The sound of the ambulance began to change.
I noticed it before I understood why.
The engine didn't seem to be working as hard.
The movement beneath my feet became gentler.
I looked toward the paramedic.
"Are we almost there?"
He glanced toward the front.
"We're arriving."
I looked immediately at Maggie.
Her eyes were still closed.
The oxygen mask rested against her face.
Her hand lay quietly inside mine.
I had spent the entire ride wanting to hear those words.
We're arriving.
Now that I had heard them, I felt another kind of fear.
The ambulance ride had been frightening, but at least I knew where I belonged.
I belonged beside Maggie.
I knew which hand to hold.
I knew how to move when the paramedic needed room.
I knew how to watch her face.
At the hospital, there would be more people.
They would have questions.
They might need to take her somewhere I couldn't follow immediately.
I hadn't prepared myself for that.
The vehicle slowed further.
I kept looking at Maggie.
"Maggie, sweetheart."
Her eyelids moved.
"We're at the hospital."
She opened her eyes slightly.
I leaned forward.
"You're going to have more people helping you now."
She looked toward my face.
I tried to smile.
"I'll stay as close as they'll let me."
Her eyes closed again.
I sat back.
I wished I hadn't added those last words.
As close as they'll let me.
I didn't want her to think I might leave.
But I knew hospitals had rules.
I knew doctors sometimes needed room to work.
I couldn't promise to remain beside her every second.
I could only promise I wouldn't leave voluntarily.
The ambulance came to a stop.
The sudden stillness surprised me.
I had become so accustomed to the road moving beneath us that sitting still felt strange.
The paramedic checked Maggie again.
I moved aside.
He spoke to someone near the front.
I couldn't make out every word.
Then he turned toward me.
"We're going to get her inside."
I nodded.
"All right."
My voice sounded smaller than I expected.
He looked at me.
"Please give us room while we move the stretcher."
"Of course."
I gently released Maggie's hand.
It was the first time in what felt like forever that I had let go completely.
Her fingers rested against the blanket.
I looked at them.
I wanted to reach back immediately.
Instead, I moved out of the way.
The rear doors opened.
A different kind of noise reached me.
Voices.
Footsteps.
The sounds of people moving outside.
The air felt cooler near the opening.
I looked at Maggie.
She was still lying beneath the blanket.
The paramedic spoke calmly as he prepared the stretcher.
I watched the wheels and the equipment.
Every movement seemed important.
I worried that something might shift.
I worried that she might become uncomfortable.
I worried about things I couldn't even name.
The paramedic and the waiting medical staff moved the stretcher carefully.
I stepped aside.
For a moment, I felt useless again.
My hands were empty.
There was nothing familiar to hold.
The wedding ring I had touched throughout the ride was moving away from me.
I followed as closely as I could.
"Maggie?"
Her eyes didn't open.
I didn't repeat her name.
I knew she was exhausted.
I had watched her struggle throughout the journey.
I didn't want to make her work harder now.
The stretcher moved toward the hospital entrance.
I walked beside it where there was room.
The wheels made a steady sound against the ground.
I noticed that sound because it was different from the ambulance.
For so long, the siren had filled everything.
Now there were footsteps and voices.
Doors opened ahead of us.
The stretcher moved inside.
Bright lights reflected from the floor.
I looked at Maggie's face.
She seemed even paler beneath the hospital lighting.
I felt my stomach tighten.
A medical worker approached the stretcher.
The paramedic began explaining Maggie's condition.
I heard him mention her weakness.
I heard him describe how little she had been responding.
Then I heard the words I had been carrying throughout the ride.
"Several days."
I looked down.
The same uncertainty had followed us into the hospital.
Someone asked a question about when her symptoms began.
The paramedic turned slightly toward me.
"Her husband says approximately three to four days."
I nodded.
"Yes."
The medical worker looked toward me.
"Three or four days?"
"That's right."
I swallowed.
"I'm sorry. I can't be more exact."
There was no criticism in the response.
The person simply continued listening.
That should have made me feel better.
But the shame remained.
I had been married to Maggie for years.
I knew so many things about her.
Yet when it mattered most, I could only give an estimate.
The stretcher moved farther inside.
I followed.
A nurse asked for Maggie's name.
I answered immediately.
"Maggie."
The nurse repeated it to confirm.
I nodded.
"Yes."
Then came another question.
I answered what I could.
I noticed how different it felt to be useful.
For a few moments, I wasn't simply sitting in fear.
I could speak.
I could give information.
I could tell them who she was.
But when they asked about her recent condition, the old uncertainty returned.
I knew she had been very weak.
I knew she had struggled to remain awake.
I knew she had been unwell for days.
That was what I told them.
I didn't pretend to know more.
The nurse listened.
Then she turned her attention back to Maggie.
I watched her check the oxygen mask.
Another person looked at the information passed along by the paramedic.
They moved with purpose.
Nobody seemed to expect me to understand everything.
That was a relief.
I had spent the ambulance ride feeling responsible for answers I didn't possess.
Now I could see that the medical staff were gathering information from several places.
They weren't depending entirely on me.
They were examining Maggie.
They were checking her condition.
They were listening to the paramedic.
And they were asking me about the things only someone close to her might know.
I looked at my wife.
Her eyes opened briefly.
I stepped closer.
"Hello, sweetheart."
She looked toward me.
I smiled.
"We made it."
Her eyes remained on my face for a second.
Then they closed.
I wanted to touch her hand.
A nurse was working beside the stretcher.
I waited until there was room.
Then I reached toward Maggie's fingers.
I touched them gently.
Her wedding ring was still there.
Of course it was.
I knew that.
But seeing it comforted me.
I had been frightened of every unfamiliar thing.
That small piece of metal reminded me that Maggie was still the woman I knew.
The nurse asked me to move back slightly.
I did.
"Sorry."
"You're okay. We just need some space."
I nodded.
I was beginning to understand that being a husband in this situation sometimes meant stepping aside.
That was difficult.
Every instinct told me to get closer.
But the people around Maggie needed room.
And she needed their help more than she needed me standing in their way.
I moved back.
I watched.
The medical staff continued working.
I heard Maggie's name spoken again.
I heard questions about her symptoms.
I answered when someone looked toward me.
Otherwise, I stayed quiet.
The ambulance ride was over.
But the fear hadn't disappeared.
It had simply followed me through the hospital doors.
I looked at Maggie.
She was surrounded by people who were trying to help her.
That was what I had wanted.
I should have felt relieved.
Part of me did.
Another part of me was frightened by how seriously everyone was taking her condition.
I stood near the stretcher and waited for the next question.
When someone asked what I knew about the previous days, I told them the truth again.
"She's been unwell for three or four days."
I looked at my wife.
"I don't know exactly why she's gotten this weak."
The words were painful.
But they were honest.
And honesty was the only useful thing I could offer.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: The Hospital Staff Began Asking About Maggie’s Illness, and I Realized How Difficult It Was to Explain What I Had Not Understood
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 13 of 20
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