You're not it

I spent three hours in the waiting room, while he was in surgery.
I'm getting good at waiting rooms.
Fortunately, the magazines there were all current, so I am all up on Michael Jackson's kids, and that Jon + Bimbo- wife- eight= story. I did a lot of reading in three hours.
When I switched from coffee, to water from the cooler, the doctor finally entered the waiting area. She explained that the surgery had gone well, and that he should be fine, and would I like to go back to the recovery room?
He was smiling, at least. It was a sleepy, drugged smile.
There was my man all hooked up to an IV, in a hospital gown, and a blood pressure monitor. He was incredibly hot, in that hospital bed. How is that possible?
It was a planned surgery to repair his knee, and he was able to go home right away.
We spent the day by the pool, with me trying very hard to do everything for him without seeming like a mother hen. He was very gracious, despite the fact that I must have been annoying as can be.
The good doctor commanded that Tim not be left alone for 24 hours. Which, I felt was a legitimate eccuse for me to spend the night. He did not agree. Alas.
Now, I'm at my own home, and very tired indeed.

Next loved one in the hospital is a rotten egg.