My scary week, epilogue
I rarely saw the man who shared my hospital room due to the privacy curtain drawn between us, and I never spoke to him. Everything I learned about him came from what I heard of the conversations coming from his side of the room. At first, I thought he was a mean, senile old man because he yelled a lot and didn't always make sense. Later, I learned that he could not hear very well and had probably suffered some kind of stroke. He had been in the hospital for a couple of days, and during my time there he began to slowly regain his senses. During my first night there he shouted angrily at anyone who came into the room, operating on the (not unfounded) assumption that anyone standing at his bedside wanted to stab him with a needle. He spoke more kindly once the sun rose, especially after his wife arrived to keep him company.
The first time that his wife visited during my stay, she spoke lovingly to him and he reciprocated. She was relieved that he finally recognized her, and she filled him in on all that had happened. At one point he told her, "I must have been close to death, but honey, I love you so much you make me want to live." He made a point of telling every nurse, doctor, orderly, lab tech, and dietary worker he saw that he loved his wife and that they had been married for 65 years. He also bragged about his children, one of whom owned a local restaurant and brought him French onion soup for lunch one day.
I can't testify with any accuracy regarding the state of that 65-year-old marriage, but the love between them was obvious in the way the two spoke to each other. The love of their daughter was also obvious during her visit. My wife and I have been married for six years. While we were sitting in my hospital bed doing a crossword puzzle together, I couldn't help but wonder what we would be like after doing this for another sixty years. I hope and pray that our love is as obvious at that time as it is in the marriage of my elderly stroke victim roommate.
