I hate hospitals

C had fairly major knee surgery yesterday.  The procedure took six hours, and we were at the hospital for nine.  B came to visit me for a bit toward the end of the surgery time, which was good, and E called her while she was there and talked to me for a bit, which was better.

I want to tell him how good it was to talk to him yesterday, to just hear his voice.  Even if that probably didn’t come across in the briefness of our conversation, dealing as I was with B standing RIGHT THERE, and me being me and not being entirely comfortable showing such emotions in front nearly everyone.

I’ve learned to maintain an even keel, so to speak, after years of bothering people when I’d cry over stuff.  It’s not that I don’t show any emotions, it’s just that I control what I display and am very good at maintaining appearances. It’s why I’m so good at remaining pleasant all day in customer service jobs, how I stay neutral when mediating disputes, and how I can be unendingly enthusiastic when working with kids.  And when everyone else is worrying, I must stay calm and be reassuring.

I really wanted to tell him how much I wished he could be there.  That I needed to be held and have someone tell me what I’d been telling everyone else all day: that it was all going to be fine.  That I needed someone I didn’t have to be so strong and steady and rock-like for, just for a moment.  And that I feel close enough to him for him to be that person, because I trust him with my heart.  Which is not a trust I give lightly.

Which is really saying that I love him.  And which I’m smart enough to not outright say at this juncture, but still have a desire to show.

I don’t know if I’ll manage to see him again before I leave for the summer.  I’m hoping, but there is little available time and too much that needs tending to.  My heart already aches for missing him.


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