Just before Easter C fell ill – nothing much, a flu-like bug that seemed to drag on a bit. It left him with a cough.

And he coughed.

And he coughed.

He’s had that cough for over 6 weeks now.

He started smoking when he was 17 – and finally gave up last ear. Which is totally amazingly wonderful, but does still mean he was a smoker for nearly 30yrs before that (how the fark are we old enough for those figures?).
Cough won’t go, he’s been not-very-ill-but-not-healthy for weeks and weeks and weeks, and the doctor has decided next step is chest x-ray, which is later this morning.
I keep on  telling him it’s fine, and just because antibiotics are not working that does not mean that it MUST automatically be lung cancer.
But to be honest?
Wibbling a le-e-e-tle bit at the back of my brain.

That man of mine is so often a grumpy old git. He’s obstinate, quick-tempered, shouty and immensely irritating.

But he’s also unwaveringly moral, rock steady, loyal, protective as a bear, kind, passionate, foolish and the only person in the world who makes me laugh like a loon.

What on earth would I do without him?