I Know What Matters In This Life
My husband’s medical emergency again reminds me of what really matters
“I have to take the elevator,” David said to me at intermission, “ I’ll never make it back up to the ground floor.”
We were at a show in New York City, with my sister Joan, her husband Sandro, and their daughter, Nicole. We were celebrating Sandro’s 64th birthday. The plan was to head back to our hotel after the matinee to meet up with their other kid, Em, then go to dinner. David, my husband of more than 50 years, did not want me to let on that he had been having trouble breathing for a couple of days.
“It’s congestion, and these damn masks. I’ll be ok.”
But it was clear that he wasn’t. As I was becoming more and more frantic, it was becoming more and more obvious that he was in distress. My sister looked at him.
“You okay back there?”
Unbelievably, he tried to wave her off. I pulled her aside.
“David can’t f##king breathe. and he won’t deal with it.”
Back at the hotel, he finally gave in to what we all could see was reality.
“I need to get help.”
Without one second of hesitation, Joan and Sandro helped him to his feet. We were in the upper west side of Manhattan, so many medical establishments were just a block or two away. They each took him by an arm, while I ran ahead to find an open urgent care. Within minutes, he was in an ambulance to a nearby hospital. Examination revealed potentially deadly pulmonary embolisms as the source of distress, and the ER staff immediately began the procedures that I have no doubt saved his life.
I knew without having to think that Joan and her family would do anything I needed. Not one recrimination about upsetting their plans, no thought for themselves; they jumped into action. My apology for ruining the birthday dinner was met with incredulity. Joan got in touch with my own kids. Our daughter Liz, is in Pittsburgh where David and I live, our son Andrew lives in Medellin, Colombia, with his family. Within minutes I was connected with Liz who offered (with my son-in-law’s full support) to take the Megabus to NYC, and help us drive back to Pittsburgh. Andrew and his wife kept checking in with both of us to offer comfort and concern. I have no doubt that if there was anything Andrew could do, he would have been on a plane to get here to do it.
An aside: Medical workers are saints: pleasant, efficient, professional and above all, humane. That’s a story for another time.
David isn’t out of the woods yet, but he’s on the mend. And I am reminded once again:
