CC's down with a 40-degree fever. And they've warded her for observation.
And when the Sister at the Nurse Station asked me just now who I was since I was stumbling into the hospital at 2330hrs after work, I blurted out
Husband. I wonder if she would have let me into the ward if I said Good Friend. The youngish Florence Nightingale would probably have told me to come back in the morning.
Well I contemplated spending the night on the couch in the single-bedder room. But then again, in the morning, a whole deluge of relatives and friends will come a visiting. And then there will be this awkward silence, this aversion of eye-contact, this forced exchange of pleasantries.
So I am here, back home. When really I should be there making sure the ice-pack remains on her forehead. And that she doesn't mummify herself too much so the fever can dissipate.
I suppose later today, it will be another Guerilla visit after hours then. When everyone has gone home.
Sigh. The complexities of friendship after dXXXXXe.
I still can't bring myself to say the word.