Today I came across a great post on Refinery29 today. It was about how the writer’s anxiety worsened when she moved in with her partner. Take a read.

I haven’t written here in a few weeks but let me tell you. MUCH has happened. It looks like I haven’t even covered the Croatia trip. As mentioned, Theo and I were set to visit the Eastern European beach nation a few weeks ago. After three straight weekends of him travelling to Frankfurt, Ibiza and St Tropez consecutively, it was our time to travel. The day before we were scheduled to fly I received a WhatsApp from him: “So, I think we may have a problem”.

I was on the treadmill at the gym and ignored him. “I think I injured my knee”. I replied – “what do you need me to do” not full appreciating the gravity of the situation. “Nothing, let’s see how I feel later.”

Later, he seemed okay. It sounded like he twisted his knee playing football. Didn’t look super serious. Hobbling around, but okay. If he could walk the following day, we would still fly. I packed like I would have anyway and went over to his in the evening for our mid-morning flight the next day.

When the morning rolled around it looked like he still couldn’t walk. We went to the A&E instead of the airport. The x-ray turned up nothing. We pushed our trip to Wednesday. Appointments with specialists in the private healthcare system were booked. An MRI was had. It turns out he broke some cartilage clear off the bone in the knee and tore his ACL. I don’t know what any of that means, but what it meant for Theo was two very invasive surgeries, one of which would fall on the following Thursday. Meaning – no flying on Wednesday.

I was upset. For a few reasons. Firstly, besides the fact that he was hobbling around, he looked fine. His knee wasn’t particularly swollen and it wasn’t bruised at all. He seemed to be in little pain, but I suppose that’s all relative. Again, it was our time to finally be together. After weeks of him travelling. Why this day, why this week?

That was my first reaction. Then when he came back from an appointment on the Tuesday with a new brace, I realised the severity of his injury. The brace made him look like Robocop. I was sitting in our usual coffee shop and when he walked in a burst into tears. I’m not sure why exactly. I told him it was something to do with the pressure of the situation. But even I’m not sure what broke me down. He was severely injured and temporarily disabled, our lovely holiday was cancelled, I took a week off work to sit around in overcast London making him dinner and washing his dishes. This wasn’t a situation I was getting out of anytime soon short of leaving him. But why would I do that? I loved him.

Actually he said it first. The day he injured his leg, he told me he was sorry about what was happening and that he loved me. I didn’t say it back. I was saving it. For a rainy day. Oh and was it ever. I’ll get there in a second.

Because all this was going on and I was feeling sorry for myself and knew I had to get out of London for a few days. He needed me and I was there for the first 5 days of his injury. He was scheduled to go into surgery on the Thursday and would be in hospital over night. I figured that was the best time for me to get out of town and return 48 hours later.

I decided I wanted to visit the Amalfi Coast. It had been on my bucket list for years but summer after summer would pass and still I’d not made it out to the beautiful cliffs of Positano. Not this summer. Now was the time to make this trip happen. I carefully chose my words and asked him if he would mind if I left down for two days while he was in hospital. He said that was a great idea and that I deserved to be somewhere warm for at least a few days. I suppose he had to say that.

So I booked. He helped with some of his Avios points. Shuttles, Airbnb and train tickets soon followed. The trip was planned end-to-end.

A few days later on a rainy morning I accompanied him to the hospital for his surgery. As he was wheeled away, I told him I loved him and it was pouring out. I waited for him in his hospital room for the two hour duration of the surgery but didn’t see him before I had to leave for my flight.

I heard from him at the airport completely medicined up. He just wanted to sleep.

I’ll write another post about my trip to Positano – including how I almost died on the shuttle in and the lovely gay couple I BFFed at the fancy hotel – but I’ll stick to the topic at hand.

When I got back things were grim for Theo. He couldn’t much move. I was really glad to have taken that trip and done something I always wanted to on my own, but now I was ready to be there for him. I looked after the house, the meals, the dishes, the grocery shopping. His maid only came once a week – tbh she should be coming by three times.

Things are fine. Great even. Yesterday he asked me if I was comfortable with the fact that everyday together is like Groundhog Day in that it repeats itself exactly like the day previous. I said of course I was. The thing is, he works right behind my flat and doesn’t tend to finish up at work until 9pm. That leaves me the whole day to go to work, head to the gym and to whatever else it is I need to do in that time. I’ve started working from home one day a week as well, further freeing up my time to spend with friends.

But speaking of friends, I really ought to see them more. These past few weeks have cut me off from most of them. I find myself making excuses as to why I can’t meet up. While Theo is part of the reason (and his inability to do much these days), he should be able to fend for himself one or two nights a week while I see the people I spent all my time with before I met him. That said, he did make the effort to come out to dinner with my best friend who was visiting from Canada. That was lovely. He was delightful. Broken leg and all.

I’ll get there eventually, but for now I’m enjoying the honeymoon period for what it is. Fleeting paradise.