The paramedic had asked me how long Maggie had been unwell.
I had answered him more than once.
Three days.
Maybe four.
I wished the number would become clearer if I thought hard enough.
It didn't.
I sat beside Maggie and tried to remember the last time I had seen her feeling completely well.
I wanted a definite moment.
Something I could point to.
A morning.
A conversation.
A time when I had looked at her and known everything was normal.
Instead, I kept returning to the same uncertainty.
She had been unwell for days.
I had not understood how serious it was.
And now she was lying beside me, barely able to keep her eyes open.
I looked at her face.
"Maggie."
Her eyelids moved.
I leaned closer.
"It's me."
She opened her eyes slightly.
I wanted to ask her what had happened.
I wanted her to help me put the pieces together.
Then I saw how tired she looked.
I swallowed the question.
"Never mind, sweetheart."
She watched me for another second.
"You just rest."
Her eyes closed again.
I sat back.
There was something cruel about needing answers from the one person who was too ill to give them.
I knew Maggie had answers of her own.
She knew what she had felt.
She knew what she had experienced during those days.
Perhaps there were things she had tried to tell me.
Perhaps there were things I hadn't understood.
I couldn't know any of that while she lay so weak.
And I had to stop expecting her to explain herself.
The paramedic looked at me.
"Do you need something?"
I shook my head.
"No. Thank you."
He nodded.
I hesitated.
"Actually, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
I looked toward Maggie.
"Would it make any difference if I knew exactly when this started?"
He considered the question.
"Any information about her symptoms and when they began can be helpful."
I nodded slowly.
"Right."
I looked down at my hands.
"I just can't give you an exact answer."
He didn't criticize me.
He simply continued attending to Maggie.
I was grateful for that.
I had already criticized myself enough.
The ambulance made a gradual turn.
I felt the movement through the seat.
My free hand reached toward the side for balance.
Maggie's hand stayed inside mine.
I watched her face until the movement settled.
She didn't seem to notice the turn.
Or perhaps she was too exhausted to show it.
I couldn't tell.
That was becoming one of the hardest things.
So much of what I understood about Maggie came from the way she reacted.
A raised eyebrow.
A sigh.
A quick answer.
A slight smile.
Now I had almost none of those familiar signs.
I had to watch her eyelids.
Her fingers.
The faint movement of her head.
I was trying to understand a whole conversation from almost nothing.
The paramedic checked her oxygen mask.
I watched him adjust the edge carefully.
"Is that uncomfortable for her?"
He glanced up.
"It can feel unfamiliar, but we're making sure it's positioned properly."
I nodded.
"Okay."
I looked at Maggie.
She had never liked having something covering her face.
I wondered what she thought of the mask.
I wondered whether she wanted to push it away.
I wondered whether she understood why it was there.
There were so many things I wanted to ask.
I had to keep reminding myself that questions required strength to answer.
And strength was what she seemed to have so little of.
I lowered my voice.
"I'm sorry this is happening."
Her eyes stayed closed.
I didn't expect a reply.
I wasn't even sure whether I should have said it.
But the words had been sitting inside me.
"I'm sorry, Maggie."
I rubbed her hand gently.
I wasn't apologizing for the ambulance.
Or for the paramedic.
Or for the oxygen mask.
I was apologizing because she was suffering and I couldn't make it stop.
I knew that wasn't something I could control.
Knowing didn't take away the feeling.
For a little while, I stopped speaking.
The paramedic continued working.
I listened to the sounds around us.
The steady noise of the vehicle.
The siren outside.
The faint movement of equipment whenever the ambulance shifted.
I had never spent so much time listening to a person's breathing.
It was a terrible thing to admit.
But I had taken that sound for granted.
Maggie had breathed beside me through years of ordinary life.
I had never sat there counting the movement of her chest.
Now I couldn't stop.
I looked at the oxygen mask.
I watched it move.
I looked at her hand.
I watched for her fingers to shift.
Then I looked at her eyes.
I waited for them to open.
My whole world had become a collection of small signs.
I remembered the paramedic saying she was responding.
That word had comforted me.
I held on to it again.
Responding.
Not talking.
Not sitting up.
Not explaining what had happened.
But responding.
I leaned forward.
"Maggie, can you hear me?"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then her eyelids lifted.
Relief moved through me so suddenly that I almost spoke too loudly.
"That's it."
I lowered my voice.
"That's good, sweetheart."
Her eyes turned toward me.
I felt myself smiling.
I knew I must have looked exhausted.
I knew the worry was probably written across my face.
But I tried to give her something gentler to look at.
She stayed awake for a few seconds.
I didn't ask her anything.
I simply sat close.
Then her eyes began to close.
"That's all right."
I held her hand.
"Rest."
She did.
The paramedic checked her again.
I watched him without interrupting.
I understood something I hadn't understood at the beginning of the ride.
I had been treating every moment Maggie opened her eyes as an opportunity to ask another question.
But opening her eyes was already an effort.
Looking at me was already an effort.
Even that brief moment of recognition seemed to take something out of her.
I didn't want to demand more.
So I stopped rehearsing questions in my head.
At least for the moment.
I stopped trying to force the missing days into a neat explanation.
I couldn't make the past clearer by asking a sick woman to work harder.
The truth would have to wait.
Maggie needed the strength she had.
I looked at the paramedic.
He was watching her carefully.
I felt grateful he was there.
Without him, I wouldn't have known what to do.
I could hold her hand.
I could speak gently.
But I couldn't give her the care he was giving her.
That realization frightened me.
It also made me thankful.
I looked down at Maggie again.
Her wedding ring caught a little of the light.
I touched it with my thumb.
I wanted to tell her how badly I needed her to get better.
Instead, I said something much simpler.
"I'm here."
Her hand stayed in mine.
The ambulance continued moving.
And I let the missing days remain unanswered while the paramedic cared for the woman I loved.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Watching Maggie Struggle to Stay Awake Made Me Realize That My Reassuring Words Could Not Hide How Frightened I Was
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 6 of 20
