When Patrick has his stroke last Feb, I knew he had siezure and stroke-like symptoms, but neither seemed possible to me. There had to be a different explanation, such as dehydration. (He had a hot shower running when he colapsed, and had just ran several miles on the treadmill.)

When the EMTs arrived, they asked me if I had a specific hospital I wanted him taken to. I couldn't think of which hospital was within our network, but I did remember the hospital which is listed on our worker's accident poster, so I instictively told them to take him there. (As it turns out, this hospital was NOT in network, but they are the leading stroke hospital in Central Illinois. I had no idea, God was with me on that call.)

I decided to drive myself to the hospital rather than ride in the ambulance for several reasons; I had Brandon with me, and I didn't feel comfortable having him be in there witnessing Patrick's crisis and certainly wouldn't leave him home alone. Also, I don't know many people to call to come pick us up since I wouldn't have a car. Another reason was because I could not fathom that something so serious could be happening- I knew it was, somewhere in the depths of my mind- but I certainly wasn't ready to face it. I didn't seem to be able to comprehend that Patrick might be gone more than over night, and I was thinking that in all likelyhood he would be home in our bed that night. The good thing about this thinking was my ability to remain relatively calm and analytical instead of hysterical and panicked.

I was instructed to drive normally to the hospital, not try to keep up with them and to not freak out if they turned the sirens on and sped away. I was able to keep up with them for about 2 miles when they came to a red light and hit the sirens. I had to sit there and wait for the light to change as I watched my husband speed away. It was the longest light of my life.

I kept my eye on the ambulance as best I could, because enroute, I realized I couldn't remember where the hospital was. I knew the general area it was located, but when following the ambulance, they had taken me on streets I had never been down before, and I soon became lost. I drove around for about 15 minutes just thinking find it, just find it.

My son was now starting to get upset. He was beginning to understand that I couldn't figure out where I was on top of already being scared about what was going on with his dad. I finally pulled into a gas station, and now holding myself together by a thread, asked the attendant and a customer where the hospital was. The customer agreed to let me follow him to the emergency room entrance of the hospital, but I had to wait for him to fill up his tank. As it turns out, I was only about a mile from the hospital.

When I finally got inside, they all looked at me like,where in the hell have you been. I didn't waste any time explaining as I wanted to know what was happening to Patrick, but I got the distinct feeling they thought I must have been out for a joy ride. For that instant when I arrived and saw their faces, I felt like such a failure to my husband. I knew it wasn't intentional, but I felt had let him down when he needed me by his side.

I still don't know if my reasons for not riding in the ambulance were right or wrong, but it was my best judgemnet at the time. I can't say I feel guilt over getting there late, but there is certainly lingering regrets about it. I wonder if I had gotten there sooner if the outcome would have been any different. Probably not, but you never know. I will tell you this though, I WILL NEVER AGAIN NOT BE EXTREMELY FAMILIAR WITH THE LOCATION OF THE BEST HOSPITAL FOR STROKES (or ALL the hospitals) IN THE CITY WE LIVE IN.

Kristen