Going Home

Arriving stateside was wonderful.  I had the best time in Florida with my Mom and step Dad Bob.  They took me out to eat, shopping and during the day when my Mom had to work, I hung out on the beach.  My Mom kept pressing me for information about who I might be dating.  I relented and told her I was indeed dating someone.  She asked me a thousand questions, as mothers would do, and I answered them as best I could but as mothers do, she sensed I was withholding something.  She asked me, "So, do you have a picture of him?"  Awe, too bad --no I did not have a picture.  Then she asked me, "Well, then describe him, what does he look like?"

Not sure what I wanted to say or how to answer that question, I paused then finally said, "Oh Mom, he's every girl's dream --tall, dark and handsome."

I was so tickled with myself that I cleverly skirted the truth without lying.  I mean, Newsome was tall, dark and handsome.  I didn't lie.

Heading to Chicago, I was reunited with most of my family.  When asked the question about if I might be dating someone, I answered yes.  When asked what he looked like I gave the same answer, "Tall, dark and handsome."  When asked if we were serious I'd say, "I suppose as serious as you can be thousands of miles apart for a full year."  That usually ended the conversation pretty quickly, for which I was happy.

Much like when I first got to Germany, I wasn't feeling well when I got home.  I was tired and dizzy and had no appetite.  I had a good time with my family, don't get me wrong, but I just didn't feel like myself.  Having experienced the same thing when I first got to Germany, I just figured it was jet lag and in a few weeks I'd be feeling fne.

After my Chicago visit I drove down to Eastern Illinois University where my youngest sister was a student.  I spent a couple of nights with her.  It was there I really began to feel worse to the point I wondered if jet lag really was the only problem.  From Eastern Illinois I drove down to Missouri and spent a few days with my grandparents.  I had a very relaxing few days with them in their sleepy little town of East Prairie, Missouri.  I'll never forget the morning I left, heading out to Kansas, with my grandparents standing on their back step waving to me.  My grandmother was still in her pajamas and robe.  When I left Grandpa teasingly said to me, "Keep your head low, watch out for them bullets."

What I didn't know then was that would be the last time my grandfather would speak to me.

In fact, there were a lot of things going on that I didn't know.  People were sick.  I was sick.  I was doing my best to hide how sick I was from my family.  No one really knew and if they questioned me I just told them I was tired from the trip, lots of travel and time changes.

Driving the long, dry deserted roads to Kansas I could feel something wasn't right.  I didn't feel well and though this was a lot like the jet lag I experienced in Germany, it wasn't quite the same.  I was worried but decided I'd not say anything to anyone until I knew something for certain.

After signing into my unit at Ft. Riley, Kansas, I got very ill one day and was taken by ambulance to the military hospital.  Soon after arriving at ER they stuck an IV in me and told me I was very dehydrated.  They asked me a bunch of questions but I was kind of weak and out of it.  When I told them I just returned from overseas they became concerned and started honing in on things I ate, places I had been, etc.  I was asked about my layovers, water I drank, food I ate, any food I might have purchased, if I had been on a farm or been around any farm animals, if I bought any produce from a foreign country, what air line I was on, etc. etc.

I tried my best to answer all of their questions but I was weak and tired.  I just wanted to sleep.  I remember being poked and prodded --needles taking blood, needles giving fluids, blood pressure, temperature, questions, questions, questions. . . . finally they said they were going run some tests and I should rest.  I think I fell asleep immediately.

What seemed like hours later, a nurse and doctor came back into the room holding my chart. They were trying to wake me up and the nurse was holding my hand.  Why was she holding my hand?  It must be bad news.  The doctor stood over me, "Sergeant Dodge?  Are you awake?  Do you understand me?  I need to talk to you."

I knew then it was bad.  I was pretty alert and sat up looking at the doctor, wishing the nurse would let go of my hand.  The doctor continued,

"Sergeant Dodge, we know why you're sick.  We got the test results back."