I kept waiting for Maggie to say my name.
That was what I wanted most.
Not an explanation.
Not an answer to every question.
Just one familiar word.
I sat with my hand wrapped around hers.
The paramedic continued checking her condition.
He spoke to her now and then.
Maggie didn't say much.
Her eyes opened when she heard his voice.
Sometimes she looked toward him.
Sometimes she looked for me.
Each time, I moved closer.
"I'm right here."
I said it so often that I began to hear how frightened I sounded.
The first time she opened her eyes, I felt relieved.
The second time, I watched how quickly she closed them again.
By the third, I understood that even that small effort was difficult.
She wasn't simply tired.
Something was very wrong.
I looked at her forehead.
Then at her cheeks.
Then down at the oxygen mask.
I wanted to remove every uncomfortable thing from her face.
Of course I didn't.
I knew she needed it.
Still, seeing her with that mask hurt me.
It made everything feel serious in a way words had not.
The paramedic leaned closer to the stretcher.
"Maggie, can you open your eyes?"
She did.
Only slightly.
"Good. Thank you."
Then her eyelids lowered.
I looked at him.
"She's trying."
He nodded.
"Yes."
I didn't know why those two words mattered so much.
Maybe because someone else had seen it.
Someone else knew she was trying.
I squeezed her fingers gently.
"You heard him."
She made no reply.
I didn't expect one.
Not anymore.
A few minutes earlier, I had still hoped she would suddenly sit up and ask why I looked so worried.
I knew better now.
I could see it in the way her eyes struggled to stay open.
I could hear it in the careful way the paramedic spoke.
There was no ordinary conversation coming.
Not during that ride.
I shifted in my seat.
My legs had begun to ache.
I barely noticed.
The ambulance continued moving.
The siren sounded outside.
I had never understood how lonely an ambulance could feel with other people sitting inches away.
The paramedic was there.
Maggie was there.
But I couldn't reach the part of her that usually answered me.
That was what frightened me.
I spoke.
She heard me, perhaps.
She looked.
Then she slipped back into silence.
I had spent our marriage taking conversation for granted.
A question across a room.
A few words before bed.
Her voice calling from somewhere nearby.
I had never imagined how much I would miss those things while she was still beside me.
The paramedic asked me to repeat how long she'd been unwell.
"Three days," I said.
Then I corrected myself.
"Maybe four."
He wrote it down.
I swallowed.
I was beginning to hate that answer.
Not because it was false.
Because it was the closest I could come to the truth.
I could not give him an exact number.
I could not make those days less serious.
And I could not explain why she was lying there now.
Maggie's hand moved slightly.
I looked up.
Her eyes were open.
I leaned in so she wouldn't have to turn her head.
"Hey."
She watched me.
For a second, I thought she might speak.
I waited.
Her lips were hidden behind the mask.
Her eyes began to close again.
"That's okay."
I kept my voice low.
"You don't have to say anything."
She rested.
I stayed close.
The paramedic checked her breathing.
I watched the movement of his hands, then looked back at her.
There was something unbearable about seeing a person make such a small effort and knowing it cost them so much.
A glance.
An open eye.
A hand resting in mine.
Things I had never counted before.
Now I counted all of them.
The road carried us forward.
I tried to think about anything other than how weak she looked.
I couldn't.
My attention returned to Maggie every few seconds.
I watched her breathing.
I watched her eyes.
I watched her hand.
And when she looked at me again, I was there to meet her.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: With Maggie Barely Awake Beside Me, I Had to Tell the Paramedic She Might Have Been Suffering for Four Days
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 3 of 20
