Maggie opened her eyes again.
I was still holding her hand when she looked toward me.
For a moment, I forgot about the siren and the equipment around us.
All I saw was my wife looking at my face.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Her eyes stayed on me.
I moved closer, careful not to disturb the oxygen mask.
"I'm right here."
She didn't speak.
I had stopped expecting her to.
But there was still a part of me waiting to hear her voice.
I knew how she sounded when she was sleepy.
I knew how she sounded when she was annoyed with me.
I even knew the little pause she made before telling me something she thought I wouldn't like.
Now I would have given anything to hear her complain.
Even one small complaint.
The ambulance rocked slightly as it continued down the road.
I tightened my fingers around hers.
The paramedic glanced at us.
"Try not to make her work too hard."
I nodded.
"Of course."
He wasn't being unkind.
I understood that.
He was trying to help Maggie conserve what little strength she had.
Still, hearing those words made something settle heavily inside me.
Talking to her might be asking too much.
I had never imagined such a thing.
Maggie and I had spent years speaking to each other about ordinary matters.
Whether we needed milk.
What time we wanted dinner.
Where someone had left the car keys.
Sometimes we talked about things that mattered.
Sometimes we talked about nothing at all.
I hadn't known how precious those conversations were.
I looked down at her hand.
Her wedding ring rested against my finger.
I knew the shape of that ring without needing to see it.
I had touched it countless times.
Now I found myself looking at it as though it might reassure me.
She was still Maggie.
She was still my wife.
The person beneath the oxygen mask hadn't changed.
But something had happened to her body that neither of us could ignore.
The paramedic leaned over the stretcher.
"Maggie, I'm going to check you again."
Her eyelids moved.
He continued calmly, explaining what he was doing.
I watched her face while he worked.
There was something reassuring about the way he spoke.
He didn't hurry his words.
He didn't sound frightened.
His hands moved with the confidence of someone who understood the equipment in front of him.
I envied him for that.
I wanted to know something useful.
I wanted to look at Maggie and understand what she needed.
Instead, I could only ask questions.
"Is she getting worse?"
The paramedic checked his readings.
"We're keeping a close watch on her."
I waited for more.
He didn't give me more.
I understood why.
He couldn't promise me something he didn't know.
That didn't make the waiting easier.
I looked toward Maggie.
Her eyes were closed again.
The oxygen mask moved slightly with her breathing.
I concentrated on that movement.
In.
Out.
Again.
I knew watching wouldn't change anything.
But whenever I looked away, I felt as though I might miss something important.
The paramedic adjusted the blanket covering her.
I reached toward the edge and straightened a fold near her hand.
It was such a small thing.
Hardly worth doing.
But I needed to do something for her.
Something a husband could do.
When she was well, Maggie rarely needed help with anything.
She had always been capable of taking care of herself.
She didn't like unnecessary fuss.
If I hovered around her too much, she would usually give me a look.
I could almost hear her telling me to sit down and stop worrying.
That memory hurt.
Because I wanted her to give me that look now.
I wanted her to roll her eyes at my concern.
I wanted to know she had enough strength to be irritated.
Instead, she lay still.
The paramedic checked another reading.
I watched his face.
"Can you tell whether she knows I'm here?"
He looked toward Maggie.
"She has been responding when you speak."
I nodded.
That was something.
It wasn't everything I wanted.
But it mattered.
I leaned close enough for her to hear me without raising my voice.
"You hear that, sweetheart?"
Her eyes remained closed.
"You're doing your best."
The words sounded strange once I had said them.
Of course she was doing her best.
She was lying on a stretcher, struggling to remain awake.
She didn't need me to explain that.
But I wanted to encourage her.
I wanted to tell her that I saw how hard she was trying.
The ambulance moved over another uneven stretch of road.
The seat shifted beneath me.
I planted my feet more firmly.
My back was aching.
I hadn't noticed when it started.
I had been sitting awkwardly, leaning toward her for most of the ride.
I straightened for a few seconds.
Then Maggie moved her fingers.
I bent forward again.
"Maggie?"
Her eyes opened.
She looked toward my voice.
"There you are."
I smiled.
It felt natural this time.
Not because I was less afraid.
I wasn't.
But because she was looking at me.
For that brief moment, I had something familiar.
I could see the woman who knew me better than anyone.
She couldn't tell me what was wrong.
She couldn't tell me whether she was frightened.
But she could find my face.
And I could make sure it was there.
The paramedic continued checking her.
I moved back enough to give him room.
He adjusted something beside her head.
The small movement made me tense.
I tried not to show it.
I didn't want Maggie to see panic on my face if she opened her eyes.
I wanted her to see someone steady.
Someone she could trust.
That was harder than I had expected.
My mouth was dry.
My hands were trembling.
Every unanswered question seemed to grow larger.
Why had she become so weak?
Why was she struggling just to stay awake?
What had happened over those three or four days?
I couldn't answer any of them.
I had already told the paramedic everything I understood.
It wasn't enough.
I stared at the floor for a moment.
I felt ashamed of how little I knew.
Then I looked back at Maggie.
Shame wasn't helping her.
Neither was sitting there judging myself.
I couldn't recover the days that had already passed.
I couldn't change what I had failed to understand.
But I could remain with her now.
I could answer when someone asked me a question.
I could move aside when the paramedic needed room.
I could hold her hand when there was nothing else to do.
The thought was simple.
Perhaps too simple.
But I needed something I could manage.
I brought her hand slightly closer.
"I'm staying with you."
The paramedic glanced toward me, then returned to his work.
Maggie didn't open her eyes.
I continued rubbing my thumb across her knuckles.
I had been doing that almost without stopping.
The movement felt familiar.
So I kept doing it.
I didn't know whether she could feel every small motion.
I hoped she could.
I hoped the touch reminded her of home.
Of sitting beside each other.
Of ordinary days when holding hands required no special reason.
The ambulance continued toward the hospital.
I could hear the siren beyond the walls.
I could feel the movement beneath my feet.
I could see the paramedic watching my wife carefully.
For the first time during that ride, I stopped wishing he would explain everything immediately.
I still wanted answers.
Desperately.
But Maggie needed care more than I needed explanations.
So I stayed quiet while he worked.
And when her eyes opened again, I leaned forward and let her see me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Tried to Remember When Maggie Had Last Seemed Like Herself, but Every Thought Led Back to the Same Missing Days
I Rode Beside My Wife in the Ambulance, Knowing She Had Been Seriously Ill for Days Without Me Understanding Why
Part 5 of 20
