I had never felt so helpless sitting beside my own wife.
Maggie lay on the ambulance stretcher with an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose.
I held her hand.
Her fingers were warm, but she barely had the strength to hold mine.
The vehicle started moving, and I shifted closer so I wouldn't lose contact with her.
A paramedic checked the equipment beside her head.
I watched his hands because I didn't know where else to look.
Every little movement made me nervous.
When he adjusted the oxygen mask, I leaned forward.
When he checked her pulse, I watched his expression.
He didn't say anything alarming.
That should have comforted me.
It didn't.
Maggie opened her eyes for a moment.
She looked directly at me.
I squeezed her hand.
"I'm here."
Her eyelids lowered again.
I wanted her to answer.
I wanted her to complain about the ride or ask where we were going.
Anything that sounded like the Maggie I knew.
Instead, she remained quiet.
The paramedic turned toward me.
"How long has she been feeling this bad?"
I looked at Maggie before answering.
"Several days."
He waited.
"Maybe three. Could be four."
Saying it aloud made me feel sick.
Three or four days.
My wife had been unwell for that long, and I was sitting in an ambulance trying to explain something I barely understood.
The paramedic wrote something down.
"Has she been awake and responsive?"
"Yes, but not much."
I looked at her face.
"She keeps opening her eyes."
He nodded and continued working.
I wanted him to ask me another question.
Something I could answer properly.
Her birthday.
Her age.
Anything simple.
But the important questions weren't simple anymore.
I knew how long we had been married.
I knew the sound of Maggie's footsteps.
I knew how she looked when she was tired.
And I knew that the woman lying beside me was struggling just to keep her eyes open.
That frightened me more than I could explain.
I rubbed my thumb across the back of her hand.
There was a time when she would have squeezed back without thinking.
Now I couldn't tell whether she felt it.
"Maggie?"
Her eyes opened slightly.
"It's me."
She looked toward me again.
I tried to smile.
It was a poor attempt.
"You don't need to talk."
I wasn't sure whether I was reassuring her or myself.
The ambulance continued down the road.
The siren rose and fell beyond the walls.
Inside, everything felt too close.
The stretcher.
The equipment.
The paramedic.
My wife's pale face.
I had no way to make the ride shorter.
No way to give her my strength.
All I could do was remain beside her.
The paramedic checked her mask again.
Maggie moved her head a little.
I leaned nearer.
"Are you uncomfortable?"
She didn't answer.
Her eyes closed.
I sat back.
I wanted to ask the paramedic whether she would be all right.
The question stayed in my mouth.
I was afraid of hearing something I wasn't ready for.
So I asked something smaller.
"Is she getting enough oxygen?"
He checked the reading.
"We're watching her closely."
I nodded.
Closely.
That was all I wanted anyone to do.
Watch her.
Help her.
Don't let anything happen while I sat there unable to change it.
Another few minutes passed.
Or perhaps it was only one.
I couldn't judge time properly.
I kept returning to the same thought.
Three days.
Maybe four.
I had said those words to a stranger as though they were ordinary.
They weren't ordinary.
They were days in my wife's life that I could not get back.
I watched Maggie breathe beneath the mask.
The paramedic continued his work.
And I stayed beside her, holding the hand of the woman I loved.
Click here to continue reading: PART 2: The Paramedic Asked One Simple Question About Maggie, and My Answer Made Me Realize How Little I Could Explain
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
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