I arrive to our tryst at the prearranged time, we order a meal, then make small talk and watch TV while we wait for our dinner. You know, “how was your day?” and “did you know Carl Crawford is on the DL?” or “the boys have a gig tomorrow.” – that kind of conversation. When the food arrives, we share a salad, split a tuna sandwich or salisbury steak with mashed potatoes, talk a little more, hold hands, make arrangements for our next rendezvous, and kiss good night. I get into my car and go home, missing him already.
These evenings are much like typical dating, except for the location. Our dates take place in one of Boston’s finest hospital rooms, where the ambiance is created by beeping-booping machines, fluorescent lighting, code blue announcements, and hospital staff checking my date’s blood pressure and pain threshold (on a scale of 1 to 10) every hour or so. My guy had total hip replacement surgery and these are the new rules of engagement, at least for now. Thank goodness his roommate doesn’t seem to mind having me around.
I’ll be pleased when we progress to a real restaurant, with wine, soft music, and flickering candle light, but our hospital dates feel like starting all over again. Isn’t it romantic?