I watched the sunrise through the dirt stained hospital windows for the third morning. I settled back in the chair and thought back over the last fifteen years of how many times I had done this. I knew the date and day of everyone as I ticked them off mentally in my mind, but I couldn’t concentrate and stopped counting after I’d past eight.

Ben stirred and I lent forward and brushed a loose strand of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering as I traced them over his face but only for a moment. He needed to sleep so that the drugs they were giving him to fight the infection could do their work. The doctors had assured me that he would be fine. I held onto those words as I had every time I’d heard them over the years because the alternative was too terrifying to even contemplate.

My relationship with hospitals had changed over the years, the hate I’d felt for them in the early years as I walked through the doors into the clinical surroundings had become one of acceptance. It was as if I had come to some sort of understanding with them; if they kept Ben well I would accept them as part of my life.

I think it was Ben’s philosophy on life which had helped me achieve this. His inner calm and acceptance of his disease and everything that it entailed never wavered. I hadn’t quite gotten to that place yet and wasn’t sure I ever would, but I was working on it.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and turned my attention back to Ben, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as the machines did their work. I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his and felt a gentle squeeze on my fingers.

He knew I was here. He’d always said as long as I was by his side he could survive anything and if that was true then we would have many years of sunrises to watch together.