Decisions

While at our last poolee function I was sitting on the ground next to another poolee waiting to be dragged and fireman carried and he asked me what was wrong with my knees.

"I've been watching you limp around all day. What's wrong?" he asked.

I gave him the whole song and dance about the trauma and the bleeding and the swelling and what my doctor said and after I was done he looked at me with dropped jaw amazement and said, "Why ON EARTH haven't you asked for a separation from the DEP yet? Let me tell you, if I had a legitimate reason not to go through with this I would run and never look back. What are you waiting for?"

I shrugged and said, "Because I still really want to do this."

"You are insane. You hear me? INSANE!" he said.

The fact of the matter is, I'm stalling. I'm waiting for a miracle I'm doubting will ever come. I'm expecting to one day wake up and find my knees are magically all better and I can run for mile after mile without pain.

To be honest, I even dream about it. I dream about running. I dream about doing my best and finding it to be more than adequate (not to mention, pain and trauma free).

Then I wake up.

Just today I picked up my son and started walking out to the car and had severe and sharp pain in my right leg to the point I had to pass him off to my husband in fear I would fall with him.

My husband said, "Yeah, there is no way you are joining the Marine Corps."

To which I responded, "Too late. I've already joined."

He gave me that annoyed look we all know so well and said, "You know what I mean."

I sighed and changed the subject.

So many people including doctors and friends, family and veterans and Marine Corps friends are telling me to stop now. To get out. To just give it up and accept the reality that this is something I shouldn't much less couldn't physically do; the reality that my dream is dead; the reality that I am not physically capable of doing what I want so badly.

My mother asked me if I'd requested my separation from the DEP yet and I said I had not.

"You need to," she said.

Do I? Really?

Maybe.

Yes.

But I don't want to.

Every time I see a picture of a Marine I get a stirring in my heart that tells me to go.

Yesterday I went downstairs to do some laundry and saw my husband's cammie cover next to a picture of him while he was in Iraq, holding his rifle, covered in sand and looking ready to kick some serious butt. I stared at that cover and imagined my own sitting next to it. I imagined standing on those yellow footprints and the pride I would feel at earning my Eagle, Globe and Anchor.

If it were a matter of heart and just wanting it badly enough I know I would go and I know I would succeed.

In the end it's a matter of what I am physically able to do.

If I were single and childless I would say, "Screw it," and do it anyway, consequences be darned. I know I have enough in me to push through the pain and do it despite the inflammation and bruising and pain and long-term damage. I think I would beat my knees to death and not even blink or think twice.

Tomorrow I have some handgun training. Tuesday I'm supposed to check in with my PT recruiter again. It might be time to say goodbye to the Marine Corps.