AFTER AN HOUR or so, the nurse came back and asked if we’d like to be with Mary Elizabeth for a few minutes. Charlotte didn’t want to see her, but she didn’t want to be separated from me either.  I had to see Mary Elizabeth however, believing that this might be the last time I would see her alive.

We followed the nurse into the emergency room, where each bed was surrounded by curtains.  For some reason, I looked around the room first before focusing on Mary Elizabeth.  Maybe I was scared about what I would see, or perhaps I knew that once I laid eyes on her, I wouldn’t look at anything else.  At any rate, it looked like an American ER, with the same collection of tubes and valves and equipment.  In the bay next to Mary Elizabeth the bed was missing but there was a significant pool of blood on the floor.  With that, I was finished looking around, drew a deep breath and focused on my wife.

Mary Elizabeth lay peacefully on a gurney, a sheet drawn up to her chin, her hair combed and her makeup from that night still on.  She looked exactly like she did before she lost consciousness, except for a small plastic tube which came out of the corner of her mouth and was taped to her lips.  The tube, which then branched into two separate larger tubes, led to the ventilator which was quietly but perceptively pushing air into her lungs, and then drawing it out again.

Charlotte lingered behind me, not wanting to look at her unconscious mother, but I think also cognizant that it might be the last time.  I stroked Mary Elizabeth’s hair, kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear that I loved her.  There was no response – surprising since it looked like she was sleeping and could just open her eyes and say hello.

Charlotte moved to the other side of the gurney and we stood, each holding one of Mary Elizabeth’s hands.  Charlotte was clearly uncomfortable, feeling the awkwardness of the situation and embarrassed by my tears, having cried herself out and into a quiet, reserved state. I kissed Mary Elizabeth again, and said goodbye, not unaware that this could be the last goodbye.

We went back to the room to find that the hospital chaplain, Ben, had arrived.  He was not the take charge type, and I had to suggest to him that he lead us in prayer.  In an increasingly secular UK, in this very Muslim neighborhood, I think that this Church of England priest was perhaps not very much in demand.  After a rambling, freestyle prayer, he provided steady and much appreciated companionship as we waited for whatever was coming next.

The doctor came back and told us that they were going to move Mary Elizabeth to the Intensive Treatment Unit (the same as our ICU), but like anything, it would take a few hours before they would be ready to transport her and ready to receive her upstairs.  We spent the time with Michael, Melanie and Ben the Chaplain having idle conversation, or just sitting quietly.  I would usually become quite antsy with all the waiting, but oddly in this case it didn’t bother me.  Our conversation steered clear of our present situation and instead wandered around various light topics.  It was a much needed distraction.

So dislocating was this experience and so unreal, that during these conversations it was easy to forget why we were here.  We could have been waiting for a bus or a train.  I would then idly wonder why Mary Elizabeth wasn’t here with us and would be jerked rudely back to the reality of the situation.

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