I don’t know…

May 29, 2018, began like any other day. I got up, walked the dogs and came in to read the paper. W struggled to get into the den to sit at his desk. He complained that his side hurt. My logical side suggested that he probably broke a rib because he had been coughing a lot all night.

I asked him if he could make it to the car and he said he couldn’t. I called 911 and helped him get on some jeans and put a baseball hat on his head to cover his messy hair.

We waited a short time. The efficient EMS crew arrived and took over. They asked me a fateful question…which hospital did I want him to be taken. I said the name of the one that had the nicer emergency room with the usually shorter waiting time. He had a broken rib…right?

I finished buttoning up the house and making sure the dogs were ok before heading off to the hospital. When I arrived, he was already in a private room in the emergency department and his nurse was very busy.

Very sick, she said. What? It’s a rib, I said. His oxygen levels were really low. The little things that go into the nostrils were not giving him enough air, so she was setting up a portable machine that would push air into his lungs.

And so it began… He looked at me with wondering eyes over the mask attached to that very loud machine and I just stood there completely dazed, with no idea what was going on or what was going to happen.

In that instant we stopped being responsible professional adults who were capable of running a restaurant and capable of making reasonable decisions and we became onlookers in what seemed to be turning into a bad made for TV movie.

Sit down and wait until you are spoken to. Lie there and breath. You are sick…very sick. Wait here. He leaves…wheeled down the hall loud machine and all. Gone. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. He returns. What just happened? Too busy to explain. Sit there and be quiet.

I become timid. Me? Yes. I am in the inner sanctum of this world that I know nothing about…have we been abducted by aliens? The vocabulary is different. Who are all these people coming in and out of the room? With practiced eyes they avoid me. Sit. Be quiet. Stay out of the way.

My eyes meet W’s ….he is scared. Why can’t I just tell him it’s a broken rib? I feel terrified. But I wink and smile and pretend it will be alright. It will be, won’t it?

A man in a lab coat comes in and attends to W. Poking, prodding, listening…He speaks to both of us, introducing himself as the “Hospitalist.” What does that mean? OK. I’ll pretend I know. He is going to admit W. to PCU. What is that? Very grave condition. What? It’s a broken rib, isn’t it? Tests…more tests…Why don’t you leave now so we can get him into a room?

Dutifully I kiss him on the forehead and find my way to the exit. I drive home somehow. Walk the dogs. Feed the dogs. Sit on the couch. Is this what shock feels like? What do I do now? Phone calls. Call B. Other calls. All I can say is, “I don’t know.” I don’t know. I really don’t know. I am not prepared for this. What do I do now? The house is so quiet. The dogs know something is wrong and cuddle closer. Alone. Scared. Frightened. My mind can’t shut down. How can I fix this? We always fixed things together…he will expect me to fix this, too.

Tomorrow will be better.