The Frenchman had his knee surgery yesterday. I was a bit loopy, having gotten up at 4:45am to get ready for work and then take him to the hospital. I went to work after I dropped him off, and came back around 11:30am when the nurses called me. As we were waiting for them to officially discharge him, I marvelled at his gnarly black brace. I said, “Honey, you should tell people you were in a ski competition and that the tree won!”

He didn’t think this was nearly as funny as I did. The nurses were easily amused, however. When the surgeon came by, The Frenchman said, “This is my girlfriend. She’s a writer and very funny.” The surgeon seemed to have his mechanics apron on and didn’t notice anything other than the impressive apparatus. He went over all the exercises, the cooling machine that pumps ice water over his wounds, and the drugs. Woooo, drugs! When we got home, the moment I could, I collapsed in a heap.

I’m now learning how incredibly tiring it is to care for multiple people. I rushed around this morning, preparing his lunch and snacks for the day. I then ran to the supermarket for crushed ice so that he could run his cooling machine. I took care of Robie’s food and water. I barely had time for a shower and to dress, much less all the other stuff I usually do. I got to work a half hour late.

Robie is going totally bonkers. We had to have “Kitten Visiting Hours” last night, as he’s not allowed in the bedroom with The Frenchman. Poor little guy!

Plus, I wrote.

No wonder I want to set my cubicle on fire today.