I kept my fingers wrapped around Maggie's hand.
Her wedding ring rested against my thumb.
I rubbed the same small circle over her knuckles that I had been making throughout the ride.
The ambulance continued moving.
The siren sounded somewhere beyond the walls.
I could hear the paramedic working beside her.
But I wasn't watching every movement of his hands anymore.
I was watching Maggie.
Her eyes were closed.
The oxygen mask covered most of her face.
I could see the faint movement that came with each breath.
I wanted to tell her something comforting.
For several seconds, I couldn't think of anything new to say.
I had already told her I loved her.
I had already promised to stay beside her.
I had told her she didn't need to answer my questions.
Those were the only promises I knew I could keep.
I leaned forward slightly.
"I'm still here, sweetheart."
Her eyelids didn't move.
I didn't take that as a bad sign.
The paramedic had explained that she was responding.
I had seen her open her eyes several times.
I knew how much effort it seemed to cost her.
So I waited.
The vehicle shifted beneath us.
I steadied myself with my free hand.
Maggie's fingers moved slightly inside mine.
I looked at her face.
"Maggie?"
Her eyes remained closed.
I had to stop myself from saying her name again.
It was becoming a habit.
Every time I noticed the smallest movement, I wanted reassurance.
I wanted her to open her eyes.
I wanted proof that she could still hear me.
But I had begun to understand that my need for reassurance was not the same as her need for rest.
I loosened my grip a little.
I hadn't realized how tightly I was holding her.
"I'm sorry."
The words came quietly.
I didn't know whether she heard them.
I looked toward the paramedic.
He was checking her condition again.
I moved my knee aside to give him more room.
He leaned closer to the stretcher.
"Maggie, I'm checking your breathing."
Her eyelids fluttered.
I watched her respond to his voice.
He continued speaking calmly.
I noticed that he didn't demand more than she could manage.
He asked for what he needed.
Then he let her rest.
It seemed so simple when he did it.
I wished I had understood sooner.
For most of the ride, I had been searching her face for answers.
I had wanted a word.
A squeeze of the hand.
Something familiar enough to make me believe she would be all right.
Now I could see that even those small things required effort.
And I didn't want to take that effort from her just to make myself feel better.
The paramedic finished his check.
I leaned closer to Maggie.
"You don't need to do anything for me."
I looked at her closed eyes.
"Just let them take care of you."
She remained quiet.
I sat back.
The ambulance seemed very small.
My shoulders ached from leaning forward.
My mouth was dry.
I could feel the tension in my neck whenever I turned my head.
I hadn't thought about my own body for a long time.
I didn't want to think about it now.
Maggie was the one who needed attention.
But I realized that I was making myself more frightened by watching every second as though something terrible would happen if I blinked.
I took a slow breath.
Then I looked at her again.
She was still breathing beneath the mask.
The paramedic was still beside her.
We were still on our way to the hospital.
Those were the things I knew.
I tried to stay with what I knew.
Not with everything I feared.
Not with everything I imagined might happen.
Just what was directly in front of me.
The paramedic looked toward me.
"Are you comfortable sitting there?"
I almost told him the truth.
My back hurt.
My legs were stiff.
My hand was beginning to ache.
But none of those things mattered enough to complain about.
"I'm fine."
He nodded.
I adjusted my position without letting go of Maggie.
There was a time when she would have noticed immediately that I was uncomfortable.
She would have told me to sit properly.
She might have laughed at the awkward way I was holding myself.
I missed that ordinary concern.
I missed having someone beside me who noticed small things before I said anything.
I looked at her hand.
I remembered how often she had reached for mine without needing a reason.
Sometimes we would sit together without talking.
Neither of us felt the need to fill every quiet moment.
I had forgotten that silence could be comfortable.
The silence inside the ambulance wasn't comfortable.
It was frightening.
But I realized I didn't need to fight it with words.
I could sit beside Maggie the way I had sat beside her so many times before.
I could be present.
I could let her know she wasn't alone.
Her eyes opened.
I leaned forward.
"Hello."
She looked toward my face.
I smiled.
I didn't ask whether she could hear me.
I didn't ask whether she was feeling better.
I simply held her hand.
Her eyes stayed open for a few seconds.
Then they closed.
I remained where I was.
I felt disappointed.
I couldn't help it.
Every time she opened her eyes, some foolish part of me hoped she would suddenly become herself again.
I imagined her speaking clearly.
I imagined her asking why everyone was making such a fuss.
I imagined the oxygen mask being removed because she no longer needed it.
None of those things happened.
She simply rested.
I reminded myself that she was not disappointing me.
She wasn't failing at anything.
She was ill.
And she was doing what she could.
I looked at the paramedic.
"She keeps looking for me."
He glanced at Maggie.
"She's been responding to your voice."
I nodded.
"I know."
I looked down.
"I just wish she could talk."
He didn't tell me that she would.
I appreciated that he didn't make promises.
I also wished there were promises he could safely make.
The ambulance continued down the road.
I felt another turn.
The equipment moved faintly beside the stretcher.
Maggie's hand remained in mine.
I rubbed my thumb across her wedding ring.
The metal felt smooth.
Familiar.
Solid.
I was grateful for something I could recognize without uncertainty.
So much had become unfamiliar in such a short time.
The ambulance.
The mask.
The weakness in her face.
The careful attention of the paramedic.
Even my own fear felt unfamiliar.
I had worried about Maggie before.
Of course I had.
That was part of loving someone.
But this was different.
I wasn't worrying about whether she had eaten enough or slept badly.
I was watching her struggle just to remain awake.
I looked at her face.
I whispered her name once.
"Maggie."
She didn't open her eyes.
This time, I didn't repeat it.
I simply stayed beside her.
The siren continued.
The paramedic continued working.
I held her hand and watched her breathe.
And I began to understand that silence did not mean there was nothing left between us.
I could still love her.
I could still sit beside her.
I could still offer the comfort of a familiar touch.
For now, that had to be enough.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: I Kept Returning to Those Three or Four Missing Days, Even Though Maggie Was Too Weak to Help Me Understand Them
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 9 of 20
