February is a Bleak Month (Part III of the Story)

The police academy was a shock to my system. Yes, I know I wasn't the one becoming a cop. But that first week it became very clear that Terence could not make it through without a great deal of help from me. For example, we weren't prepared at all for the impossible perfection of how his clothes had to look. Right at the beginning, they didn't wear uniforms yet-- instead, they wore white shirts and ties, black dress pants, and shoes that had been spit-shined to a high polish. Terence worked on shining his shoes for literally hours every night, and so I took over the ironing. I remember slaving over a single shirt, using something like half a can of spray starch, only for Terence to come check it and point out all the minor creases that would make it unacceptable. Then I had to go through and clip any tiny threads that were showing. (Let me tell you, there is no clearer sign of my support for my husband, because I hate ironing with a passion. When I had made those "what I want in a husband" lists while I was in college, it had always included a part that said he had to be willing to do the ironing.) In fact, since I was such an emotional basket case during this time, I remember ironing his dress clothes with tears dripping down my cheeks and then hastily wiping them away before they could drop on his shirt and ruin it.

Then there were the essays. Just the memory of them makes me feel a little queasy. There were essays every day for homework, plus the disciplinary essays he seemed to earn more frequently than seemed fair (for crazy little things like "stepping off the sidewalk onto the grass"). Terence is not a writer. I usually had to dictate his essays to him, since otherwise a two hour assignment turned into a ten hour one, and he didn't have that many hours, not if he wanted to sleep for an hour or two. The worst part was that the essays had to be handwritten in ink, perfectly legibly, in all capitals. And the letters had to be perfect-- no straying below the line, no capitals that didn't reach all the way to the top. So in addition to his daily assignment and disciplinary essays, he also started getting old essays back with obnoxious little red circles around offending letters, which he would have to rewrite also. I would sit next to him until 3am pointing out every time he made a handwriting mistake so he could start over before he had wasted too much time on a paper he couldn't turn in.

Then there was the academic part. Long, long spelling lists, another Waterloo for Terence. He is a horrible speller. I would quiz him on word after word, as well as all the counties and the county seats in Arizona, and the beginning of all the statutes and laws he was learning.

Needless to say, after four days of this, we were both wondering if we were going to survive. That coming weekend he had the "long essay" to work on. It had to be 1,500 words, which in some other life I would have thought an easy, short paper. Hah! Not when it has to be perfectly handwritten without a single mistake of any kind! Still, I was grateful that Terence had a job at least. And he was enjoying his classes, even if he was turning into a zombie from lack of sleep.

Then Friday morning while he was off at the Academy, I got a phone call from him.

His voice was high-pitched with pain. He had hurt his knee really badly during a drill, he told me, and he needed me to come pick him up and take him to urgent care. I was shocked, and so very scared. Terence didn't sound like himself at all-- in fact, I had never heard him sound like that. He gave me directions, and I loaded up M and made the 45 minute drive to the academy. There one of the officers wheeled him out. I was horrified. His knee had swollen to twice its regular size. We spent the rest of a very long day in an urgent care center, and then at a radiology place where they did an MRI on his leg.

Terence's instructors told us that if it was a minor injury, and he could get back to class within five days, all would be well. Otherwise, he would be dropped by the academy, and most likely let go from DPS until he was fully healed. Then, he could apply to try the academy again. Once again, I was sick with fear. Judging by how awful his knee looked, and how much pain he was in, it would be a miracle if he could go back to work in five days.

The miracle I wanted didn't come. A few days later, we got the official word. Terence had torn his knee ligaments, and he would need surgery. Continuing in the program was not an option.

Now what were we going to do?