Heights of Joy, Depths of Sorrow

Kenny Anton recounts how a single event brought him to both the heights of joy and the depths of sorrow.

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June 26^th 2009.  The second time I set foot in the Middle East. I remember it being hot in Kuwait.  You could barely step foot outside, and if you did, you weren’t out for long before rushing back inside to get some water or just give up on the idea entirely and lay on a bunk until the night blessed you with a less oppressive heat.  Because Kuwait was a transitory station for troops moving in and out of Iraq, there was a plethora of amenities to keep soldiers occupied and distracted: huge tents set up with TVs and gaming consoles, a theater, gymnasiums, post exchanges, a handful of fast food joints (one last chance to grab some comfort food before going forward) and, of course, pay phone banks to call home and let family know you had arrived safely. I don’t remember much of my fourth (or so) trip to Kuwait; not because of the distractions but for other reasons.  I spent the majority of my time preoccupied; not so much with the impending six month desert vacation I was taking to the lovely city of Baghdad (I had done the Iraq thing once already in a far worse location and came out physically unscathed), but more so with thoughts of my wife at home, fending for herself in a new city, nary a friend or family member in 550 miles, and eight months pregnant with our first child.

A translation of a line from one of Robert Burns’ stories says it best: “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

Before starting my Permanent Change of Station (PCS) move to Fort Bragg, NC, I injured myself fairly badly.  I jammed a finger and, instead of going to the doctor immediately, I did a common guy thing and refused to accept that I needed medical attention.  A week passed, and my finger transitioned from purple to blue and every shade in between, until finally resting on black, misshapen and swollen.  My wife took me to the hospital where I learned that I had hammer finger and needed emergency surgery to correct the bones since they had begun to heal in an awkward position.  The surgery went smoothly and resulted in my hand being mummified with a steel rod jammed down the center to hold it in position as the bones healed properly.

This unfortunate occurrence meant I would be traveling from point A (Georgia) to point B (North Carolina) with all of our worldly possessions, a newly pregnant wife, and a body incapable of doing the job I was being sent to do.

We arrived in North Carolina, and I was assigned to a unit that had already been in Iraq for roughly three months.  I was told almost immediately I would be catching up to them as soon as possible.  I naturally launched into a panic as our son was due in July and the deployment did not have us coming home until November.  I took a breath, circled the drain of rumination for a while, then calmed myself and began the daunting task of completing my inprocessing checklist.  My last task on the list was to speak with my first sergeant, the man currently in charge of my company. 

Awesome, I thought. I can finally explain to someone in charge that there is no way I can leave my wife behind to have our baby by herself. 

And my first sergeant positively reassured me, in a sense.  I would still be deploying once my finger healed, but I would return in time for the birth and then be sent back to complete the remainder of the tour.

I was reassured of this several times over the course of a month, with every level of leadership in my organization telling me I would be able to come home to be with my wife as she birthed our first child.  By June my finger had healed and the day had finally come.  Many tears were shed, hugs given, and reassurances echoed as I packed my bags on a bus which would take me to the airport.

Over the course of the next few days I had to actively stop myself from thinking about home.  Before leaving we had gone to a prenatal check-up and learned that my wife was becoming prehypertensive because of the stress of the situation.  It was all I could do to not spiral into disastrous thinking while journeying alone to a country on the other side of the globe.  I called home from Kuwait once we landed and was told the hypertension was not getting any better.  I knew I had to hurry up and get to Iraq so I could arrange transportation straight back home.  The next day I packed my bags onto a CH-47 Chinook and headed out to meet my new leadership and start talking logistics.

Almost immediately after landing I knew these best laid plans had gone awry.  Communications had been down at my new location, and my leadership had not been informed of the situation. They weren’t even aware I was inbound.  No arrangements had been made to send me back home.  I was dejected.  I asked where the nearest internet café was and slunk down to call my wife on Skype to let her know what was going on.  I called her as she was on the way to the hospital.  Her doctor had recommended she go get checked out due to the hypertension.  Her blood pressure had normalized but her protein levels had spiked.  She was going to have to be induced soon.  To add an extra layer of panic to an already tense situation, her phone was dying and she had no charger with her.  I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard in my life.  I was beginning to realize that, due to no particular fault of anybody specific, I was going to be sitting in an internet café in Baghdad, Iraq, speaking to my wife over an unsteady VOiP connection as she bore the immense pain of child birth alone.

She had no way of calling for help, so I began to scramble, calling family (hers and mine) in Alabama, my voice full of tears as I begged our parents to drive the 550 miles to North Carolina so she wouldn’t be alone in a strange city under such stressful conditions.

Before they were able to make it, my wife had the undying assistance of a member of my unit, someone who until that point had been a complete stranger to us both.  Her last name escapes us both to this day, but we remember her as Erica.  Erica, in a time of such dire need, rose to unparalleled levels of commitment to army camaraderie by providing assistance to someone she did not know based on the sole fact that my wife was married to a service member and she was a service member with an opportunity to help a fellow soldier.  Erica not only went to our house to feed our cat, she also packed an overnight bag for my wife, grabbed some books and magazines, and stayed with her all night until family arrived.  Erica helped my wife move back and forth to the bathroom nearly every hour, sacrificing sleep and embodying selfless service. She remained calm, beckoned for a nurse after an IV had come out during the night, and stayed faithfully by my wife’s side until family finally arrived.

While I still have mixed emotions about the circumstances leading up to me not meeting my first born until he was four months old, I can say the story has a somewhat happy ending.  Both of our parents as well as my wife’s sister and brother were able to make it in time for the birth, providing her the necessary comfort and familiarity she so needed at the time. 

I will forever remember the birth of my son as one of the best yet worst moments of my life while simultaneously remembering how an unfortunate situation brought out the best in every person involved.

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Kenny has been in the US Army for 16 years. In his free time he enjoys spending time with his wife, two children, and dogs. He is also a part time freelance content writer. Check out his blog at kennyanton.com.