Don't Sell the Ring Just Yet

Our wedding vows were spoken easily at the altar, but living those words became a learning experience several times for my wife and me during more than 50 years of marriage.

While on vacation in a large city several years ago, my wife Eileen had a horrific fall into a subway pit during an electrical blackout. Severe enough that she was hospitalized for 10 days. As I sat by her bedside, holding her hand, I had time to reflect that she had been my primary caregiver years earlier when I was bedridden after two major surgeries.

We were on a Caribbean cruise when the vision in my right eye looked like a spider’s web. I went to the ship’s physician who after examining me said that I had a detached retina. This meant I had to be evacuated from the ship immediately. The doctor and his staff made all the arrangements including hiring a private jet with nurses waiting for me at the next port in the Bahamas which would transport my wife and me back to the U.S. Once in the states that morning, my wife guided me to several appointments with eye specialists who got me back home the next day. Surgery was scheduled a few days later at a nearby hospital. 

To say I was nervous was an understatement. While on the gurney, I joked with the staff as they prepped me for surgery. Before being wheeled into the operating room, a nurse noticed that I was wearing my wedding ring. She said “No jewelry at all, including rings. Hospital policy.” I slipped the gold band off and told her that my wife was in the waiting room. She nodded and, as she took a step, I told her to wait. “Tell my wife Eileen, “Don’t sell the ring just yet.” The nurse shook her head, laughed and walked away. When she returned, she said that my wife smiled and rolled her eyes.

Surgery was successful and we returned home that afternoon. Eileen placed the ring on my finger, and we chuckled over my words that morning. She cared for me as I began the six weeks of recovery with limited vision and a patch over my right eye. The doctor said no computers and no reading. Audio books were my only choice. Eileen became my nurse, caretaker and chauffeur. As my eye healed, I received plenty of attentive care.

Three years later I woke in the middle of the night with chest pains. Eileen called for an ambulance which took me to the local ER. Several tests were administered over two days and major cardiac heart surgery was scheduled: a quintuple bypass. I was in surgery for six hours and seven hours more in recovery. When I awoke the ICU nurse asked if I wanted anything. I requested something to drink and told her I had a favor: would she call my wife and tell her “Don’t sell the ring just yet.” The attending RN looked at me like I was delirious and out of my mind, possibly affected by massive dosages of pain medication, but she made the call. She returned a few moments later and was smiling and said that Eileen knew I was OK. I grinned and fell back asleep. It would be many weeks before I returned to normal physical activities, but Eileen was a trooper, caring for me once again as I recovered.

A few years later we vacationed in a major Eastern city, touring all the historical sites. One day was very hot and humid, so we decided to curtail our sightseeing and return to our hotel for a cooling swim. We proceeded to the nearest subway station and noticed that it was very dark. An electrical power outage, leaving the short platform difficult to see without lights.  I let Eileen go ahead of me through the turnstile. As I placed my token in the slot, it jammed, and I could not push the bar open.

Then I heard a bloodcurdling scream of a voice I recognized immediately. I pushed the bar again, but it still didn’t move. Adrenalin now kicked in and I hopped over the jammed turnstile and looked for Eileen. From the darkened platform, I saw Eileen laying on the tracks five feet below. I searched for a way to get to her as I yelled to the station manager, “Stop the train! Stop the train! Call 9-1-1!” The station head implored me to stay on the platform. Time froze as seconds became minutes and minutes became hours waiting for the EMTs. My only vision was that Eileen was moving ever so slightly and hadn’t hit the third rail. First responders did arrive quickly, later descending into the pit and, after 30 pulsating minutes, carefully extricated Eileen to a stretcher and took her to a nearby hospital.  

The emergency room triage team found one leg had a compound fracture, the other had a severe ankle sprain and her neck was in a “Miami” collar but, thankfully, no head injuries. She was conscious. I was frightened but the ER doctor reassured me that she would pull through with multiple operations by the top orthopedic surgeons in the city and at home. However, she would also need extensive rehabilitation.

Sitting beside my bride in that hospital room I heard the constant beeping of monitors as well as nurses drifting in and out of the private room. I held my wife’s hand as the room became a place of security. Each day I would leave the hotel and go to her room to sit with her. She was discharged 10 days later, and we headed home via a seven hour 300-mile ambulance ride.

During that ride I contemplated on our wedding vows repeated long ago. There was no question what I had to do and would do. Daily care for Eileen’s recovery was now in my hands. Once the ambulance drivers left, we hugged each other in the privacy of our home, and I was so grateful for her and our lives. Physically I was exhausted and mentally my spirits were low, but Eileen comforted me with words I knew all too well: “Don’t sell the ring just yet.” And I cried. I knew she was going to be OK.