This is the last Sunday before my partner goes in for surgery.
I have a constant background hum of vague apprehension and worry, and as the last few days count down, that hum will get louder until it’s all I can hear.
The chance of there being any complications is remote, which is great news if you’re a statistic. I guess it’s a little like air travel – flying is very safe indeed, but if something does go seriously wrong it will be catastrophic. I’m relieved to know that, like air travel, this process also doesn’t require faith in order to work.
I can feel my protectiveness kicking in but there’s nothing that I personally can do to prevent this from being necessary, nothing to protect him from. It feels like a controlled, slow motion car crash.
This right here: this is mine, this heart is mine. And this is one of the last times I’m going to see him unblemished and intact.