SINCE THE TRAIN was waiting at the platform, I helped Mary Elizabeth walk into the last carriage, and we sat down across the aisle from each other, with Charlotte behind me.  Mary Elizabeth leaned her head against the wall, eyes closed.

Since her father had died from a stroke at the age of 48, Mary Elizabeth was always vigilant about possible stroke symptoms.  Several years before, she woke up to extreme vertigo.  The room was spinning, and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it.  Unfortunately, since one of the side effects was copious and frequent vomiting, we realized within a few dramatic hours that we had to go to the doctor.

We had both read that one of the best ways to rule out a stroke was to have the patient smile broadly and hold their arms out straight in front of them, to make sure that the smile was symmetrical and that their arms were equal and steady.  Mary Elizabeth took this advice to heart and throughout this episode would frantically exclaim “Look at me!” and I would turn around to see her grinning frantically, holding both arms out. Each time, her smile was symmetrical and her arms even and steady, but she did look like a maniacal olympic gymnast Mary Lou Retton, just having planted the perfect landing. Once we found out that this wasn’t anything more serious than an inner ear infection – easily treatable by antibiotics and anti-vertigo medicine – it became extremely funny and a story oft-told.

Consequently as soon as we got off the train at Island Gardens, Mary Elizabeth turned to me and performed a Mary Lou Retton.  Her smile was symmetrical and her arms evenly held in front of her, so I felt a little relieved at that, since the possibility of a stroke was ever present in my mind.  She was however still listing to one side and her left eye was still crossed.  I had thought when we had boarded the train that perhaps we could go the few blocks to the church to see if she got any better with walking, but at this point I decided we needed medical help immediately.

The Island Gardens platform is underground since the DLR goes under the Thames to get to Greenwich, so we had to use the lift to get upstairs.  During this whole time, Mary Elizabeth was chatty and completely coherent.  The only thing was her balance and her vision.  When we got to street level, we went to the ticket booth – thank goodness there was one – and asked the attendant to call an ambulance, and explained the situation.  He very kindly opened the door and brought us inside where they offered Mary Elizabeth a seat.  There were several other workers inside who talked to us, and reassured Mary Elizabeth as they radioed for an ambulance.  They asked us questions about where we were from, what we were doing, and paid attention to Charlotte, who up to this point had been ignored as we were trying to figure out what to do.  They asked her how old she was, what she studied in school and what her favorite part of the trip had been so far – the London Eye – really the only thing we had done.

After about 10 minutes, an Emergency Medical Technician showed up on a bicycle to assess Mary Elizabeth’s condition.  She performed a few tests and asked a few questions – all of which Mary Elizabeth answered correctly.  She was worried about her vision, and radioed to the ambulance to come.  We were impressed how nice everybody was, and the thought had crossed my mind that perhaps in New York we wouldn’t have been treated with such kindness and compassion.  I continued to be engaged and hopeful, confident that this would put a minor crimp in our plans and that Mary Elizabeth and I would get back on track.  I emailed Michael to let him know that we would likely miss the concert, and to give him an update.

The ambulance arrived and we walked to the curb, where Mary Elizabeth was then placed on a gurney which was put in the ambulance.  Charlotte and I climbed in, as well as the two techs.  We said goodbye to the ticket booth personnel and the bike EMT, thanking them for all their kindness and accepting their best wishes.  We stayed in the ambulance by the curb for about half-an-hour while the EMTs took a medical history and vitals.  When they took her blood pressure, they exchanged an almost conspiratorial look that barely concealed their fear and anxiety.  I couldn’t see the reading, but knew that both the systolic and diastolic numbers were well up into the 200s, possibly even higher.  All the while, Mary Elizabeth patiently and cheerfully answered their questions.  We were told that we would be going to the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel.  The EMTs made a big deal out of the fact that it was a teaching hospital, since it apparently meant that we’d get better care.  They quickly added that it was quite an old building and didn’t look so great, but that the quality of care would be the best.

Finally we got under way, and with sirens and lights blaring we made our way back up the Isle of Dogs and over to Whitechapel.  It was hard to see out of the back of the ambulance so I had no idea where we were going or how we were getting there.  All the way there, Mary Elizabeth was chatty and engaged, and her usual cheerful self.  At one point, she looked over to me and said, “How are you doing?”  I told her I was okay, and the she asked the same of Charlotte, who was seated behind her head, and who answered the same way. The techs – one of whom was in the back with us, and the other in the driver’s seat, were talking about their plans for the weekend and for Christmas.  All in all, Mary Elizabeth’s medical condition notwithstanding, it was a pleasant trip.

We finally pulled up to the emergency entrance to the Royal London Hospital and stood next to the ambulance as they lowered the gurney to the ground and got ready to wheel Mary Elizabeth in.  I glanced around quickly and it looked like we were in a dark alley, with what looked like a temporary building across the way.  There were dark brick buildings around us with large pipes overhead connecting them.  Whirls of steam escaped from joints in the pipes, where the insulation hung down raggedly. It was dark and wet from the rain, and couldn’t have looked more Dickensian.  I half-expected to see Bill Sykes and Fagan loitering in the shadows.

As they brought us inside, I noticed immediately that the the place seemed to be under construction, since the walls were a combination of plywood and unpainted drywall.  In a small vestibule, there was a door to the left, a door to the right, and one directly in front of us.  They wheeled Mary Elizabeth through the left door.  As she went into the room, I heard the EMT say, “Sorry Love, It’s a bit of a mess tonight!”  to which Mary Elizabeth cheerfully answered, “It’s alright – I can’t really see it anyway!”  And then the door swung shut behind her.  There was a small window in the door to the right and it looked like a grimy, crowded waiting room.  We were ushered through the door in front of us however, into an empty hallway, and then to a bank of chairs.

We were the only ones around, and there were a few office-type cubicles in clusters throughout the large space, with all the lights off.  The nurse asked us to wait there, and while we did just that, I emailed Michael to let him know where we were and what was going on.  I was sorry to have missed the concert – and the dinner afterward, since Michael always knew the coolest or best restaurants in London – but I was comforted that we were at the hospital and felt confident that we’d be out in a few hours, as soon as they figured out what was going on and treated it.

Go to Next Chapter – Our Darkest Hour