Long story short, and trust me, this is a long story that I am making short, but basically, the boyfriend had heart surgery (rather, an 'invasive procedure') for eight hours yesterday. Not in an emergency sort of way; he's been preparing for this for the better part of the past two years. He told me about his illness and this operation when we first met, so it wasn't a surprise for me either (though I still don't fully understand what actually happened). This is actually the second time he's had the operation, and, like last time, the surgery only exacerbated the problem, and he's much worse off than he was before the operation.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
