So I tried, Dear Reader, to rouse my husband from his pain induced coma last night, but to no avail. It’s not that he was that loopy or uninterested even, but rather that I felt uncomfortable with the situation and truly wasn’t that horny! We’re now up to a total of missed sex 6 days in our 2019 daily sex challenge.
He got out of bed in the evening to eat some dinner and hang upside down on his inversion table which helped take pressure off his back. I could see some relief in his labored walk. My husband also raided the sweet cabinet like a junk food junky needing a sugar fix. I think he ate an entire pint of ice cream, a handful of chocolate bars, and some Oreos. It was definitely not on his back pain diet, but at least he seemed to be coming out of his deep tension cocoon from hell.
We’re different, I noticed. He’s different and that makes me different. Our connection is generally light and flirty, heavy only with passion. His flirting has all but ceased. There’s no wink or touching or seduction. I’m simply a friend. And he’s crabby as hell.
Peaking under the covers last night, I found my husband naked except for his black back brace. His dick was as placid as ever, more lifeless than I’ve known it to be. He seemed old to me, which didn’t ping my pleasure pot but instead left me secretly worrying if this is what our marriage will one day be and why caregiving doesn’t come so naturally to me.
I’m like a… teenage girl from Beverly Hills. “So, like, um, can I like get you something? Like, um…” I ask not having any idea where to start and clueless of what might ease his pain. This is a new hurdle for us, and I hope my sheer presence at least counts for something.
Being such a health nut myself, I’d assume that sickness in others would prompt a automatic aid service out of me, but it doesn’t I’ve discovered. Like his dick, I am virtually useless unless you count my glasses of ice water, thoughtful sandwiches and ability to follow easy directions. “You need your pillow? Ok, I can get that.”
I’m not momma nurse bear, that’s for sure! I’m not monitoring his medicine intake or bowel movements. Some women jump to mothering when their man is down, but I tend to stay away, almost expecting him to figure it out on his own, and in a hurry, as sad as that sounds.
But I also think it’s the role we’ve built for our marriage. I care for him through food and sex and the organization of our finances. I’m also Chief of the Arts & Travel Committee, Head of the Home Management Group and CEO of the Calendar Club. I handle marketing goals and virtually all communications, personal and business. I’m a rockstar with my gifts, but fuck if nursing isn’t one of them.
This morning my husband lay in bed again motionless and exhausted. It’s the second day of his martial arts back injury and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe he needs to see a doctor.
“Why? So the doctor can tell me I have all sorts of problems I need to start worrying about?” My husband is an old-school cowboy for sure. He’s the type who’ll die from natural causes one cold day unaware that he’d really just lost a battle with some undiagnosed cancer or a long-time silent illness.
He’s right. Doctors do have a way of making people more sick, giving their brain a reason to give up before their body ever would. Out of sight, out of mind works until pain or disease smacks you square in the face and prevents basic movement. Then you have to address it.
“You have a full body massage at noon today, sweetheart,” I said delivering his breakfast with a smile. It was a healthy green smoothie and stacked turkey and cheese sandwich. I even added a fresh fuchsia flower to his tray for a spec of beauty.
I sat down to eat with him in bed and kissed his lips delicately. His generally smooth boyish face was scruffy from the lack of a recent shave. He talked about his pain and other symptoms that seem to be unrelated yet suspiciously manifesting at the same time. He’s had a fever. His stomach has been upset. His brain feels cloudy. He’s just ready to be done with it all.
“Pain exhausts everything, sweetheart,” I said trying to make sense of it myself, trying to support his fight I’m witnessing only from the sidelines. “The trauma is depleting your body’s natural resources.”
I hope this situation resolves soon. It has appeared out of nowhere and rudely interrupted our fun flow. Two days ago I was worried only about my next yummy cum injection and now I feel as sexy as an old mop reduced to health checkins.
“Love is a verb,” I’ve always said to my friends, “It’s what you do, not necessarily how you feel.” Lucky for me, the feeling and freshness of young love generally flows freely in my home and in my life. I’m used to things being good and pleasure being plentiful.
My husband’s back injury has been a jolting reminder that health is above all the most important factor in long-term pleasure. It’s easy to love when pleasure abounds. As my husband said last night and it made me chuckle with it’s truth, “When I feel horrible and in pain, there’s no space for sex. It’s as if it doesn’t even exist.”
Loving through pain is a lot harder than it sounds.