Very Respectfully, An Alone Military Spouse.

Tyler found my pregnancy test in the trashcan was the first incoherent, Klonopin-induced thought I wrote while I waited for a knight in no armor to save me. The hardest thing I've ever done is force myself to see straight along I-95 in Georgia where the closest resemblance of a town was still five miles away. I was leaving a weekend trip to Florida and eager to get back to Charleston, I ignored my exhausted body telling me I shouldn't drive. Instead, I drove until I was fighting a panic attack so fierce, it almost sent me into a seizure. Tyler was at work and because his job is so important that even after he explains what he does to me literally every day for the past 9 months, I still cannot comprehend it beyond the fact that it requires him to keep his phone turned off and left in his car. I called a list of friends and family, reminding them that my greatest fear has always been long drives alone in places I don't know because "what if I have a seizure?" Some simply tried to distract me, others offered the unsolicited advice that "91% of what you worry about never comes to pass" These are the thoughts I wrote as I became the 9% where that greatest worry did indeed, pass.

Tyler found my pregnancy test in the trashcan. I went out of town to Jacksonville and he texted me about it saying he's been worried about me for the past few days because I've "been off." It was negative, but, one of our main reasons for wanting to pursue different avenues of parenthood is because of our serious medical condition genes that would affect our child's quality of life if passed on. For me, there is the additional factor that I don't want to go through a pregnancy alone if he's deployed - mostly because if I had a seizure while pregnant who could help me? Now, as I sit on the side of I-95 in Darien, GA fighting an inconsolable panic attack induced by exhaustion, or a seizure, or of shear fear of my own thoughts, I become more paralyzed knowing I'm three hours from home and an hour and a half outside of Jacksonville. Essentially, I'm alone.

My body is shivering so badly from fear and my mouth is so parched that it hurts to breathe but I don't trust that my body and foggy head could safely walk me out of the car and to a gas station to get water. I called a friend, one of Tyler's old shipmates, who I'd seen this morning. I choked out words like, "panic...I'm so scared....alone." because with words my mouth got drier and my body shook harder.

"Drop me a pin," he said, "I'm coming to get you."

"But I don't know how to do that." I cried harder as my eyes blurred trying to find some sort of settings on Maps that allowed me to share my location. I cried harder - tears of relief, fear, and humility that someone would do this.

"It's no big deal. I'll follow you home and drive back tonight."

"But that's six hours!" I said.

"So?" He responded.

I switched between shutting my eyes, trying to sleep, waiting for a seizure or my Klonopin to work. Either would dangerously sedate me and I wouldn't be able to safely drive. The sedation works and I debate telling him to turn around until I realize I'm still paralyzed and the thought of even leaving this parking lot makes my head spin. It's this moment that makes me exceedingly grateful that the pregnancy test was negative because even during this shore tour, Tyler is less accessible than when he was on a ship. So I start crying again when a text on my dash reads, "15 minutes out - you're doing great!" This would be the longest 15 minutes of my life. I distract myself with a memory from my wedding. We had a sword arch at our ceremony where six of our uniformed friends stood with their swords above us while the last two blocked our exit because "the price of passage is a kiss." My west coast best friend was in charge of saying, "On behalf of the United States Navy, welcome to the family." And a family it is, indeed. My weekend was spent with friendships that should've been brief but because they were forged by the sea, they are now familial ties. Ties that take care of each other on airplanes, forgive fights that we can't even remember how they started, and friends that furnish your apartment. These ties give you airport rides, become your maid of hon...."

I didn't get to finish my thoughts because the longest 15 minutes of my life was over. I stumbled out of my car, my legs wobbly like I was taking my first steps, literally collapsing into him. I spent the next three hours making myself as small as I could entirely embarrassed but equally humbled. It made me regret every negative thought I've had and feeling I had towards the struggles of military life. Yes, sometimes I would realize what I had in this exclusive little subculture, but most of my thoughts were selfish "I don't get to have a career. We have to move before I even unpack boxes. Why bother making friends if I just have to leave them? It's unfair that I have to do everything alone."

If I would've been able to finish writing my incoherent thoughts before I was rescued, I imagine it would go something like this: "...honor. I wouldn't have my friend - another bridesmaid - that knows more about me than I ever thought I could share with someone. If I didn't have this family, I might have a chance at a career, a stable address, and a furnished house. But what is that even worth? Because it's truly only in this family, that I'll never be alone.