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| Near the spot where Roman lost consciousness and never awoke. This time nobody saw him fall. |
I did not know it until I arrived at the location, but the lab I was sent to by my doctor is located next door to the hospital Roman was taken to by ambulance after his first collapse.
The memory of that night is not one that I conjure up often. Though the other day, as I became aware of where I was, it was immediately all I could think of. The memory repeating on infinite loop in my mind as my eyes streamed tears beyond my control. Mental snapshots of Roman's scraped and battered face were all I could see that morning as I approached the hospital parking lot. And as I sat waiting for my appointment to have my blood drawn, the imprint on my mind was inescapable.
The night of his first collapse in April 2004 did not pan out as usual. Always predictably routine, Roman called as he left work to let me know he would be going for a jog and he always got home around 7:30. I tried not over think it at first. I called his cell phone every half hour or so, but it consistently went straight to voice mail. So without a phone call or any word on his whereabouts, by 9:30 that night I was absolutely crazed with worry. Nonetheless, I did what I could to occupy myself that night; thinking that any minute, if I just stayed calm, he'd walk through the door with a logical explanation of where he had been. But as minutes turned to hours and the clock ticked away, so too did my imagination.
I was sure he was out running around, losing track of time, because he was with some girl. Never before had I suspected him of cheating, but the later the evening carried on without word, thoughts of another girl seemed logical. Especially since I reasoned that if he were hurt, or in an accident, as his wife I'd surely be contacted. The phone had not rung at all though, so an accident seemed unlikely. That is until it finally rang sometime after 10:00 pm.
It was Roman's sister, Erica. She was calling to see if anyone had contacted me. Nobody had, so by that time I was nearing virulence with the running of my imagination. Still, through my angry confusion, I listened as Erica explained how Roman had been out for a jog after work in their mom's neighborhood. Somebody watched as he collapsed suddenly. They called 911 and he was taken by ambulance to the hospital for tests.
That is all Erica knew, though she assured "he's fine...I just thought you might be worried if nobody called you.." Apparently Roman called his mom to come pick him up from the hospital, which is how Erica knew what was going on and I did not.
At least I finally knew something, but by then I was so upset for not receiving a courtesy call from Roman, since apparently he was "fine," I was fully prepared to hand him his ass the second he got home. "You collapse and go to the hospital and instead of calling your wife, you call your mom?!?" "It never occurred to you to call during those tests?!?!" "And another thing..!" Oh, I was ready...It was on. Roman was going to hear about what he put me through that night. I was armed, loaded, and ready to fire. That is, until he walked through the door and I saw his battered face.
Roman had collapsed while running on the sidewalk. He landed face first on the concrete and the evidence was plain as the nose on his face. It was obvious that he was hurt, so right away all of my fury at his thoughtlessness gave way to concern.
I didn't have to say anything. Roman was ready to explain.
"I'm fine" he assured "Just low electrolytes...Doctor says to drink Gatoraide before I run..."
He said that all of the necessary tests had been done that night at the hospital. He was fine. He assured me of that many times over.
With no knowledge of his true state of being, his explanation made sense. I didn't suspect a need for more tests since he was at the hospital so long. I don't have any medical training. In retrospect it seems obvious that he should have followed up. And in fact, the ER doctor recommended additional tests. But Roman did not tell me that, so I did not nudge him to go. Had I known, I'd have made an issue of it, but I did not know. Nor did I have the slightest clue how close he had come to death that night.
Roman told me he had no memory of falling. All he recalled was running off of the street, onto a driveway, and heading toward the sidewalk - then waking in the back of an ambulance. When he questioned how he ended up there, the paramedic stated that someone saw him collapse and called 911. Roman claimed that he felt fine and just wanted to go home but had to undergo tests.
Later he would often joke about the thought of being given mouth to mouth by the stranger who called for help. The prospect grossed him out, though he did not know for sure if the good samaritan even went that far above and beyond to help. Envisioning the exchange of secondhand breath from a complete stranger as Roman lay oblivious made for a few chuckles. But in truth, whatever that person did that night likely saved Roman's life and gave him a few more precious months on Earth. To this day, I do not know if Roman had any idea that his life was saved that night. I certainly didn't.
He stopped running for about a year after that incident and he began incorporating fish into his diet regularly after years of strict vegetarianism. He never followed up with a doctor and never mentioned to me that he was supposed to. On some level I think he had fears about what could have become of him that night, but ultimately denial won out.
Knowing that he had no memory of losing consciousness gives me comfort that he likely slipped away peacefully. He probably embraced the other side without resistance. It happened easily without his knowledge; he had no reason to fight death. It came up beside him during his jog and calmly escorted him in another direction. I don't think he had any idea he was dying. That brings me comfort in moments when I am haunted my the image of his befallen face.
And now that night, which was chalked up as nothing at the time, represents my first hints of infidelity. Subtle whispers I dismissed in place of guilt for having the thought when he was so clearly hurt; I was concerned for his health, which immediately silenced my suspicions. That night also represents the first indication by the Universe that he was fallible and could be taken in an instant despite his misguided reassurance. It represents my first real brush with the consequences of his lies and my complete helplessness to change anything that was happening. Roman kept me compartmentalized in a small corner of his life. His first collapse was one of the most significant indications of that. And yet, at the time, in spite of his ongoing reassurance, I felt it. I knew something was "off" - nonetheless, I had no idea why. I felt crazy and insecure and stupid for feeling that way. But I was right. Things were off. I learned just how "off" they were about a year and a half later, when he confessed his marital indiscretion then died during a jog shortly thereafter.
The emotional trigger pulled by seeing the hospital elicited tears I was helpless to stop, much like the events that led him to that hospital in the first place. But the tears I cry when that part of my brain's circuitry is plucked are no ordinary whimpers. They are sobs. Heartbreak drives them like an engine independent of my will. They are always inconvenient, but the ones that surfaced the other day were also tinged with irony since my own heart has not beat quite the same ever since the day Roman's stopped.
Even with the unexpected emotional detour, I managed to pull myself together and have my blood work done that day. I fought the haunting memory and did my best to smile at the phlebotomist who kindly joked with me about Dancing with the Stars as he tried to take my mind off of the needle that was about to pierce my vein. I was hardly enthused about the needle, but really it was the least of my concerns at the moment, given the emotional trigger that had just been pulled and tended to moments before.
