I had imagined the hospital would give me answers.
Not all at once, perhaps.
But quickly enough to make me feel less frightened.
Instead, the questions continued.
The medical staff examined Maggie.
They checked her condition.
They discussed what needed to happen next.
I stood close enough to see her but far enough away to give them room.
My hands were clasped together.
I kept looking at the wedding ring on her finger.
I wanted to be holding that hand.
But someone was working beside the stretcher.
I didn't want to interfere.
The doctor came toward me.
I straightened immediately.
"How is she?"
The doctor spoke carefully.
"Maggie is very weak. We need to run tests to understand what's causing this."
I nodded.
"What kind of tests?"
The doctor explained that they needed to examine her condition further, including checking her blood.
I listened closely.
I didn't understand every medical detail.
But I understood the important part.
They still didn't know exactly what was happening.
I looked at Maggie.
She lay beneath the blanket with the oxygen mask covering her face.
Her eyes were closed.
"Does that mean something is seriously wrong?"
The doctor didn't dismiss my concern.
"It means we need more information before we can explain what's causing her symptoms."
I swallowed.
"All right."
It was difficult to accept.
I wanted certainty.
I wanted a name for what had happened.
I wanted the doctor to tell me that Maggie would recover.
But there wasn't enough information yet.
I knew that.
I had spent the ambulance ride trying to make sense of facts I didn't understand.
Now the hospital was trying to find those facts.
I needed to let them.
A nurse approached Maggie.
She explained what she was going to do.
Maggie's eyelids moved.
I watched her carefully.
I felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness.
Relief because she was still responding.
Sadness because even hearing someone speak seemed to require effort.
The nurse began preparing to collect a blood sample.
I watched from a short distance.
I had seen Maggie have blood taken before.
It had never frightened me like this.
Usually, it was an ordinary medical procedure.
Something that happened during a checkup.
Something she might mention afterward without much concern.
Now every small procedure seemed connected to questions I couldn't answer.
I watched the nurse work.
I wanted to ask whether it would hurt.
I stopped myself.
Maggie had enough to endure without hearing my worry.
The nurse completed the collection carefully.
I looked at Maggie's face.
Her eyes remained closed.
I wanted to move closer.
The nurse finished and stepped aside.
I approached the stretcher.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Maggie's eyelids lifted.
She looked toward me.
I smiled.
"You're at the hospital."
I gently touched her hand.
"They're taking care of you."
Her eyes stayed on mine.
Then they closed again.
I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles.
I wondered whether she understood that the doctors were trying to find out what was wrong.
I hoped she did.
I hoped she knew that every question and procedure was meant to help her.
I wanted to explain everything.
But I didn't know enough to explain it properly.
That was a familiar feeling by now.
I had spent hours wishing I possessed knowledge I didn't have.
I had wanted to know what happened during the missing days.
I had wanted to understand the paramedic's readings.
Now I wanted to understand the tests.
I looked toward the doctor.
"Will the blood tell you what's wrong?"
The doctor answered cautiously.
"The results may help us identify what is happening and what needs further investigation."
I nodded.
"Okay."
I wanted to ask how long it would take.
I wanted to ask what they expected to find.
I wanted to ask whether the answers would be frightening.
But those questions were still ahead of us.
There was no use demanding a result before the testing was complete.
I looked down at Maggie.
Her hand was still inside mine.
The wedding ring felt cool beneath my thumb.
I traced the familiar circle.
I thought about how often I had believed that being her husband meant being able to take care of her.
When something broke at home, I tried to fix it.
When she was tired, I could do something to make her day easier.
When she was worried, I could listen.
Those were ordinary things.
I understood them.
This was different.
I couldn't repair whatever had happened inside her body.
I couldn't make her blood reveal an answer.
I couldn't give her the strength she had lost.
I could only stand beside her while other people did what I couldn't.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
I looked at her face.
"I'm sorry, Maggie."
Her eyes stayed closed.
I didn't know whether she heard me.
I wanted to apologize for not recognizing how serious her illness had become.
I wanted to apologize for every moment I had failed to understand.
But the hospital wasn't the place to unload my guilt onto her.
She didn't need to carry that.
I looked at the nurse.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Keep talking to her if she responds to your voice. Just don't tire her out."
I nodded.
"I can do that."
I leaned closer.
"Sweetheart."
Her eyelids moved.
"I'm right here."
She opened her eyes slightly.
I smiled.
"You don't have to answer."
She looked at me.
Then she rested again.
I continued holding her hand.
The medical staff moved around us.
Someone adjusted the equipment.
Someone reviewed information.
The doctor spoke quietly with another person.
I could hear pieces of their conversation, but not enough to understand everything.
I decided not to guess.
That had become important.
I didn't want to invent an explanation because I was frightened.
I didn't want to mistake a medical term for something it didn't mean.
I wanted the doctors to tell me what they actually knew.
Until then, I had to live with uncertainty.
It was not easy.
I looked at Maggie's hand.
I remembered the ambulance.
The siren.
The paramedic's calm voice.
The way she kept opening her eyes and looking toward me.
I had believed reaching the hospital would change everything immediately.
Instead, I was still holding her hand while someone else tried to help her.
The setting had changed.
The fear had not.
But something important was different.
The doctors were gathering information.
They were examining her.
They were trying to understand what had made her so weak.
I looked toward the place where the blood sample had been taken.
I knew the results might explain something.
I didn't know what.
And I didn't want to imagine the worst before anyone had told me the truth.
The nurse came to check Maggie again.
I moved aside.
I watched her work.
Maggie opened her eyes briefly.
I stepped closer when there was room.
"Hello."
She looked at me.
I smiled.
Then I let her rest.
The doctor had said they needed more information.
I repeated those words silently.
More information.
Not a final answer.
Not a promise.
Just the next necessary step.
I stood beside Maggie's stretcher.
Her wedding ring rested against my finger.
I rubbed the familiar circle over her knuckles.
And I waited while the hospital began searching for the explanation I had been unable to give.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: While We Waited for Maggie’s Blood Results, I Realized the Truth Might Be More Complicated Than Anything I Had Imagined
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 15 of 20
