Is he kissing her? Seriously? I have an injury that has knocked me out of the race for awhile, like that woman in the picture. My special friend-turned-caregiver, a wonderful man, is hardly ready to kiss me at this point. After 2 weeks solid of lifting me, carrying at least part of me, bowing to my demands, and becoming a human crutch, he is more likely to strangle me, though he maintains his gentle posits of, “You’re going to be OK, honey.” The veneer of patience is wearing thin. I can see it in his eyes.
Today, incidentally, he pulled his shoulder muscle while loading my stuff – crutches, briefcase, coat, purse, etc. in his car. He is not a happy camper. He is exhausted. Now, he hurts a lot. I insisted that he go home tonight, give himself a break, and take one of my pain killers. I can manage without him (though I secretly am not sure how).
Ten days ago, I broke my foot. Fell flat on my face, splayed all over the pavement, when I missed the curb in front of the Hyatt in downtown San Francisco. I lay there for a minute or two and ran a quick systems check. Nothing major. Dizzy and shaken, I got up, nabbed a cab, and went home.
Home is one story walk-up apartment, with another set of stairs inside the apartment. Kitchen on one floor, bath and bedrooms downstairs. With the foot swelling at exponential speed, I wondered, How in the heck am I going to get upstairs? The cab left, and there I was. Single, alone, relatively new to San Francisco, with my friend not answering his cell. I have no family here, so there was no one obligated to answer my May Day! call. Suddenly, I live in a newly hostile environment with venomous steps begging me to challenge them.
My friend-about-to-become-caretaker got to my house in time to help me remove my foot from the shoe, already fastened in place by the swelling spilling over the top. Ouch. The doctor says at least 6 weeks of no driving or heavy walking. Here’s two pain killers. You are going to hurt a lot for awhile while you drag around that big black boot. Be thankful. It could have been worse.
Part of my job is to talk to our midlife plus crowd about sex and disability. I extol the healing virtues of sex. It can speed healing. It can comfort you. It can divert your attention. At the very least, it can provide free, fun stuff to do while you are stuck at home. All of the above is true.
That was until I broke my foot. Now, I look at him, and I think of all the high-faluting advice I have given other people. Just snuggle if you can’t do anything else. Lay back and let him/her please you. Massage and play with the parts of the body you can get to. This is when it’s important to carve out quiet time and just hold each other.
Are you kidding? We are both so exhausted and sick of each other, that sex has fallen ‘way down the list. Instead, we have watched On Demand every night. Just stared at it, as if we were stoned.
If this goes on much longer, intimate action needs to be taken. I know that. I am lucky this is a short term injury. I have a new appreciation for folks who endure long term disability, though I would not presume to know the depth of the challenge. I appreciate the exhaustion. I appreciate the pain. I appreciate that sometimes simplifying is the answer. Just take time to appreciate the friend-turned-caregiver, sit and be. Sleep and heal.
I do know that more intimacy will help us get through this. That will come in time. In the meantime, accept the reality, and don’t put any more demands on it.
The teacher learns her lessons.
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