Caitlin's Story--The Finale

God gave me a better plan than to go AWOL.

I had met a Sergeant that cut travel orders and we had become friends. I told her what was going on and asked what she could do to help. Unfortunately, she told me there was nothing she could do, but occasionally orders get lost in the paperwork shuffle, and when the travel orders expire, they issue new ones. Well, I accepted that possibility and left it to God to lose my paperwork, then showed a picture of Caitlin to the Sergeant. Amazingly, my First Sergeant never brought me any travel orders. When I asked him about my request to go to California, he shrugged and mumbled something. Only a few weeks later, I had recovered enough to begin participating in our morning calisthenics. We ran five miles my first day back. I was in so much pain afterwards that I wanted to cry. I went back to the doctor and she examined my test results and wrote out medical evaluation orders for me. In short, my discharge was pending, and it would happen in just a few months. I only hoped that God would hold off until Caitlin was out of the hospital.

In the meantime, things were up and down with Caitlin. She started to become jaundiced, and was left under a purple light for three days. I felt so bad for her; every few hours the lab people would come by and take a blood sample, and then a nurse would give her upwards to 1500 dollars worth of medication. Then she would get her diaper changed, and then it would be time to weigh her and change her bed sheets. She received no end of torment. It was hard to watch. Sarah spent her entire day at the hospital sitting next to Caitlin. They would let Sarah hold her often and she would sing over her. Caitlin was a sweet baby. She would quietly squeak when we had to put her down. Those premature babies hardly ever cry.

She received so much medication, that the doctors inserted an IV straight through her chest. As much as I hated that, it was better than having to reinsert an IV needle into her arms and legs and head. To this day, she has many scars on her arms and legs from IV needles. Slowly, things started to get better. Caitlin drank more milk in gradual stages. She was up to around 20cc every few hours. She was even starting to gain some weight. A few more weeks went by and one day, we saw a big banner on her incubator that said, “I am a member of the three pound club!” We were so proud of her! Our little baby was growing!

Many things were going on around us. A baby near Caitlin’s bed had undergone three of the surgeries that Caitlin had. He had a colostomy bag, not to mention all of the other things that plagued him. Occasionally his heart rate would slow way down, or he would stop breathing. I really felt for him, his parents never came to see him, and nobody but the nurses could hold him. We bought him a Beanie Baby to keep him company, but we always regretted that we couldn’t help that baby more.

Another baby was born deaf and blind. His mother was a 14-year-old, and hardly ever came to see him. That poor baby would lie in his crib and cry, I suppose he could feel the vibrations of his crying and it felt good.

A little girl died one day while we were in the room. It was so sad to hear her monitor suddenly scream out and to see the staff run us out of the room. In only a few hours, the baby’s parents came and claimed the baby’s body. It was the third time they had come to see her.

All around us were baby’s that were very sick. Caitlin had her share of problems, but it was obvious that God had specially chosen her for something. I watched those babies on their respirators, knowing that they have to have the oxygen, but the oxygen causes severe problems in their eyes. Many of those kids have to wear glasses from birth.

Everyday we would come to the nursery hoping that Caitlin was having a good day, but there were many days we would see her back on a respirator, or back on certain medications. These things happened while we were not there, usually at night.

That October, Sarah’s grandparents came to visit us from Texas. They cried a lot and held the baby a lot; overall, we had a great time with them. Once, Sarah’s grandfather took off his wedding ring and slipped it over Caitlin’s arm, she wore it like a bracelet.

Thanksgiving was hard on us. We were still at the Ronald McDonald House, and we were missing our families. Sarah and I ate our Thanksgiving meal by ourselves, a meal donated by some kind soul. We had so much to be thankful for, but this ordeal was starting to take its toll. We were so tired all of the time, and we were living in a house that was not ours. We shared our home with many people, all of them having as many problems as we did. That very week, a family was staying at the McDonald house because their son had accidentally shot himself while hunting. He was around twelve years old, and was alone. He shot himself through the lower abdomen and the bullet shattered his leg. He had to drag himself almost a half mile through mud and wild rose bushes in near freezing weather to help. He was a great inspiration because he had so much courage. His family was thankful that he was alive.

After Thanksgiving, we started counting down to Caitlin's discharge day. It was only around 10 days away. She was nearly four pounds, and was having good days. The doctors were very optimistic that she was almost ready. When there was only three days left before Caitlin’s discharge, we received a phone call around 3:00 in the morning. It was one of the night doctors, and there was a problem with Caitlin. We rushed over to see her, her abdomen was swelling again, and it was very painful. Her heart rate had started falling, and she was back on a respirator. The doctor called us because she thought Caitlin was dying. Sarah looked down at her baby, who was unconscious and she began to cry. She cried long and hard. They wouldn’t even let us hold her because her existence was so fragile.

Only two things could have happened. One, her intestines had started dying again, or two, she had developed a blood infection that would most likely kill her. They wouldn’t know for sure until they did a culture test, which takes three days. In the mean time she could die. They did X rays on her, but couldn’t find anything wrong with her intestines. It was a very grim time for us. What few times she awoke, she was hungry, but they wouldn’t let her eat anything, so they had to sedate her. Otherwise, her thrashing around would have pulled out her IV and other tubes. Sarah and I prayed, but God gave us no direction. There was no gift of faith this time, we could only pray. For three days, we sat by her bed, waiting for the test results. On the third day, she improved, just before her results came back. There was no infection. They had no clue what had happened, in fact, they never did find out. One day she just improved and never had a sick day again.

Remember the twin boy I told you about when I first visited the nursery? Well, he developed a blood infection and died about a week before Caitlin left the hospital. The little deaf and blind boy was transferred to Atlanta for special care. The baby with the colostomy bags was still in the nursery, and weighed five pounds! I understand that after a series of surgeries he went home healthy. We saw many people come and go and we will never forget any of them.

We ended up spending Christmas in the McDonald house. It was sad and lonely, but my parents came and spent the next few days with us. The nurses cried when Caitlin left to go home with us. They each took turns holding her before we left. We had become good friends with the staff, and it was hard to say goodbye to such special friends.

Things were great, but her discharge was a problem within itself. We had no place to stay, and the Ronald McDonald House will only let you stay as long as you have a family member in the hospital. I was within a few weeks of my discharge, but not long enough to sign a lease to rent a house. We couldn’t stay in the barracks, because Sarah was not authorized. We found ourselves homeless.
God works things out, for we had found a great church just before this, and a family from that church opened up their home to us. Sarah and I decided that it would be better for Caitlin if they went home. I stayed behind and waited on my discharge paperwork to process. I swore to Sarah as I put her on the plane that I would be home for the Super Bowl, later that January. My paperwork dragged on, the Army didn’t know that Sarah had gone home, and they sure didn’t know that I was staying in Alabama with our friends, and driving back and forth to Columbus, Georgia. It took an hour to commute. Things worked out well with my discharge; I was given a disability, but not much of one, and sent home to my wife and daughter.

When Sarah and I reunited, John Elway was about to win his second of back-to-back Super Bowl victories. We returned to Cloudcroft, where I picked up a new and better job of selling Real Estate. A few years later, we moved to El Paso, Texas where I took a job with the Federal Government. Occasionally, Caitlin will have periods where she has complications and requires occasional hospitalizations, but her condition will clear up after prayer. Caitie now has a little brother named Seth, who was also born premature, but didn’t suffer any medical setbacks. Through it all, God was faithful; we only had to trust him and walk where He told us. It was not easy, not by a long shot, but it was the best hard time we ever had!

In the course of events, Caitlin had a total of four blood transfusions, and around a half million dollars worth of hospital care. When things seem challenging for you, think back to the people that are in a life and death struggle, and don’t have a relationship with God to help them. Your problems will seem less threatening.

Thanks for your patience. I hope ya’ll enjoyed my rambling along at a slow pace, and I hope this story was a blessing to you.


Caitlin (8) and Seth (5)
2007

Caitlin's Story Part XII

Sorry about taking so long, but as Gandolf told Frodo, "Sorry, but I was delayed."

Earlier that day, we had walked into the nursery and noticed that one of the beds was missing. I asked what had happened to the baby, but the nurse whipped a tear from her eyes and told me that one baby died. “It was hard,” she said, “but he had been dying for a week and it was expected.” The baby was born deaf and never heard his mother’s voice. (Is there a better charity to give to than the Children’s Miracle Network?) Every since that day, I never asked where a baby was or what happened to his bed.

On day three, Caitlin’s stomach started swelling; it was obvious that she was in trouble. We called and activated the prayer chain, between all our churches, and the Walk to Emmaus, we estimate that upwards of 2,000 people were praying. It was now lunchtime, so we went down to the cafeteria to eat. After lunch, all of us grandparents and parents went back to the nursery. I was shocked to see that Caitlin’s bed was gone!

The nurse saw the look on my face and rushed to our side. Everything was okay; they had only moved her to another room. It seems that they did a culture test and Caitlin showed positive for staph bacteria to be present. She didn’t have an infection, but rather, the possibility existed.

We gathered and held her little hands as the nurse wheeled her off to the X ray department, to see if they could find her stomach problem. It didn’t take long; it appeared that a portion of her small intestine was dying and it would have to be removed. Later that afternoon they started prepping our baby for surgery. We gathered and prayed for our baby again. While we were praying, one nurse got my attention and asked me, “Would you like to hold the baby?”

They wrapped Caitlin in swaddling clothes and handed her to me. I was so scared to hold her, but when they turned off the lights in the nursery, Caitlin opened her eyes and looked at me for the first time. I looked into her eyes and told her “goodbye” as they laid her back into the incubator and wheeled her off to surgery. I can’t shake that horrible feeling I experienced that day, wondering if I would ever see her again, but trying not to cloud my mind with doubt. We gathered in the surgery waiting room and waited. We could not pray, or sit, or stand. We could not eat or drink.

Okay, we ate Chik-fil-a sandwiches and drank Cokes, but we were useless to the rest of the world. The hours slowly walked by, the hours got to their knees and crawled, the hours got on the floor and slowly rolled past. The surgery was only to last for two hours, but the surgeon advised us not to get nervous if it took longer, even up to four hours. After three hours, we turned on the TV and watch Touched by an Angel.

After four and a half hours, the doctors came and visited with us. “She lost six inches of her bowels, but she has oodles left,” the surgeon said. (He was the first doctor that could speak good old American English.) She was doing fine, in fact they said she would recover nicely. We stopped and praised God that things weren’t as bad as they first seemed.

She settled into recovering, but the storm was not over. After five days, her bowels still hadn’t moved, or shown any sign of recovery. The doctors were incredibly concerned. Everything was supposed to be working right, but nothing was working. We had a conference with the doctor. He started out with, “I hope that things aren’t as bad as they seem…” Well, when has that ever been a great opening line? “But it appears that cystic fibrosis could be the reason that her intestines aren’t working.”

Sarah and I looked at each other and at the same moment, God gave us a gift of faith and spoke to us that this was not the case. We told the doctors that we believed that God was in charge and they smiled and hoped with us. Cystic fibrosis is a devastating disease that usually shortens life expectancy to around 15 to 20 years. It is a very hard disease on parents.
After day 10, she messed her first diaper! We were all so excited! At last, things were starting to move—forward that is. Just a few days later, the doctor placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “The cystic fibrosis test came back negative.” I smiled and thanked God in my heart.

Sarah and I were now alone in Georgia. Our parents had long ago driven home and left us to defend the fort. Things were working out okay; in fact, God gave us grace and mercy in the middle of our storm. There were some really hard days, but the Lord held our hands through all of it.

Probably one of the hardest parts of Caitlin’s surgery was that she didn’t get to eat anything for about 10 days. She was hungry, how could she not be? When a baby is born, they start looking for Mama, but Caitlin never got that opportunity. Now after 10 days, the nurse gave her 1cc of milk, which she greedily consumed. It was a big teaser, it almost seemed too cruel to just give her a taste and then take it away. I was confident that the staff knew what they were doing, but it was very frustrating. She lost down to one and a half pounds during the time that she was in recovery and wasn’t eating. She was so small, but she was incredibly cute. The nurses got to where they started fighting over who would attend our baby in the nursery! Gee, what a feeling of relief to know that she was receiving top care. Once, we had gone for a few hours and one nurse had purchased a doll dress at Wal-Mart and put it on Caitlin! She was so cute….

Things began to progress after her surgery, she did develop an infection in her incision, but it cleared up after a week. Things were okay enough that the Army demanded that I return to work; they also wanted me to return to the barracks without my wife, but there was little chance of that happening. I told my First Sergeant that I was more than eager to carry my workload, but my responsibility was to my wife and baby. Many things could yet go wrong for Caitlin, and within a few days, they did. Somehow, God gave me favor and the Army let me stay off post at the Ronald McDonald House, at least 25 miles from Ft. Benning. This was a staggering accomplishment, for I was not even an official graduate of boot camp. I was still under direct orders of my Drill Sergeants (talk about stress…) but the fact that I was injured and only useful for desk duty was a great help.

I learned many things while I worked at the personnel office, one of which was that the Army approved my request for transfer, I was on my way to California to undergo 1 year of training. The best part was, they weren’t even going to tell me, I was just going to receive orders to be in California by the end of the week.
There was tightness in my chest. How could I possibly go to California with Sarah and the baby in Georgia, and the baby couldn’t move for another two months? The Army suggested that I just take Sarah with me and come back for the baby, when I hesitated at that idea, they made it an order. The warmth of that suggestion overwhelmed me, but there was no way Sarah or I could leave a sick baby in the hospital for months, not even certain if the baby would live. I began to consider the option to go AWOL—a decision that could haunt me for the rest of my life.

Caitlin's Story The Finale

Caitlin's Story Part XI

After we prayed, the Army doctors turned us over to the neonatal hospital unit in Columbus, Georgia, which was a miracle in itself! Once there, the tests were underway, and the results were not desirable. The specialist there came in a sat down beside the bed. Things were grim, the womb had developed a very rare condition where the blood flow to the baby had reversed, and was flowing into the mother from the baby. He told us that if they couldn’t fix the problem, then we would have to do an emergency cesarean, which was not good. On Thursday, I called home, told all of our families that we were about to have a baby and they all jumped into cars, and started driving. To make matters worse, Hurricane Georges was spinning in the gulf around Mississippi, directly in their path of travel. I settled in to watch the television, thinking that it might be a pleasant distraction, but the only thing on the news was Monica Lewinsky and President Clinton.

On Friday morning the baby’s condition grew worse, she was in bad trouble. Our baby's introduction to the world was coming that very afternoon, 11 weeks early. The Lord overwhelmed us with peace. A gift of faith sustained us. In fact, the staff often asked what was going on in our minds, but we had faith that God was in control.

The doctor from the neonatal unit visited us. He was concerned. He had treated hundreds of babies, and he said that there was an 80% chance that she (the baby) would live. He also said that there was a strong possibility that she would be deformed, or damaged in some way. He said that we had some hard decisions to make. I looked at him and said, “Sir, it doesn’t matter if the baby is born without a head, we will not abandon her, and we most definitely won’t abort her. God gave her to us, and we will be grateful for His gift.” The doctor smiled and patted me on the back. He then suggested that I walk through the nursery and see what babies that small look like. He said that it would be too shocking to see this baby for the first time in the delivery room without some prior knowledge. At that moment I became concerned. What would she look like? Would she be a monster?

Well, I walked down and a nurse escorted me through the nursery. As I walked into the room, the first thing I heard was alarms going off, breathing machines humming, IV pumps buzzing, and a mother crying. I tried not to appear disturbed, but there were babies struggling to live underneath those incubators, little tiny babies, not even big enough to live.

We were expecting our baby to be about 760 grams, around 1 pound, 11 ounces. The nurse took me to a baby that was one and a half pounds, so I could get an idea what my child would look like. I gasped when she pulled back the blanket covering that little boy. He was so small and fragile that his skin was transparent. I could see his heart beating inside his chest. I could see his muscles flexing as he involuntarily jerked against the IV needle buried inside his leg. A respirator covered his face. The nurse had a tear in her eye when she told me that he was a twin that was born at 25 weeks, and that he and his sister were fighting hard to live. I left that nursery with a heavy heart, but I was ready to see God work on our behalf.

That afternoon, they prepped Sarah for surgery and wheeled her into the operating room. I was suited up like a doctor and joined her shortly. They gave me a special chair next to her bed, and I held her hand as they started the incision. I prayed and chatted, trying to keep Sarah from being too concerned. Three doctors from two different hospitals told us that our now 29-week-old baby had only developed to 22 weeks, and only weighed 760 grams. We didn’t know what the Lord was going to lead us into, but we prepared our hearts for anything.
I will never forget the environment around us. There were 30 people in the surgery room, six were doctors, and the rest were nurses. There was an incubator to the left of us, and a completely separate team for the moment the baby was born. There were crash carts and emergency equipment readily available.

I can still hear her little squeak as the surgeon pulled her out of her mother’s womb and she laid upon a cold metal table. Sarah was dying to look at her, but I could see. Sarah kept asking whether or not she was okay, but I had no answers. What I saw was way too small to be my daughter.

Little Caitlin Elizabeth Inman was born on September 25, 1998, at Columbus Regional Medical Center, in Columbus, Georgia at 5:03 in the afternoon. She weighed 940 grams, about two pounds, one ounce, almost 200 grams bigger than they thought! Somehow, between the sonogram and the surgery Caitlin had put on six ounces! Truly, God was working in our behalf! We immediately gave God the glory for answering our prayers to take care of our baby.

The doctors said that Caitlin was doing well considering she was born under such circumstances. I left Sarah and walked over to the incubator, and saw my baby lying under the bright lights. She had an IV in her head, but she was breathing on her own, something they didn’t expect to be possible. I stared at her, but I cannot tell you what was in my heart. A part of me was lying on that table, and a part of me was lying on that gurney having her womb sown back together. But, all of me was looking down at the gift God had given us, a beautiful little girl. No matter how long she lived, she was my special baby, and my life would never be the same. They let me hold her tiny hand when I stood over her. My heart leaped out of my chest. When they wheeled the incubator out of the room, I felt my first loyalty split. Should I stay with my wife, or should I go with my daughter?
My daughter? Does that mean that I am now a father? Wow, things can sure change fast in your life.

I walked into the nursery where they were working on Caitlin. I went and looked at her lying helplessly in that incubator… I have to admit, my fragile heart was not ready to see my daughter seemingly tangled up in wires and tubes, IVs, and respirators. She was by far the prettiest girl ever born, even though I couldn’t really see her.

Forty minutes after she was born, a very tired and disheveled entourage of grandparents stumbled into the door. They didn’t stop once on their 18 hour journey, and were dead tired, but full of excitement. We gooed and gawed over our miracle baby, content for the moment. Sarah settled in to recovering from her surgery after visiting the nursery in a wheel chair. We sat and stared at our little girl and beamed with joy.

Suddenly, we realized that we didn’t have anywhere to stay. I didn’t have a home to go to, and times were tough. No one could really afford this trip on such short notice. The incredibly competent staff of nurses arranged for our accommodations at the Ronald McDonald House, just a block from the hospital. The resident manager, Melanie, was so gracious to us as we checked in and directed us to the first hot meal we had in three days. I spent the night with Sarah in her hospital room. It was the first night I slept in days, and Sarah was so happy that she cried until she fell asleep. It was so nice to know that our daughter was safe for the time being. Imagine this, you’ve just had surgery and the baby you have never seen is lying in an incubator down the hall and to the right. I rolled Sarah down the hall in a wheel chair and wheeled her as close as I could to the incubator. Sarah cried as she saw her baby and kept saying, “She’s perfect, thank you, Father…” I would wake up in the night and walk down to the nursery, one of the nurses tried to give me a lesson on breast feeding, so I went back to Sarah’s room for the night.

The next morning, we got Sarah out of her bed and wheeled her down to the nursery. Caitlin had done well through the night; in fact, everything looked fine. The doctors said that she was doing so well that all she needed was to put on some weight and she could go home. They said that if she would put on another three pounds then she would be released, until then, she would remain under their care. I was fine with that idea until I asked them how long it would be before she put on three pounds.

Three months? That is impossible! Maybe two and a half, if everything goes okay. Well, I was devastated. We were a long ways from home, the Army didn’t want my wife to be in Georgia, we didn’t have a place to live, how could we afford three months of intensive hospital care? Well, the only thing I knew was that God would make a way.

That day passed and there were no problems looming over us. Caitlin was doing fine, in fact, she was doing so well that everyone was amazed. What really hurt my heart was the fact that we had a brand new baby, but couldn't hold her. We could sit and stare at her all day long and we could hold her hand, but her existence was too fragile to be held. In a rare way, this was a mixed blessing, after all, how do you hold something that small, with all the wires and tubes? I was scared to pick her up, what if something went wrong? What if I pulled something out? What if I looked into her ear and an elephant crawled out? Okay, I can see that I was being a little ridiculous, but I was carrying a heavy stress load, and everything seemed amplified.

We went to bed that night and were grateful that everything was going great. The only problem of the day was that Caitlin had dropped down below two pounds, but the doctors assured me that it was normal for babies to lose weight after birth.

The next morning, the doctors were a little more concerned. It seemed as though Caitlin was having some problems with her stomach. As of yet, she had not eaten as a precaution, but now it seemed as though there really might be a problem. Her abdomen was slowly swelling, and it was painful to touch.

This seems like a good place to take a pause, don’t you think?



This is Caitlin on her first day. Its blurry because the photo was taken through 2 windows. She was 2 pounds and 14 inches.

Caitlin's Story Part XII

Caitlin's Story Part X

It looks like this might go a few entries longer than the original ten planned. But, I'll try to get through these quickly. Thanks for your patience. This photo was taken after the doctor finally let me out of the wheelchair. This is Sarah and me at Fort Benning, Georgia, May 1998.

I hugged my wife and unborn child goodbye in the parking lot in front of my barracks. She cried and drove away. All we knew was that I was broken and that I had four years left on my contract. Sarah had no authorization to be with me so they made her return home. It would be another four months before I saw her again. The Army really didn’t know what to do with me. I was physically unable to continue training. Therefore, I could not leave basic training for my duty station, neither could I go home. I was stuck. Moreover, I didn’t want to be stuck away from my wife as she underwent pregnancy.

My next appointment wasn’t for another two weeks, so I performed a lot of guard duty, and answered a lot of telephones. Drill Sergeant Canady told me how he was severely injured when the Marine Barracks in Lebanon were blown up and how he sat in a wheelchair for several weeks. One day, he decided to report to the doctors by pushing his wheelchair, thereby demonstrating his ability to do the job.

So, when I went to the doctor, I walked behind my wheelchair, pushing it in front of me. She was furious when she saw me walking. She screamed at me and threatened to file charges on me right out of the Uniform Code of Military Justice for failing to obey a direct order. The order was to stay in my chair. I calmed her down enough to see that I was only anxious to save my military career, and I wanted her to see how motivated I was to get better. She was not happy, but she relaxed. Then Mr. Intelligent gave her the file the civilian doctor gave me and she was mad all over again. “You are not authorized to see civilian doctor because you belong to Uncle Sam…” At that point, I tuned her out.

She made me sit in the wheelchair another three weeks and then started putting me on crutches. I only used the chair and crutches when I was at the hospital; my First Sergeant locked my chair into a closet, because he said it made him laugh too much to see me in it. As time went by, I convinced the doctor that I would heal, and had her explore other job opportunities within the Army. She was hesitant, but agreed to help. In the mean time, my Sergeants found me a job at the personnel office. It was the best thing to happen to me.

I talked to Sarah everyday, asking about her and the baby, and then I would hang up while she cried. We weren’t expecting to have these problems. I was going to be in Georgia 13 weeks, but now I had been here for eight months, and had seen my wife only briefly. In July, I convinced my First Sergeant to let me go home for the July 4th weekend. He said I was not authorized to travel that far, but allowed me to go “to town” for four days. I spent four days looking at printouts of sonograms that showed our baby, and hearing all about Sarah’s pregnancy. At the airport, Sarah got mad and said, “I am tired of saying goodbye to you.” Nobody more than me. I had been living in boot camp for eight months! I became desperate to find a way out of my predicament. The doctor kept trying to submit my paperwork to discharge me, but I told her about our unborn baby, and asked if she could delay it until December, the due date. I had no job to go home to, and I had nowhere to live. I hated the idea that I would stay in basic training for another five months away from my wife, but I didn’t know what else to do.

On a long shot, I submitted the paperwork for a job change, one that would get my wife and I together again. They laughed at my feeble efforts, but accepted my application for review. I put in for a job in military intelligence, specifically, linguistics. I wanted a job that I could use after my discharge in another three and a half years. I wanted to go to the mission field with my new language skills. If approved, I could take Sarah to California with me, and if all went well, she would move about a month before the baby’s due date. Things were going to get better, I just knew it. I didn’t know why God allowed me to break both of my legs, but there had to be a reason. Was it so we could move to California?

Later that week, Sarah called crying. She had developed problems in her pregnancy; her blood pressure was rising. I convinced her that it was no big deal, and that things would be okay. This was in August, the 9th month of basic training. Everyday, things became more complicated at home with Sarah. She was having problems with the baby, and soon, the doctors put her on bed rest. I was beside myself. The Army had forgotten about me in Ft Benning. My doctor had long since given up on finding me a new job, and submitted my discharge papers, but they were lost. I was lost somewhere between the cracks, just another number. Not only that, my chain of command wouldn’t let me go home to my wife nor would they let her come to me. I would hear her cry every time I called, and it tore my heart out. Then in September, on Labor Day weekend, I had five days off. My personnel supervisor agreed to let me have a few days off, and my sergeants would be gone on a cycle break for one week. So, I snuck home for a few days to see about Sarah. My personnel supervisor told me that if the Army discovered my absence, it would mean I went AWOL, but to call and let her know how Sarah was doing.

When I got home, things were getting worse for Sarah. All I could hear was her begging me not to leave her again. She was scared that the baby was going to die and that I wouldn’t be there for her. I couldn’t bear to leave her again, so I called my supervisor and told her that I was bringing Sarah with me. She was a great supervisor, and quickly pulled some strings to get me permission to stay with Sarah at a hotel for two weeks while she rammed my discharge paperwork through the system. We had two weeks only, after that, we were on our own. We managed to keep the chain of command from discovering our secret. Then it happened. Things got worse.

On a Monday morning, Sarah discovered that the baby had stopped moving. She was 28 weeks pregnant on that last Friday. I took her to the hospital where they started running tests on her. The doctor diagnosed her with dehydration, and admitted her into the hospital. They pumped IV fluid into her until I thought she would pop. On Tuesday, they ran more tests and decided that the baby was not doing well at all. Her (the baby’s) heart rate was dropping, and Sarah’s blood pressure was going up. On that Tuesday, I had to tell my chain of command that I had my wife here with me, and that she was in the hospital. They were mad, but let me have a few days off to be with her.

On Wednesday, Sarah’s condition grew worse, and the baby’s heart rate was dropping fast. The Army doctors were convinced that they could handle the situation, but it was obvious that things were spiraling out of control. The next sonogram was bad news. The baby had stopped responding entirely, and was six weeks behind in her development. Instead of developing to 28 weeks, the baby was at 22 weeks.

Sorry to cut in the break right here, but I’ll post again tomorrow.

Caitlin's Story Part XI

Caitlin's Story Part IX

You will never know the empty feeling as you hear the words, “You will never walk again.” Always before, God gave me a peace during tough times, or a gift of faith. This time, I could feel nothing, I heard God say nothing. It seemed as if God had left me to ponder my new life and how it would change things. I wanted to stand up and shout out for God to deliver me, but there was no strength in me, there was no great hope of a promise to come. It was just a wheelchair, my new future, and me.

The doctor pulled me off my bed and carried me to a wheelchair as if I was a helpless victim. She discussed my very limited options with me: 1, I would have surgery and I might walk again. 2, I could not have the surgery and never walk again. After I refused to have surgery, she gave me the sternest orders to stay in my chair, and then sent me home for one month, after which she would re-evaluate my condition and decide about the surgery. Technically, my body belonged to Uncle Sam and the choice wasn’t really mine.

“I’ll take impossible situations for 500.00, Alex.” Imagine having to call your wife from 1300 miles away and tell her that you will never walk again, and that you will be home in a wheelchair, but not to worry, because everything will work out okay.

I bought a flight home to Texas (to my parent’s house, because we no longer had a home of our own) for early the next morning. One more night in the barracks presented a very difficult problem: I had to have some soldiers carry me up stairs to my bunk for the night. They helped me pack up while my First Sergeant inventoried my gear. I looked out the window and saw the sky spitting snow flurries. I could only think of my fellow soldiers sleeping out in the cold night air. It was down into the teens that night, and I was not with them, sharing their misery. Up to that point, I had ignored the pain and simply endured my circumstances. But now that I knew what was wrong with me, I could no longer ignore the pain. As I lay on my bunk, I began to suffer tremendously as the painful burning and aching began to consume me. I dearly wished that I could have taken some kind of pain medicine, but I was a trainee and pain meds were a controlled substance. You guessed it! I wasn’t allowed to have any pain meds at all.

On the flight home, I thought of my Bible study guys and wondered what they would do without me. I smiled when I thought of how they would call me Preacher Man. Even my Drill Sergeants called me Preacher. Whenever they would cuss out our platoon, they would make me cover my ears, as if to preserve my innocence! I felt that I was abandoning my new converts. I had never felt such defeat, not to mention self-pity.

Sarah and my father met me in Dallas. They were somber as they picked me up and sat me in the pick-up seat and stowed my wheelchair in the bed. We tried to be positive.

What can I say? It was a long month in my wheelchair. Not once did I try to get out of my prison without help. We did see a civilian specialist who told me I might heal okay, or I might not. It was up to God. Well, I could live with those odds, and if it was His will, then I would live with His decision. Sarah and I returned to Ft. Benning for my follow up appointment on March 5, 1998, the day my company graduated from boot camp and AIT. I saluted them as they marched past me on the parade field. I was proud of them, and dearly wished I could be one of them. I still had not heard from God.

At my follow up appointment, the doctor told me to stay in my chair and sent me home for another month. She also told me that my career was over. We were disheartened, for we wouldn't get to see the Army lawyers about an adoption. Perhaps disheartened is the wrong word. There must be one that describes our depression and consternation with better accuracy, but I think you get the idea.

Back home, my doctor scowled and reached for my hand, pulled me out of my chair, and told me to walk. It happened painfully, but it happened in a “broken hip kind of way.” This civilian doctor put me on therapy and gradually got me back on my feet. On the weekend before I would return to Ft. Benning, I was walking with only one crutch. My doctor gave me a thick file to take to the Army doctors outlining my progress and sent me back to Ft. Benning, Georgia. Things were looking better for us. If I was walking when I returned, then maybe I could keep my job and the adoption option open.

On the trip back to Georgia, Sarah and I stopped in Baton Rouge, Louisiana for the night. Sarah was coming down with a stomach bug, and I was not happy about having to travel with her sick. That night, on a whim, she bought a pregnancy test, and it came out positive, or negative, whichever indicates that there is a baby to be born! We were so excited! I could walk again, and we would be parents! God was truly watching over us! Little did we know that things were going to get worse…

Caitlin's Story Part X

Caitlin's Story Part VIII

A little recap…
On the last weekend of January, we arose early, 02:00 AM, to be specific, and went on a 10-mile road march. We carry a lot of weight in our packs and gear, not to mention our weapons. It was a dark night, and it was cold. Snowflakes were falling, and it was getting colder. In fact, I found out that it was one of the coldest weekends we had endured. The temperature was dropping into the 20’s and it was COLD! There was no moonlight to guide us; I could only see the guy’s helmet in front of me. I was marching along thinking of how cold I was when the course of my life drastically changed, and things would never be the same again. I had one of those moments I would live over and over again, but there was no way I could change it….


As I mentioned earlier, it was dark, so I never saw the pothole. The next thing I knew, I was falling. I landed very hard, and lay on the cold asphalt for what seemed like forever, at least until the soldier behind me found me and picked me up. He asked if I was hurt, but I wasn’t sure. It was cold, and I couldn’t feel much at all, but I shook the incident off and kept marching, ignoring the pain. When we reached our destination, I started to feel the pain increase. A deep, burning sensation grew in my legs and hips, and a dull ache started that wouldn’t stop. Despite the pain, I continued the training and went to bed that night, miserable. I knew that I was injured, but I refused to accept the idea. Anyone injured during training will have to start all over, and I didn’t want to go through all eight weeks of basic again. I ignored the pain. The next day, we had a five-mile run and a five-mile march. My Drill Sergeant was watching me and I could tell he was concerned.

The next day was Sunday; I didn’t even go to church. I ate, did my Bible studies, and went to bed. On Monday morning we had another Physical Test. I ignored the pain and started attacking each category with fury. We had pushups, sit-ups, and a two-mile run. On the push-ups and sit-ups, I obtained the maximum scores possible! I was excited! This was the best I had ever done; all I had left was the two-mile run. It was the last two miles I would run.

As I stood on the starting line, I prayed that God would remove the pain from my legs, and that His strength would cause me to mount up with wings as eagles. I ran 100 yards and the pain overwhelmed me. However, I could not fail this PT test. If I failed, I would get recycled backwards to another starting point, something I could not consider. Failure was not an option. It hurt, I was in tremendous pain. In fact, as my feet hit the ground, my whole body would lurch in protest. One guy said that I was running sideways, with a horrible stagger, like I was running with bullets ripping through my body. I couldn’t stop. I was one week from graduating basic, only a few days away! As I ran, I thought to myself, only four more days… It normally took me 12 minutes to run two miles; I limped across the finish line at 24 minutes. My Company Commander, Captain Howell, walked up and demanded to know what was wrong with me, why I had run so slowly. My Drill Sergeant, SSG Canady, looked at him and said, “Sir, that is Private Inman, and he just showed more character than I have ever seen.”

My Drill Sergeant pulled me aside and asked me what was wrong, but I didn’t know. “Probably pulled a muscle,” I said, but I knew that there was more. Not only that, I failed the test. My Drill Sergeant arranged for me to retest later that week.

Early the next morning, Sergeant Canady put me on a detail that allowed me to miss the morning exercise, but we had a five-mile road march within hours. We saddled up and stepped out. I can only imagine what willpower caused my legs to pick up and advance with each step, but there came a point when the pain stopped and numbness took over. Our company XO called me Private Penguin, because I had a limp so pronounced. My legs would no longer hold my weight, as if my hips would rotate out of their sockets when I walked.

That evening when we returned, my Drill Sergeant came to me and said, “I am proud of the effort you are putting in. The Army needs more men like you. However, the Army needs them in good shape. You are to report to sick call in the morning.”

I politely told him “No way!” and left him standing there. (Of course, I didn’t use the words “No Way” with a Drill Sergeant, but it sounds impressive to say it.) The next morning, we marched out to do our exercises. As we ran in place, the Sergeant yells out and we drop to the ground. It took me almost two minutes to get back up, but my sergeant watched me rejoin the group. He told me to quit, but I just couldn’t accept failure. I swallowed the pain and we ran five miles, our Eagle run, the one that graduates us from boot camp.

When we returned from the run, my buddy, Guy, practically carried me back to the barracks. I shuffled to the showers and allowed the hottest water possible to pour over me. When I returned to my bunk, there was a sick call slip on my bed, and a note that I would pull KP if I didn’t go to the doctor. I argued with him, but he told me that anyone with my courage to continue in my obvious condition would graduate, no matter what.

With that promise, I went to the clinic. The doctor examined me and sent me to the main hospital for tests. He also told me that I would have to ask for some crutches at the hospital, as he had given away the last set. (Can you believe those instructions? “By the way, ask for some crutches when you get there…” Remarkable!) I walked, well, hobbled to the bus station and to my appointment. The doctor there did X-rays and prodded me, but decided that I had bruised some tendons. He sent me to Physical Therapy to get some crutches. Hey! I should be back in training in no time at all! At the Physical Therapy department, I asked for my crutches and they looked at me funny. No one had ever been sent to them asking for crutches before, and they looked even funnier when I told them that everyone else had run out of equipment. The Captain there asked me what was wrong and where it hurt. He could see me wince with each step. He did a quick examination on me and grabbed a wheel chair as quickly as he could. He told me to go down to nuclear medicine and have a bone scan done, and not to ever get out of my wheel chair again, no matter what. I went down the hall and waited while they scheduled an appointment for me, but by 5:00, I was back in the barracks on my crutches. They wouldn’t let me take the chair home!

They took me out of almost all training and told me to take it easy while my test results were returning. So for three days I shot machine guns, threw grenades, read maps, and a whole lot of other things. Then on the 5th day, I told my Drill Sergeant that my test result should have been back two days ago. He and I drove down to the clinic and asked if they had heard anything. The doctor said, “Yes they came back yesterday, I was going to call you. Have a seat in my office.”
This doctor treated 200 soldiers every day by himself, and he wanted to consult me privately? I was concerned. He took out my x-rays and test results, and pointed out how I had fractured both of my hips, in the femoral neck. He said, “Soldier, I am sad to say, you are going home, your military career is finished.” He then sent me to the hospital to consult with an orthopedic surgeon to see if he could repair my legs enough to walk again. He told me on the way out, “By the way, ask for a wheel chair when you get there. You really shouldn’t be on your feet.”

The fact is, without the crutches I was unable to walk. My hips would swing back and forth without any stability and I couldn’t stand without support. Well, I crutched my way into the Orthopedic Surgeons suite and one of the student nurses gave me a once over. She had a grim look on her face and spoke quietly with the doctor, just out of earshot. The doctor performed the same exam and sat down beside my chair. “What I have to say you won’t like, but you have to listen to me. You have severely broken your hips. You have developed a fracture that runs along the femoral neck in your femur. Your whole weight is supported by these femoral necks, without them you can’t stand or support weight.” She stopped and looked at me as if telling me that my wife was in a car accident and died on the operating table. “Unfortunately,” she continued, “You will never be able to walk again. Maybe, with the help of surgery and some pins, you can walk with supports. I am very sorry.”

Caitlin's Story Part IX

Caitlin's Story Part VII

Meanwhile, back at 30th AG Battalion, I was still waiting for my slot down range…

17 November 97
Ft. Benning processing station, 30th AG Battalion
Hi Sweetheart,
News has changed. I'm not going down range on Tuesday, I'm going on Friday. Officially, my MOS is now 11 Mike, which is mechanized infantry. We will be training on the Bradley fighting vehicles, which is a tank that holds nine people. It has a cannon and it shoots missiles, and has a machine gun mounted on it. I'm not particularly excited about this, but I will do it, as I know God has everything under control.
I am glad however, that I'm in the group of guys I am with because we are becoming good friends. There's a Korean/Bolivian immigrant in our group named Kim The Gook. That's how his name appears on the roster. Actually, his name is Tae Gook Kim, but his recruiter messed up his name and it will probably be impossible to fix. Then there is Josh McMurrey, who is on dental hold for root canal, but was miraculously removed so we can ship out on Friday. Guy LeMay, is another miracle, because he failed his PT test and they are shipping him on Friday also. These three guys are the only ones here I care to spend time with. Also, I talked them into going with me to church last Sunday. Then they all got interested in the Bible and I had to steal a Gideon Bible from the chapel so they could read one. Every time they have a free moment, they open the Bible and start reading! That is why I think we're shipping together, because God wants it that way. These are some major heathens and I'm praying for them all the time, now y'all can too.
Here's the bad news: 11 Mike MOS is three weeks longer than everyone else. Now I have 16 weeks instead of 13. I guess that no one wants us to drive a $23 million tank without lessons. Anyway...
I hope this letter reaches you before you go to Albuquerque. If so, make Cindy take you to Papa Felipe's, it's really good. Tell everyone I said hello and hurry up and get a job, because it isn't fair than I'm the only one in the family that's making money! I love you and I'll see you in a few days; I am ready to come home today!
Love,
Will

17 November 97,
30th AG Battalion, Ft. Benning,
Hello Baby Doll,
I was just thinking about you and decided to set down to write you, even though I wrote you earlier. Today, a made an appointment with the chaplain. I really like him, he is a very sincere Baptist preacher. He asked why I wanted to see him and I really didn't know why, except that the Lord told me to go see him. I had been wondering about the best way to integrate Army and religion, so we talked about that and we talked about you. He tells stories about when he was in the field and the things he did to stay close to his wife when away. He was really impressed that I was ordained, and he mentioned how refreshing it was for him not to have to deal with the bad problem or to try to fix someone's life. He looks exactly like Rick Moranis, except serious and sincere. I will miss having him around. Then he made me salute him and I left. Then on my way to formation with my 11 Mike friends, we went too close to Alpha Co. formation and the drill sergeant smoked us. BAD! We counted more than 100 push-ups and jumping jacks, not to mention the "hold your legs six inches off the floor," which we did forever. In all, I was hurting bad. I am almost completely over the cold I had, save some occasional coughs. I feel fine now. Well, I will pick this up later. Goodnight, I love you!
18 November 97, 0650 hours,
Good Morning! I surely do miss you. They are shipping people out of here left and right. Groups are going out every day now, but we will be one of the last to go. Groups that came in here after us have shipped out due to their MOS. 11 Bravo's are all gone, so are 11 Charlie's (mortars). 11 Mike's have to stay until Friday, oh well... I’m really looking forward to coming home. We should stay in Dallas that night and eat out, go see some stuff and then go home. I think we're released on Dec. 21st or 22nd, I'm not sure. But, I will be home in about four weeks, so start counting down! Well Sweetie, I will talk to later.
I love you and I miss you a lot.
Will





When boot camp finally came, it was a different story. I started counting down the days to when I would see Sarah. Originally, it was 13 weeks, then 15 weeks. Then we lost three weeks at the reception station, creating a total of 18 weeks. I was entering training week five before I had an opportunity to talk to Sarah on the phone. Our First Sergeant gave us five minutes to talk, our only opportunity for two more weeks. This was life down range, and I just had to get used to it. I was now part of the 1st Battalion, 38th Infantry, Charley Company--to be specific.

Thanksgiving came, and I ate in the mess hall. The food we ate is another four paragraphs of misery that I will spare you, but suffice it to say, I had a lousy Thanksgiving. We were totally cut off from the world; I had no idea how the Dallas Cowboys were doing, or if the Gulf War had restarted. (We were having problems again in Iraq.) The only bright spot in my life was the idea that at Christmas I was going to go home for two weeks!

I had lost about 15 pounds, and was dearly looking forward to eating some real food. The Army rescheduled our graduation date because the holidays interrupted our schedule. Our new date to graduate from basic training and AIT became March 5, 1998. That was a long stretch from 13 weeks starting October 17, 1997. Oh well, I had a plan and a purpose. I can do anything as long as God is with me. I just didn’t realize how hard things were going to become…

Christmas came and I went home to recover from the four actual weeks of basic training I had endured. Sarah cried when she saw me wearing my dress uniform, and I cried because I was so happy to be home. We had a great Christmas, the only thing hanging over our heads was that I was about to return to Georgia, and wouldn’t see Sarah again until February 1, 1998, the day scheduled for family visitations. I returned to Ft. Benning with a renewed fire to see this trial through to the end.

One thing I was painfully aware of was that I was no longer a teenager. In fact, it had been 10 years since I had done any organized sports. My body was rejecting the physical punishment I was enduring. Never the less, I lowered my head and marched forward. I started out in the lower 10% of my platoon physically, but I quickly rose to the top 10%. I was feeling good, despite the pain in my muscles, back, shoulder, head, hands, feet, and legs. When we would do our Physical Fitness Test, my scores would grow stronger weekly. It became evident to my Drill Sergeants that I was putting extra effort into my performance, and it was paying off. I knew that they respected me, which helped tremendously.

The two weeks I had off for Christmas allowed my body a badly needed rest, and I was recharged and moving forward upon my return. In the second week of January, things started to change for me. When we would run three or five miles in the morning, my feet would swell so badly that I could hardly walk, much less put on my boots. I ignored the pain and proceeded to continue my training.

On the last weekend of January, we arose early, 02:00 AM, to be specific, and went on a 10-mile road march. We carry a lot of weight in our packs and gear, not to mention our weapons. It was a dark night, and it was cold. Snowflakes were falling, and it was getting colder. In fact, I found out that it was one of the coldest weekends we had endured. The temperature was dropping into the 20’s and it was COLD! There was no moonlight to guide us; I could only see the guy’s helmet in front of me. I was marching along thinking of how cold I was when the course of my life drastically changed, and things would never be the same again. I had one of those moments I would live over and over again, but there was no way I could change it….

Caitlin's Story Part VIII