I never liked being alone. It was too quiet and disconcerting. Ever since I was a little girl, I felt uncomfortable on my own. Even as an adult, I found it distressing.
One day, my son was at a friend's house, my daughter was away at her first year of college, and worst of all, my husband, Mike, was in the hospital. I was worried and alone.
It was a minor laparoscopic procedure. Nothing serious. He seemed fine and would be home the next day. "One more day," I thought while getting ready for bed.
I wished my mother could be with me, but she lived hundreds of miles away. Mike's parents were at their summer place. It was vacation time, and all my friends were out of town. I stared at the shadowy wall all night, unable to sleep, feeling the emptiness beside me.
First thing in the morning, I took a taxi to the hospital. "How's... everything... at... home?" Mike asked, his voice weak and labored. I took his hand; his skin was cold and clammy. His eyes were wide. Something was wrong.
A nurse with a cheery smile popped in. As she bent over Mike to take his vital signs, her smile disappeared. Before I knew it, the room was full of worried doctors and nurses. I was pushed back against the cold cement wall.
"Pulse is rapid." "Blood pressure elevated," I heard. What was going on?
Suddenly, Mike was whisked out. A nurse noticed me standing alone, my knees shaking. "Your husband is having trouble breathing. We're taking him for an MRI. We think he has blood clots in his lungs." She looked into my eyes. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry!" That's not what I wanted to hear. Blood clots in the lungs? That was serious!
I stepped into the hall, confused. "You should go to the ICU waiting room," a nurse said. "Second floor."
I sat there with other quiet, anxious strangers. I spotted a phone and fished for quarters. I called Mike's parents, then my mother, wishing she weren't so far away. Then I called my daughter, Kate. She'd always been my rock. Hearing her voice helped a little, but when I hung up, I choked back tears.
I had one last call. I dialed my church. An answering machine picked up. We hadn't been attending long, so I didn't know many people. Finally, I just said Mike was in the hospital and had taken a turn for the worse. Maybe they could say some prayers.
It seemed like forever. I put my head in my hands, hiding my tears. Suddenly, a woman approached me.
"Peggy?" she asked, kneeling beside me. "I'm Lisa. I'm a social worker here, and I also go to your church. The pastor called saying you were here, so I came to see if you were okay."
I looked up, surprised. She seemed calm and gentle. Seemingly out of the blue, someone had found me. I wiped my tears.
"If you need anything, ask someone to page me, okay?" She put her hand on my shoulder with a comforting smile.
"Yes, thank you," I sniffed. Before long, I was allowed to see Mike. He was hooked up to monitors, IVs, and an oxygen mask, but I was so happy to be with him. "You're going to be fine," I said, stroking his arm. I hoped.
"There are multiple clots in both lungs," the doctor said. "He's on blood thinners. The next few days are critical."
I understood. The clots needed to dissolve. If they traveled to the brain, it could be fatal. The doctor left, and Mike dozed off. I sat by his side, aching to help. I put my head against his hand and cried. Then it was time to leave. I returned home alone.
But as I sat in my quiet house, eating dinner, the phone rang. First, a woman from church named Sue called, offering rides to the hospital and insisting on driving to pick up Kate from college. Then someone else called to bring a meal. I didn't even know these people! Finally, just before bed, my mom called.
"I was trying to take a bus tomorrow," she said, "but my friend said, 'No way!' She's driving me there right now. We'll arrive around 2 a.m."
"She'll drive all that way in the middle of the night?" I asked, unbelieving.
"Yup. I'll see you soon. Just hang in there."
I did, thanks to the support of Lisa, Sue, and others I barely knew. Mike recovered, came home, and grew stronger. And I was stronger, too. With good, caring people everywhere, ready to lend a hand, I am never really alone.