Joe is having a cardiac catheterization this morning.
Luckily for him, he’s nice and doped up on Valium. I am, however, preoccupied with the idea. Not only is it something I didn’t think I’d be dealing with at my age (he’s twenty years older than me–welcome to the wonderful world of May-December, ladies), but I’m in a particularly delicate position.
I was the first person he called.
He told his sister and kids on Monday night. They don’t know about me.
Chances are that everything will go well and he’ll be home by the end of the day. But if things don’t go as expected, he’ll be having surgery. He promised to let me know either way.
But if he can’t call, there is no one else who will.
Feeling helpless = Worst thing ever.
Update: Next to someone whom I love very much slurring his speech in amorous drunken exultation of me, I’ll take someone whom I like very much calling to tell me his procedure went well while he’s all loopy on pain meds and amnesiacs. Cuute.