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Thursday

After a terrible night's sleep (finally falling into a delicious deep sleep only half an hour before the alarm) I struggled to get up and at 'em, and had to start the day with painkillers again. I thought all night about how pitiful and battered Richard had looked the night before with bungs and drains shoved up his nose, and how he had struggled to speak and breathe, and how he looked like he needed a good wash and a change of clothes. I also worried that he hadn't eaten for 24 hours, about his infection and the story the consultant had told about a choking fit Richard had had when he was in recovery. Would he choke again?

At 7am Richard and I texted each other at exactly the same time to express our regret that I wasn't getting my usual morning tea from him.

I repeated yesterday's mad whizzy behaviour: Dog, child, food, dishwasher, money, added a guitar today, school-run, texting Richard, phoning his mum, walking the dog, doing the washing. Somehow managing to get myself ready in all that chaos.
I'm surprised I didn't drop the dog at school and put the guitar in the wash. I have no idea how single parents do this every day.

Finally the text from Richard I was longing for came to say his nose bungs had been removed and he was safe to come home.
I made a birthday cake for Richard's birthday tomorrow and then delivered the good news to his mum who offered to pick him up.

I warmed up last night's stew and prepared to be nurse.

Richard got home woozy, headachy and exhausted, and headed straight for the sofa.

I fed him, gave him his antibiotics and painkillers, and then trotted off to get his littlest child from school who squeaked with delight when she heard Daddy was home, stormed through the door and threw herself on him (gently).

We somehow managed to muddle through the evening and then fell into bed exhausted.

My throat's still bad and I want to sleep for a week now.