Okay, I'm going to try to explain what happened. One, because it's kind of sucky and misery loves company and two because I feel so frustrated that I'm hoping for some catharsis.
Ranger Man was supposed to report to his course today, and it sounds like they were kicking it off with a PT test. Ranger Man was really nervous about this course, because although it's a regular Army course, he's still required to uphold Ranger standards and expected to pass with flying colors. Unfortunately, he's been sitting in classrooms for the last year, and not working out or doing field problems so he has been a little nervous.
We went to bed around 9 last night, and he felt fine. He started to say that he was feeling nervous. We were talking and feeling okay about the goodbye and the separation, and right about at ten it was apparent that he wasn't feeling well. It was gross. Let's just say he couldn't keep fluids in his body. Initially he attributed it to nerves, but after a few hours that was obviously not the problem. I rubbed his back and watched him get sicker and sicker from 10 until 3. At 3 he handed me the keys to his truck, with the DoD decals, to drive him to the ER. He must have been really, really ill to even consider letting me drive his baby.
I knew, logically, that he had the flu or food poisoning or something like that and he wasn't dying. That didn't make it much less scary. He's the one that is big and strong and takes care of me. When we were trying to leave, he put his shoes on by the door, I left the room and then re-entered it (less than 2 minutes gone), and he was face down, flat on the floor. I asked him if I should call an ambulance, because if he was collapsing, I wasn't sure if I could get him down the stairs. He was completely white, no color in his face and he was experiencing chills. We outfitted him with a bucket for the car ride, and he made it down the stairs- we were off to the ER.
They set him up in a little room in the ER, ran a line and gave him a total of 3 units of fluid. 3 units is a lot! They gave him an anti-nausea to stop the vomiting and he was finally able to sleep, and the color returned to his face. They discharged him at about 7:30 in the morning, with 48 hours quarters (the doctor's note telling him to stay in bed for two days), and some medication.
In the parking lot, he got on the phone with his bosses, and agreed to stop by 'the office' right then, to discuss what to do. Of course they decided to send him to the course. He has to pass this course in order to get promoted, and the course isn't offered again for another 7 months. If he doesn't get promoted he's (a) kind of stuck professionally for a while and (b) stuck without BAH still for the next seven months. I'm sure there were more reasons, but those are the only two that I'm privy to. So we're off to his barracks room to grab his things, him still feeling like garbage- just not throwing up any more, and smelling like he'd been seriously ill all night, and me really trying to just make sense out of everything that had just happened- when I hadn't gotten any sleep since 24 hours previously.
He dropped me back off here at the apartment and he was off- a hug good bye and that's it. I have no idea when (if?) he'll be able to call, if he's okay, if he did that PT test which probably would land him back in the hospital... Not to mention, I'm praying that I don't get whatever he had.
Is it bad that part of my frustration is because for a good chunk of last night it seemed inconceivable that he would be going to this course. He was supposed to spend today in bed, with Webster, recovering... and I know it's bad that I got my hopes up for that, but I did. As much as I hated that he was sick, it was difficult to be really upset that he might be home for the next few weeks instead of gone. And then, in an instant, that was gone again and I was so tired and worried and so keyed up still from being wound tighter than a drum all night long - it was really hard and frustrating.
I finally got some sleep- I left work early and came home and slept for a while. I'll go back to sleep really soon, because that 28 hours without sleep thing wasn't so much fun.
That is our craptastic good-bye this morning. Really, really awful. It's one thing to say "Good bye, I don't know when I'll talk to you again, but be careful" when you know that he's at least starting out okay. He didn't start out okay, which means I don't know if he's okay now.