You must be joking. Right?

Just when you think everything is sorted....along comes fate. I got home this evening to a bizarrely quiet house. It was hard initially to say what was wrong or what was out of place - the living room is full of half-filled boxes after all. But K's car was there, with no obvious sign of K. He might have been asleep upstairs, but instinct and a quick check showed otherwise. Prowling around, I got alarmed to find his heart-rate monitor abandoned on the sofa, and the empty medipak of single-use patient electrode pads on the window sill confirmed that I really should start considering the possibility I was trying very hard not to.

No answer on his phone, none of his family had heard from him. Just as I was about to wildly accuse them of ganging up to exclude me, he rang the landline. He was in the local hospital, having an ECG, having had palpitations most of the day. Funny how imminent tragedy can focus the mind. I was surprised on the dash to the hospital how concerned I was - despite the cool, bitchy part of me hissing that is was probably a panic attack. But its not - the ECG shows a definite physiological problem. The diagnosis is yet to be finalised, but the most likely outcome is yet more daily tablets to prevent further problems.

He looked so sad and lonely, I just wanted to put my arms around him and tell him it will be ok, that he won't be alone, that I'll look after him. But the cool bitchy part of me knows that once the immediate shock has worn off, the issues will be back and as much as I want to make him happy, I don't want to have sex with him again, and that relatively minor point is nevertheless quite critical in relationships. I told him that he didn't have to move out on Saturday. But when I got back to the hospital with an overnight bag complete with new slippers for him (God bless 24-hour Tescos), he gently reminded me that if it wasn't this week, it would be in 1 month, 2 months' time, and what was the point?

I've realised that I habitually spend the first few years of new relationships focusing on making the other person happy, and that, in itself, is enough to make me happy. However eventually, I notice the person as an individual and not as a container for my attention, tenderness, affection, sexual indulgence, whatever and I stop asking myself what I can do for them, and start wondering what they can do for me. I'm in considerable danger of doing it all over again. I know I can make D happy for a few hours at a time with lashing of attention, flattery, wild sex, concern, etc, and doing that gives me short-term comfort. It saves me from focusing on my own fuck-up of a life for a few hours. Where's that going to leave him though, poor sod?