Part 18 (2/2)
During this workup, I missed a dive session because I got sick. It was as if a light went off in my head. From that point on, just about every time diving turned up on our practice schedule, I came down with a very bad disease. Or I found a sniper-training trip that just had to be taken at that point.
The rest of the guys teased me that I had better ninja smoke than anybody.
And who am I to argue?
I also got my first tattoo around this time. I wanted to honor the SEALs, and yet I didn't feel as if I'd earned a Trident tattoo. (The official SEAL emblem had an eagle perched in an overwatch position on a trident that forms the crossbar of an anchor; a flintlock pistol sits in front of it. The insignia is known as the trident or, unofficially, a ”Budweiser,” the reference being to BUD/S ... or the beer, depending on who you ask.)
So, instead, I got a ”frog bone,” a tattoo that looks like a frog skeleton. This, too, is a traditional SEAL and UDT symbol-in this case, honoring our dead comrades. I have the tattoo on my back, peeking over my shoulder-as if those who came before me were looking after me, offering some protection.
BIRTH
Besides being a SEAL, I was also a husband. And after I came home, Taya and I decided to try and start a family.
Things went pretty well. She got pregnant about the first time we kissed without protection. And her pregnancy was near-perfect. It was the childbirth that got complicated.
For some reason, my wife had a problem with a low platelet count. Unfortunately, the problem wasn't discovered until too late, and because of that she couldn't get an epidural or other painkiller when it came time to give birth. So, she had to give birth naturally, without any training or preparation.
Our son was eight pounds, not a particularly small kid.
You learn a lot about a woman when she's under duress. I got b.i.t.c.hed to high heaven. (She claims she didn't, but I know better. And who are you going to believe, a SEAL? Or a SEAL's wife?)
Taya was in labor for sixteen hours. Toward the end, they decided they could give her laughing gas to ease the pain. But before they did, they warned me of everything that could happen to my son, no matter how distant the possibility.
I didn't feel I had much of a choice. She was in tremendous pain. She needed relief. I told them to go ahead, though in the back of my mind I was worried that my boy would come out messed up.
Then the doctor told me my son was so big, he couldn't quite squeeze through the birth ca.n.a.l. They wanted to put a suction thing on his head to help him get out. Meanwhile, Taya was pa.s.sing out cold between contractions.
”Okay,” I said, not really understanding.
The doctor looked at me. ”He may come out like a Conehead.”
Oh great, I thought. My child is not only going to be f.u.c.ked up from the gas but he's going to be a Conehead.
”G.o.dd.a.m.nit, just get him out of there,” I told him. ”You're killing my wife. Do it!”
My boy came out just fine. But I have to say, I was a case the whole time. It was the most hopeless feeling in the world, seeing my wife in excruciating pain, without anything I could do.
I was a h.e.l.l of a lot more nervous watching her give birth than I ever was in combat.
Taya:
It was a very emotional time, with tremendous highs and lows. Both of our families were in town for the birth. We were all very happy, and yet, at the same time, we knew Chris would be leaving soon for Iraq.
That part sucked.
Chris had trouble handling the baby's crying at first, and that stressed me as well-you can handle war but you can't handle a few days of crying?
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