Confessions of a rookie med-school wife

When does concern turn into action?

Or more specifically, at what point does a nervous wife consider filing a Missing Persons Report when her med school husband does not come home?

Disclaimer:  Matt is an excellent communicator.  A man of his word.  The most responsible person I know.  Well, next to my mother. (As long as that woman has air in her lungs, she will out-duty anybody.  As my brother once told me, "Give her a list, and get out of her way!")

For those of you who know Laura, I know you're nodding.  And smiling.

I digress.

Where was I?  Ah yes - Matt is a good communicator.  So when I didn't hear from him, I got nervous.  More on that in a bit.

We have been told in no uncertain terms to possibly expect some unreal work hours when Matt's in residency.  But that's still 3 years away, and while I appreciate having an idea of the future (for heart preparatory reasons), I have the blessing and curse of only being able to live and think in the present.  Consequently, I have not spent a lot of time worrying about what's to come.

We did, however, just recently, get a small taste of these "unusual hours" we've heard tell of.

The story goes:

Matt recently finished a two-week clerkship, which, in this case, is med school speak for working with an assigned doctor and his team and learning by viewing and assisting.  The doctor he worked with was "on call", which is medical speak for being available to work irregular hours should patients need him.

When Matt came home the first day at 7pm, I naively thought, "Hey, this isn't so bad!"  And my expectation was then foolishly set for 7pm.

So the next night, when Matt wasn't home yet and it was 8:00, then 9:00, then 10:00...I started to get worried and called the clinic which was closed.  So I called the medical center where Matt was the day before only to learn that his assigned doctor was not there, which meant Matt was not there.  So I called a 2nd year med school wife and a couple of friends in Matt's class to ask if this is normal, to which they reassuringly told me that his doctor was probably called into emergency surgery at some other hospital, which Matt accompanied him into and therefore wasn't able to contact me.  This did end up being the case.

But being a rookie med-school wife, I still considered the possibility that Matt had been abducted at knifepoint in the parking lot.  One too many Criminal Minds episodes for this girl. 

Darn you, Criminal Minds.

I've long given up that show, because Matt convinced me that it wasn't a good choice for me since I'm so impressionable.  He's right.  It gives me bad ideas.  Case in point - images of him being held against his will somewhere plagued me as the hours wore on.  What if duct tape was involved?!

My dad sensed my nervousness even though I was trying to subdue it, and he prayed for Matt's safety over the phone.  In his wisdom, he suggested I read the Psalms, focus on truth, and "go easy on Matt when he comes home."  For the record, I'm not an exploder.  But an imploding wife is not real cheery to come home to either.  So dad's advice is sound.  Very sound.  Also for the record, I'm not in the habit of calling my dad with marriage woes (that's just textbook poor form), but in this particular instance I was concerned for Matt's SAFETY, an entirely different matter.

There, my good wifely name is still in tact.

So I camped out in Psalm 119 and prayed verse 76

"Now let Your unfailing love comfort me."

Psalm 91 and 121 gave me great comfort too, and I suggest meditating on those chapters for anyone struggling with fear.

When 11:30 rolled around, I somewhat calmly considered when it might be appropriate for me to file that missing persons report.

I do believe Jesus kept me from going into full-panic mode, but it's fair to say that I was unsettled and a little nervous.

The line between "nervous, crazy wife" and "responsible, reasonably concerned wife" became blurry to me.

Either Matt was working hard and exhausted, or he was a victim of a heinous crime.  Either way, I asked God to give him His strength and to sustain him and give him peace.

Around 12a.m. - My tired husband returns home.

I have a choice:

• Explode (not my go-to tactic).
• Brush it off and go easy on him (not the healthiest, I think).
• Communicate level-headedly and go easy on him by being understanding and gracious (best choice but not what happened).
• Cry (what I did).

Matt and I aren't going to win any awards for communication that day.  To his credit, the next day, I received about 7 texts from him throughout the day letting me know his status.  Over the top, but very considerate.  And helpful.

So when he got home at 1 a.m. the next night after another emergency procedure, I wasn't nervous at all.  We had pizza at the table and talked about his day.

A well-learned lesson to this rookie med-school wife about altering my expectations.  It saves me so much grief  (and embarrassment).