What happened

I always can tell when people want to ask me about Sgt. K's injury. There are things they want to ask, but don't know if it's appropriate.

I don't mind answering any question (about his injury or either of his deployments). You should know, I'm going to answer, and you might not like what you hear. When Sgt. K was first deployed, I would see I was freaking people out, and alter my answers to calm their fears. I would say things like, "Yes, he's right next to Iran, but nothing ever happens there!" I'm trying break that habit because it's bad for my skin.

So if you don't want to know how Sgt. K was wounded stop reading.

So here's what happened: Last June, my husband was riding in an MRAP, which is like a Humvee on steroids. His convoy was attacked and someone shot a rocket-propelled grenade at his truck. The rocket went through his truck, through his driver, and sprayed Sgt. K's legs with shrapnel. (Yes, his driver is still alive.)

The next question I usually get is, What's shrapnel? If your squemish, skip to the next paragraph. Shrapnel is all the junk that sprayed from the explosion: dirt, bone fragments, and pieces of plastic and metal. When Sgt. K came home to me, he is leg looked like a piece of raw meat. When he flexed his foot, you could see his tendons in his shin slide back and forth.

A couple of days after it happened, another Army wife said to me, "Wow, most people don't survive attacks like that." When someone you love comes that close to the line that separates us from death, there's no describing the emotion. At times I feel shocked, scared, and angry. Someone tried to kill my husband. But most of the time I feel blessed and thankful that I didn't lose him on that road in Afghanistan.