Matt's coming home in six days. I don't know when it happened, but he started becoming nervous. Seeing me again. I was a little puzzled by it, but I understand it a little, I guess. The time he has been away is about twice as much as the time we have spent together as a couple. He tells me that he doesn't know if I will like the person he has become on this deployment. I joked a little, "Do you have PTSD?"
"Yeah," he says, "I'll wake up and say--oh, I didn't bump my head." He sleeps on the third rack, so it's just him, and a little bit of space. I imagine it feels confined like a coffin. I had told him before, that a patient came back home, and she had to get used to having so much space around her again.
I've had other patients tell me they enjoy going on cruise. I also imagine it is like a huge bus full of kids. Yes, they work. But they manage to play also. Matt was comparing it to like being in prison. Originally, he started in the galley during the day shift. Waking up early mornings, getting breakfast ready. Then he switched to evening shifts--preparing the next day's grub. He says he ended up switching a few more times, and now he is doing watch captain work. He likes it.
He called me from Hawaii three days ago. Three times that day. I was overwhelmed with happiness. The next day, I was gushing about how cute my patient and her daughter was together. And with another patient, I said, "It's so exciting!" about her upcoming birth of her baby boy in a few weeks. I told her about my boyfriend coming home, and she said, "That's it!" That is what is making me sentimental/schmaltzy.
I am up to the challenge of seeing my boyfriend again for the first time in 8 and a half months. Even if he is 25 lbs lighter, wearing a white uniform, and loaded down with electronics from Singapore and imported from the U.S. Oh yeah, and the movies.
