I had been telling Maggie not to worry.
I had said it again and again.
"Just rest, sweetheart."
"You're doing fine."
"I'm right here."
The words came easily because I wanted them to be true.
But I was worried enough for both of us.
I kept looking at the paramedic.
Every time he checked a reading, I tried to understand his expression.
Every time he adjusted something, I wondered whether it meant Maggie's condition had changed.
I wasn't trained to recognize what he was watching for.
That made everything feel more frightening.
I was trying to read signs that meant nothing to me.
He noticed me looking.
"Do you have another question?"
I felt embarrassed.
"Probably a hundred."
He gave a small nod.
I looked toward Maggie.
"But I don't know which one to ask."
He continued checking her.
I appreciated that he didn't make me feel foolish.
I knew I was asking the same things repeatedly.
I knew I was watching him too closely.
I knew I had become the sort of frightened husband who needed reassurance every few minutes.
Before that day, I might have imagined I would be calmer.
I might have believed that when something serious happened, I would know how to behave.
But imagining an emergency was different from sitting inside one.
Maggie was lying inches away from me.
She was struggling to remain awake.
And nothing about that felt manageable.
The ambulance continued along the road.
I shifted forward in my seat.
My hand had grown stiff from holding hers.
I loosened my grip for a moment.
Immediately, I worried she might think I was letting go.
So I wrapped my fingers gently around hers again.
"I'm still here."
She didn't open her eyes.
I looked at her forehead.
There were small lines I recognized.
I had seen those lines when she was concentrating.
I had seen them when she was worried.
I had seen them when she was tired at the end of a long day.
But the expression on her face now was different.
There was almost no movement.
Her tiredness seemed deeper than anything I had seen before.
I wanted to reach inside her and understand what she was feeling.
Was she frightened?
Was she in discomfort?
Did she know how serious things had become?
I couldn't ask her.
Not without expecting an answer she might not have the strength to give.
So I sat with my questions.
The paramedic leaned closer to Maggie.
"Maggie, I'm going to check on you."
Her eyelids lifted slightly.
He spoke calmly while he worked.
I moved back to give him space.
For once, I didn't ask what every movement meant.
I watched him finish.
Then I leaned toward her.
"You heard him, sweetheart."
She looked toward me.
"He's taking care of you."
I wanted her to know she wasn't alone with something frightening.
I wanted her to understand there were people helping.
She held my gaze briefly.
Then her eyes closed.
I stayed beside her.
It was strange how relieved I felt each time she recognized my voice.
I knew she was still seriously unwell.
I knew a glance didn't change that.
But I needed those small moments.
They were the only pieces of our ordinary life I could reach.
I could still say her name.
She could still find my face.
I could still hold her hand.
I tried to be grateful for those things without pretending they solved anything.
The siren sounded beyond the ambulance walls.
For a moment, I wondered how many people outside could hear it.
Perhaps someone was standing at a crossing, waiting for us to pass.
Perhaps another driver had pulled over.
They would hear the siren.
They might see the ambulance.
Then they would continue with their day.
They wouldn't know Maggie.
They wouldn't know how long we'd been married.
They wouldn't know that the woman inside had a husband sitting beside her, counting every time she opened her eyes.
I looked down.
That thought made me feel terribly alone.
Then I looked at the paramedic.
He was still there.
Still working.
Still watching her.
We weren't alone.
I had to remind myself of that.
"Thank you," I said.
He looked at me.
"Of course."
I wasn't sure whether he understood what I meant.
I wanted to thank him for checking her breathing.
For watching her carefully.
For speaking to her as a person instead of treating her like equipment on a stretcher.
Most of all, I wanted to thank him for knowing what to do when I didn't.
But I couldn't get all those words out.
"Thank you for helping her."
He nodded.
"We're taking care of her."
I looked back at Maggie.
I wanted to believe that the care she was receiving would be enough.
I wanted to believe we'd reach the hospital and someone would explain exactly what was wrong.
I wanted to believe she would eventually sit up and speak to me in her ordinary voice.
I couldn't know any of that.
I could only hope.
Maggie's fingers shifted slightly.
I leaned forward.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Her eyes opened.
She looked tired.
So tired.
I tried to smile.
"There you are."
She looked at my face.
For a second, I almost asked whether she was all right.
It was a foolish question.
Of course she wasn't all right.
She was lying in an ambulance with an oxygen mask on her face.
But the words had nearly come out because they were so familiar.
How are you feeling?
Are you okay?
Do you need anything?
Those were the questions I asked when Maggie had an ordinary bad day.
Now ordinary questions seemed terribly inadequate.
I swallowed.
"You don't have to answer."
She watched me.
"Just stay with us."
Her eyes remained open a moment longer.
Then they closed again.
I sat back.
I had said too much.
I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth.
Just stay with us.
It sounded frightened.
It sounded as though I thought she might disappear.
I didn't want her to hear that fear.
I wanted my voice to make her feel safe.
But I was human.
I was her husband.
And I was afraid.
I looked at the paramedic.
He continued caring for her.
I took a careful breath.
Then another.
I didn't want to lose control of myself while Maggie needed me nearby.
So I settled back into the small things I could manage.
I kept my voice quiet.
I held her hand gently.
I moved whenever the paramedic needed room.
I answered when he spoke.
I watched her breathing without asking her to perform another effort for my reassurance.
I couldn't hide every bit of fear.
Perhaps I didn't need to.
I only needed to make sure my fear didn't become another burden for Maggie.
When her eyes opened again, I didn't ask her anything.
I leaned close enough for her to see me.
I gave her a small smile.
And I stayed there until she rested again.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: As We Continued Toward the Hospital, I Stopped Searching for the Right Words and Held Maggie’s Hand in Silence
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 7 of 20
