here for him...

Is it a lot to ask that I get a little pat on the back from him for my accomplishments, and for catching the notice of librarians not only in my community but in my state? One of the librarians I work with said this scholarship is a pretty big deal. I wish my family thought so. They all keep telling me how proud they are of me for the wonderful job I'm doing taking care of my husband and cooking and cleaning and raising our baby. That's great. Perhaps that's an accomplishment they can relate to. But they can't give me even a shred of support for a goal that is different from theirs--a goal I've chosen, and want, and work hard for, and take pride in.

That's not where the anger/resentment issues end, though. There are times when I want to scream, I'm so tired from all the work. But he's so sick and tired and overworked himself that I keep quiet. Then he does these stupid things that keep him writing reports all night long. Yesterday, he told me about some mistake he made and I actually resented him for making that mistake and giving himself another two reports to write when he really should have known better...

I was reading the book Night by Elie Wiesel about his experience in the concentration camps during the Holocaust. He writes about how he watched silently as a Nazi officer beat his father, and hated his father for calling his name so loudly and for provoking the Nazis' ire. That's the kind of thing I am guilty of here when I resent the way JT always seems to come home with the maximum number of reports. I resent the system, the stupid and merciless nature of forcing a sick man to go without lunch and without sleep, to do push-ups and write reports all day long. But at whom do I target that anger? At my husband. That's not really fair.

I guess I have some serious work to do, on myself. Maybe when I finally have a good night's sleep...

Our Black Mondays

My day started out beautifully. I was actually feeling bad about that, because I knew my husband was in for the worst day of his life, but I thought my day couldn't get any better. First I got an email inviting me and JY to go to the beach with a friend I hadn't seen in a while. Then I got a phone call, informing me that I'd been awarded a very competitive library science scholarship! I was jumping up and down and acting like one of those ladies on Oprah when they win free stuff. Except that I won something much more expensive and valuable than a new brand of perfume or an iPad--I won a very large chunk of change towards getting my degree. And, I earned it.


Jedi Youngling got to see the ocean for the first time ever. She squealed with fright when I held her low enough for the cold water to lap her feet. But at one point she started crying inconsolably until she fell asleep. And the pattern didn't stop once we were home. Horrible crying, slipping into exhaustion, starting up again later. Making strange sounds like she was gasping for air, followed by a pushing or straining.

I never got to make Jedi-in-Training the nice dinner I promised him. He came home just as I was really starting to freak out. I was so worried about JY and the weird hiccupy/gasping noises she was making. I was scared that it might be whooping cough--there's been an epidemic lately. He said I should take her to the hospital. I felt torn; I could see that he'd been through a lot today and he still needed dinner and some help and support. But JY was obviously in pain, and the baby's pain has to come first. I took her to the hospital, begging JT to forgive me for leaving him high and dry.

JY was screaming so hard when we got there, and I was so stressed out, that I began to cry myself. Then the problem made itself known: she was pushing out very hard, thick stools. She calmed down a little. I was told to get some infant suppositories, give her more fluids, and we were sent home.

All this time, I'd had nothing to eat but a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Getting her ready for the beach was so involved that I couldn't eat breakfast, and pb&j was all I brought with me for lunch. My arms were sore; I was carrying her a lot all day at the beach and at the hospital I carried her in the car seat across a huge parking lot. So I was tired and hungry, and stopped by for some burgers for JT and me. I put JY to bed, had a burger, and got to hear about JT's day.

When I got home, JT was finishing up the first of seven remedial instruction reports he had to write. He got issued the maximum number of reports for a day: fourteen. Seven of which he has to hand in today, and the other seven tomorrow. On top of that, he's getting a cold. He had snot dripping from his nose while he struggled to scrawl out the letters with the crazy stencil they gave him to make all his letters the same size.

He'd been working on one report for over an hour. I could see at least six papers scattered over the table, all of which looked fine except when he pointed out to me a failure to double-space here, or leave enough room there. I read one of the reports.

"This morning, at 0745, I assaulted Recruit ____ while in formation. I did this because I failed to watch where I was going and lacked common sense. My lack of common sense could cause me to be perceived as unprofessional in the eyes of the public. This could cause me to lose my credibility. In the future, I will not assault Recruit ____. I will use common sense and will watch where I am going."

JT won a kind of award this morning also--he was appointed Recruit Class Sergeant. He fully expected this, given his poor performance on Friday during physical training. So for the next week (maybe two) he is on the spot all the time, having to lead the class and give commands and be the ambassador to the tactical office. What an honor.

A few weeks ago, when the academy was still just a fuzzy dream for him, he told me he would readily volunteer to be Class Sergeant.

Be careful what you wish for.

When approaching the tactical office, there are all kinds of protocol a class sergeant has to remember. You're supposed to take a certain number of steps and then a left-face, then you knock hard on the wooden block by the door (you think a parolee is going to open for you with that knock?).

You request entry, and when told "Enter" you have to step smartly--but watch out, because if a tactical officer happens to be leaving at the same time as you are coming in, you have to stop and say "Sir, by your leave, sir!"

Once inside, there is further protocol. You take two thirty-inch steps (you call that thirty inches?) and make a right-face toward the wall (you just assaulted tactical officer ____'s office with your gun!).

Then you hand the tactical officer whatever papers you were coming to submit--say, the class attendance sheet. He takes it, crumples it, and throws it away. "Not good enough! Do it again."

But every time you make a mistake, you have to drop and give them push ups, squat thrusts, or some other exercise. So a short trip to the tactical office to deliver the attendance sheet becomes a half-hour absence from class--where your fellow recruits are learning things that will be on the test.

JT was especially concerned about all the time he spends away from the classroom. But I really believe that, apart from merely punishing him for his struggles on Friday, they chose him to be the class's first Class Sergeant because they know he will catch up academically on the things he misses. This I will back up with the following incident:

After making a mistake of protocol, JT was asked to give his gun speech. He recited it flawlessly. Then the first paragraph of the Law Enforcement Code of Ethics. He said it beautifully. Then the ten-codes, backwards. He aced them.

The tactical officer drilling him said: "Clearly you are not an idiot. But you don't know your way around the academy."

Why do I point to this as evidence of the tactical staff's (dare I say it?) esteem of JT's potential? Because he said that JT is not an idiot!

There's hope yet...

Second-Growth Hickory

Yesterday, while JT was running across the balance beam, he lost his footing. He flipped into the air and landed on his back and head. The tac officer standing over him did not offer his help, just asked him in a sarcastic tone:

"Are you okay? Do you need a fucking ambulance?"

"Sir, no sir."

"Then get up. If you don't need an ambulance then get up and do it again."

"Sir, yes sir."


I told him that he needs to remember the speech for his baton--"It is made of second-growth hickory. Second-growth hickory is that which has been cut and allowed to grow back, doubling its strength."

That's what they are trying to do to JT and to the other recruits. They are trying to break them, cut them down, so that their strength will be doubled.

Beaten and Bruised

Today when I got home from work my husband was on the verge of a breakdown. His mother was here taking care of JY. He beckoned me to our room and asked me to shut the door, and he started to cry.

He said he couldn't do it anymore. They did three hours of PT today, and wearing ALL of their PT gear layered on top of each other--their shirts and shorts underneath a thick sweatshirt and sweat pants. It was ninety degrees outside! He almost fell out of a run. He failed both attempts at the obstacle course. He thinks himself a disgrace to his department.

He was in pain all over his body. He showed me countless bruises going all up his arms and clustered over his knees. He had six or seven massive popping blisters on his palms. He said he also thinks he pulled a muscle in his left leg. He said he felt hopeless, that he would never learn to climb the thirty-foot rope or scale the six-foot wall. They were yelling at him: "Oh, come on! Your partner is down, he's bleeding to death on the other side of that wall and where are you?"

I rubbed some Neosporin into his blisters and scrapes. Then I went out and bought him some Epsom salts for a bath and some fast food burgers. He was craving comfort food. He's gotten so thin; he now weighs 158 lbs--that's a twenty-pound drop from what he weighed a month or so ago.

I stroked his fuzzy hair and told him it would be all right, that he'll get it with practice. He thinks he doesn't have enough upper-body strength. That he's just not cut out for this. That may be, but it's my understanding that most of those challenges are more in the technique than the brute strength. I know he can do it.

If you're reading this, honey, I know you can do it. You're my hero...