Thirty minutes later, I find Dale McKinley standing over the foot of Alex’s bed, engaging in serious conversation. Alex looks expressionless at first, nodding his head during certain points in the dialogue and then turning his head to look at me from where he is. Twice he does that and twice I smile back at him. He doesn’t return the sentiment.
By six in the morning, Alex is being wheeled back up to the ICU after undergoing a series of tests and exams in the radiology department. His parents have left to give him time to rest. The nurses are setting him back up on the machines, checking the IV line that they still have in his arm, and then, a few minutes later, it’s just us. I’m overwhelmed with melancholy and nervous about his reaction to the news he’s just received. I sit on the side of his bed and feel the contours of his face with my fingers.
He leans into it and kisses the palm of my hand. “I’m so tired.”
“I know. I’m going to shut the door so you won’t be disturbed for a few hours.”
“Where are the children? Are they coming?”
“Yes, I’ll ask them to come after you get a few more hours of rest.” I get up and walk over to the glass doors to slide them shut.
“I’m paralyzed.”
I will never forget the anguish in his voice as those words leave his lips. I have never heard anything so disheartening in my life. It’s as if Alex had just raised the white flag and surrendered without a fight. It squeezes the life out of my heart. I want to take away his pain but I don’t know how.
“You’re alive. And it’s only temporary,” I whisper as he pulls me down to his chest and holds me.
“But they don’t know how much of it I can recover.”
“We’ll work as hard as we can and you’ll get better. I know you will. Right now, the only thing that matters is that you’re here. And I’m here with you every step of the way.” I forcibly inflect my voice to make it sound cheerful and airy. “Baby, we’ve been through so much more than this. We will fight this together.”
Silence.
No response.
I lie on his chest for a few more minutes until it rises and falls steadily and his arm slides off my shoulders. I bring my lips to his and kiss him softly before leaning back on the chair and closing my eyes.
Three weeks after the accident, it’s time for us to go home. The mood is light and we’re all piled up in Alex’s hospital room, waiting for Dr. McKinley to sign his release. Eddie has literally moved his gaming station into his father’s room, and Maddy is sitting on top of the bed playing with some puzzles. My sisters have stopped by to take the children home ahead of us and I’m trying to gather up the last bits and pieces of our extended stay.
“Eddie, get ready to go home with your aunts, please.” Just as I say this, the maids come in to cart everything back home. There are suitcases and toys and books and magazines; we even have two cots that were dropped off one night when Maddy refused to leave the hospital without her “Dada.”
Alex is quietly watching television as this bustle of activity happens around him. After fifteen long minutes, the room is silent and it’s just the two of us again. For the past two weeks, being alone with Alex has been difficult and stressful. He’s uncommunicative and passive and doesn’t have much to say. I try my best to keep things cordial to the point of trying too hard to cheer him up. Dr. McKinley says that his reaction is normal and that I should leave him alone to process things on his own. I haven’t been home since I walked into the emergency room that night. I’ve lost ten pounds and my body is still expelling the food I’m taking in as a result of my pregnancy. I hit my three month mark right around when the accident occurred, and now that Alex is going home, I’m eager to bask in the joy of my pregnancy. I’m hoping that it lifts Alex’s spirits up and distracts him from all this gloominess.
I’m sitting up on his bed as Dr. McKinley walks in. Alex grabs my hand and holds on to it tightly and I take it as a sign from him for me to remain by his side. I can tell that Dale has good news because he’s smiling.
“Well, man, I’ve just signed your release. They should be up to take you downstairs in a few minutes.” He pauses to look at me and I nod my head slightly. “There are a couple things I want to speak to both of you about. I mentioned earlier that we won’t know the extent of Alex’s damage until six to eight weeks from the day of the accident. The reason for this is because he’s still undergoing spinal shock, which simply put, is the body’s way of fighting further damage. It’s like a severe case of whiplash, where everything eventually recuperates with time. That’s the good news. The tests on Alex show that the damage is below the T11 to L2 area of his spine, which means that the nerves are slightly working and that he is only undergoing a partial paralysis during this period.”
I turn to Alex, who is listening intently. “Do you hear that, baby? You’re going to get better in time!” I exclaim as I take his hand and bring it to my lips.
He doesn’t say a word.
“Now, I know you have questions about your ability to have sexual activity during this recovery period. Right now, Alex is showing normal bladder and bowel function. This doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have accidents at some point or another. The nerves in that area need to be strengthened too, and that will also be part of his physical therapy. Additionally, Alex has slight feeling in his right thigh, which is absolutely fantastic.” Alex remains dispassionate while Dale pauses to cross things off the discharge list. He turns to me and winks. I smile back as I reach out to touch his hand. He taps on it lightly and continues, “What I’m saying is that you’re both going to have to try to see what works and doesn’t work as you adjust to this temporary life. Most men with incomplete spinal cord injury retain their basic ability to have an erection and to ejaculate, but I must tell you that some have difficulty with it at first.”
Alex finally speaks up. “So your mind will want to have sex, will have all the feelings of wanting to have sex, and your body might not be as responsive as your mind wants it to be?”
“You are correct.”
“What kind of a life is that?”
“Alex!” I interrupt him and frankly, I am angry with him. Why can’t he just be glad that we’re still here, that we’re still together?
“That’s okay, Isabel. As you can see, this is going to be the root of Alex’s resentment. You will both have to work together on that. There are many ways to accomplish satisfaction. Amanda will be able to help you with that.”
Great. My husband’s ex-lover is going to help us with our sex life. I may need to rethink this decision.
There is silence from the both of us after that. An orderly comes into the room and starts to help Alex get into the wheelchair. His upper body is so strong that he has no problem swinging his legs to the edge of the bed and scooting himself into the chair. I give Dale a hug and thank him for everything.
And as we walk away from the worst three weeks of our lives, I am filled with trepidation at the thought that maybe, just maybe, the man that I love has chosen to stay behind.
***
“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”
—Mother Teresa
We’ve been home from the hospital for two days and we’re all trying to figure out what our daily routines consist of. Alex has physical therapy twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, and his sessions with Amanda are due to begin once a week. We’ve decided that Alex will be working from home at least during the month of August, before returning to a full time schedule at the office. While we were gone, the contractor went ahead and installed an elevator from the ground floor to the second floor along with various rails. A crude ramp is set up outside and I know it will be replaced with the most state-of-the-art ramp money can buy. Assistive devices were placed in our bathroom and around our bedroom. Alex insisted that we choose the top of the line temporary fixtures that can be removed at any time. That’s as a good sign as any that he
wants to get better.
His mood hasn’t improved much. He isn’t angry or mean, he just doesn’t say a lot these days. We talk about a few things here and there, but he’s so closed up that I can hardly figure out what he’s thinking. I’ve decided to give him some time. I know that he loves me and that one day, he will be my best friend again.
I return home from a board meeting to find him in his study. He’s drinking a glass of whiskey while working on his computer. The room smells like cigarettes. He’s started smoking again. A teeny tiny battle in the war that’s raging between us. Some things are better left untouched.
“Hi, baby,” I walk around the desk to give him a kiss, “how was your morning?”
“Good. How was your meeting?”
“Uneventful. They talk so much, like they have all the time in the world.” I chuckle and he smiles; I start to think that perhaps today will be a good day. “Did the therapist come today?”
“No, I canceled it. I’m too tired to do anything.”
“Oh. Okay.” I bite my tongue. The last thing I want to do is nag him. “Well, what do you want to do this afternoon? Wanna get in the car and go to the beach house? Eddie can miss a day of school and we can stay for the entire weekend.”
“Isa. Have you not noticed? I can’t go anywhere,” he states irritably.
“What do you mean? We can take the wheelchair to the beach. We can even take it on the boat.”
“Why do you keep pretending nothing’s changed?”
“I’m not pretending anything. We still have a life together. It’s like having a broken leg. You’ll heal in time. You’re just a little inconvenienced now, that’s all.”
He lets out a sinister laugh and then proceeds to mock me. “That’s all? That’s all, Isa? I can’t feel anything in my legs! I can’t ride horses! I can’t drive cars! I can’t play basketball with my son! I can’t take my daughter for a walk! I can’t make love to my wife! And that’s all?”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I—”
“Fuck this!”
I lift my head up and glare at him, appalled. “That was uncalled for.”
He scowls back at me, his eyes dark and hollow, and I see a fury that I’ve never seen in him before. It scares me, but I don’t believe what I see. This isn’t him. It can’t be him.
“I refuse to deal with this right now,” he says. “Would you mind leaving me alone?”
As soon as I’m out the door, I look around the house, feeling lost and afraid. While I’m glad that Eddie is in school and Maddy is at her playdate, I feel like a stranger searching for some direction in an unfamiliar place. My physical state isn’t any better than it was a month ago. Alex’s outburst has aggravated my condition, so I decide to lay down for a while just until I get over this wooziness. Then I think I’ll to take the kids to Evie’s for a few days. I remove my clothes and put on my robe before slipping under the covers. Lately, this nausea has been accompanied by cold sweats, so the satin feels good and cool on my skin. I sink into a deep sleep. Our bedroom has always been my safe place. Alex hasn’t been in it much lately, but our sheets, his pillows, our blanket—they still all smell like him. I’m awakened by the soft drone of the elevator, whose muffled sounds signal that he’s coming upstairs. I glance at the clock and see that I’ve been asleep for two hours. I hear the bedroom door open and in a few seconds, he has wheeled himself next to my side of the bed.
“Baby, I’m sorry.”
His words have erased all my pain.
“It’s okay.”
“I don’t know what to do about all this. I’m still adjusting.”
I sit up on the bed and his eyes grow large as he sees what I’m wearing. My robe has split open and my breasts are exposed. He reaches out his hand and touches me.
I close my eyes and encourage his hands with my own. “I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper.
I need him to acknowledge that he wants to live, that he wants to fight to get better. I push the covers off me and scoot to the edge of the bed facing him. I rest my legs on his lap, lean closely towards him and kiss him. I devour his lips, I’m starving for him. My heart is a desolate wasteland, a barren desert in desperate need of the rush of a waterfall. He reciprocates by grabbing my hair and biting down on my neck. Consciously, I plan my next move in my head. I’ve never done this before, and so I’m terrified that what I do next might disappoint him even more. I tug at the hem of his shirt and lift it up gently over his arms and over his head. My research into this temporary situation has said something about heightened feeling on his chest area, so I glam down on his nipples and tease them. He groans and pushes my head down further. I lick a trail down from his chest to his abdomen, and carefully try to pull down his shorts. He uses his arms to lift himself up to help me out. I take him in my hand and I rub gently, slowly. Nothing is happening and I know that he’s painfully aware of it.
“Let me make you come,” he murmurs as he spreads my legs across his lap and inserts two fingers inside me. I’m lying on the bed with my legs on him and he’s pushing and stroking until I’m close, so close. It’s like nothing ever happened to us and we’re still the same two people filled with so much want and longing for each other.
“Ahh. I love you so much,” I moan. He is filling me up. My beautiful waterfall.
He pulls my legs roughly towards him, lifting me up and sinking his mouth into me. His tongue is doing what his fingers were doing merely seconds ago. Only my head and shoulders are on the bed. The rest of me is wrapped around him on the wheelchair. I am so heady with love for this intimacy, for this magic that we’re sharing for the first time in weeks, that it doesn’t take long before I release myself in his mouth. When I recover, I sit up on the bed and look into his eyes. They’re fiery and dark and burning, and I know he must be feeling so frustrated. I take him in my mouth and he gasps.
“I can hardly feel anything,” he says, trying to push me away.
“You will. You will, let me love you. Let me try.” I use a combination of hands and mouth and fingers and tongue. Faster and faster I go. And it does change a bit. It’s no longer flaccid but it’s not hard enough to slip inside me. I keep going. I keep trying. Just the fact that he’s this close to me is arousing me all over again. And then it happens. I feel it in his chest as he shudders and releases and I feel a soft spurt of liquid shoot into my mouth. I take it in and suck it in and I don’t stop until his breathing relaxes. I look up at him slyly and smile.
“We did it,” I whisper. “And practice will make perfect.”
His eyes look tired and empty and it hurts me so much to see such dullness where the joy of living used to be. I lay my head on his lap as he leans back in his chair and strokes my hair. And then it dawns on me. It’s been so long since I heard him say that he loves me.
***
“The art of love is largely the art of persistence.”
—Albert Ellis
The next month goes by in a hazy blur. There are ongoing renovations at the house, mostly just ramps and walkways that allow Alex to make his way around the pool and garden with ease. Part of his therapy will be spent doing exercises in the water, so it made perfect sense to modify the area. He hasn’t started his therapy yet, though. There’s a new excuse each week as to why he isn’t feeling up to it. I leave him be, but I also make it clear that I’m not happy about it. I want to give him space, but at the same time, I don’t want him to think that getting better is a condition for me to stick around. I want him to feel good about his progress, but I’ll take him in any way, shape, or form.
Our bedroom seems a little bit foreign to me these days. It’s like two camps and two sides of what once was a place where love was expressed freely and happy memories were made. There is always someone in the room with us—usually a male nurse who helps him to get in and out of bed. His name is Diego and he was a gardener in Alex’s house while he was growing up. Diego’s loyalty to the little boy who was raised within his sights made him volunteer to be Alex’s help
er during his recovery period. He is one of the kindest, gentlest men I have ever met, aside from my Alex, of course. He knows when to support him and he knows when to leave him alone. Penny, his secretary, is over at least twice every day, bringing papers from the office and managing Alex’s schedule.
Lately, our evenings alone have been pretty much routine, especially for Alex. I always insist on being with him each night when it comes time for him to take a bath. He hates it, but I do it anyway. Diego knows to situate him in the tub and then leaves it to me to take care of him. I look forward to the times when I can gently towel the water off his body, run my fingers through his hair, find any excuse to touch him and help him get dressed. Alex doesn’t feel the same way that I do. He visibly recoils from me whenever I come close enough to touch him. He always finds some excuse to send me away, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he would rather have Diego with him than me. I don’t budge. I try not to let it hurt my feelings. I stay.
It’s a quiet Saturday morning and the children have joined us in bed while we watch Maddy’s favorite show, Caillou. Everything is light and easy; Eddie and I are busy chatting away while Alex has Maddy snuggled up on his chest. About an hour later, a warm sensation begins to seep under my legs and I immediately know what it is. I turn to look at Alex, who is watching me, and I instantly sit up and gather Maddy in my arms. I motion for Eddie to scoot out of the bed and I call for Emmy on the intercom. Once the children have left the room, I try to help Alex up from the bed so that I can change the sheets. He swats my hands stubbornly and keeps himself on the bed.
“I just fucking peed my pants in front of my children,” he says sullenly.
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