Chapter 34

Recounting the intimate events of my evening for the emergency room staff wasn’t the most embarrassing moment I’d had in front of Natalie, but it would still make the top five.

“What were you doing when your symptoms first began?” the ER doctor wanted to know, forcing me to admit that we’d been making love.

“Having sex… sexual intercourse,” I answered stiffly, feeling my face flush. I carefully avoided eye contact with Natalie, who had retreated to a far corner of the room while the doctor finished examining me.

“And has anything like this ever happened during intercourse before?”

I shook my head. “No. Well, sometimes I get a little lightheaded… but not like this. I always thought it was just mild AD – autonomic dysreflexia,” I added, wondering whether the physician was familiar with the condition. The specialists I saw all knew what “AD” meant, but a surprising number of doctors and nurses did not, having never treated a quadriplegic patient before.

The doctor nodded like she knew what I was talking about, then asked, “Are you on any medication?”

I let out a low chuckle as Natalie held up the bulging bag of pill bottles Dawn had given her before we left the house. “Here are his meds,” she said helpfully, bringing it over to show the doctor. She set the bag down on the foot of my bed and opened it, taking out one of the bottles. She turned it over to read the label on the front. “He takes gab… gabapentin?”

I nodded. “For neuropathic pain.”

Natalie fished another bottle out of the bag. “And… baclofen?”

“To prevent muscle spasms.”

“And… oh boy. You may have to help me out with this one, babe,” she said, her eyes widening as she looked at the label on the next bottle. “Am… ami…”

“Amitriptyline,” I finished for her. “It’s an antidepressant. Helps with my pain and anxiety.”

I caught the look of sympathy that flickered across her face before she reached back into the bag. One by one, she held up each bottle while I rattled off the name of the medication or supplement inside and the reason I took it: mirabegron and solifenacin to prevent bladder spasms, methenamine and cranberry pills to reduce the risk of urinary tract infections, senna for soft stools, calcium for strong bones, and a multivitamin for my overall health. A nurse took notes on my chart, checking the label of each drug for the dosage as she added it to the long list of my daily meds.

“Did you take anything else tonight?” the doctor asked. That was when I remembered the bottle of little blue pills I kept in my bedside table drawer, separate from the rest of my medications.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot: Viagra… for obvious reasons,” I replied, my face reddening again.

She raised her eyebrows. “And how much of that did you take?”

“Well, the tablets I have are fifty milligrams each, but my doctor said I could try a hundred if they weren’t working, so I took two of them,” I admitted. It wasn’t exactly the truth; all Dr. Collins had told me was that the drug came in a higher dose and to talk to the doctor who had prescribed it. He hadn’t told me to take two pills.

“That’s a pretty high dose,” the ER physician said, frowning. “Did your doctor warn you that sildenafil can cause an unsafe drop in blood pressure?”

Her question caught me off-guard. “Um… yeah, he probably mentioned it at some point,” I answered uncertainly, my mind racing. I had been prescribed so many different medications with such a long list of potential side effects, I couldn’t possibly keep them all straight. “Do you think that’s all this is?” I suddenly felt like a fool for taking a double dose without discussing it with my doctor first, for prioritizing my desperate desire to satisfy my girlfriend over my own physical health.

“I’m not sure yet, but we’re going to find out,” the doctor promised. “We’ll draw some blood and run some tests to hopefully rule out a problem with your heart or lungs. We should know more in the next few hours.”

As she turned away to talk to the nurse about the tests she wanted to order, I looked up at Natalie. “I’m sorry, babe,” I whispered.

“For what?” she asked, brushing the hair back off my forehead.

“For ruining our night.”

“It’s not your fault,” she insisted, even though it probably was. “And the night’s not ruined. We’re together, aren’t we?”

I snorted. “Yeah… in the emergency room. Real romantic.”

She shrugged. “I’m not worried about romance. I’m worried about you. All that matters right now is making sure you’re all right,” she said, still stroking my hair. Her fingers felt amazing running over my scalp.

“Thanks,” I muttered. As much as I appreciated having her by my side, I hated being in a hospital bed. Looking up at the ceiling tiles, I let out a soft sigh. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

***

There were no windows in the small room where I spent most of the rest of that night, but if there were, I would have seen the sun rising outside. According to the clock on the wall, it was after five a.m. I’d hardly slept a wink; the constant interruptions as hospital staff came in to take my vitals or transport me down the hall for another test kept me awake all night.

That wasn’t the case with Natalie. When I’d been brought back to my room after a CT scan, I’d found her curled up on the hard chair in the corner, sound asleep. She had woken briefly while the nurse was hooking me back up to the heart monitor, but then she’d drifted off again. She dozed as I lay awake, waiting for the doctor to return with my test results.

Finally, around 5:30, the ER physician walked back into the room. “How are you feeling, Mr. Richardson?” she asked, stopping next to my bed. Behind her, I saw Natalie sit up and rub her eyes.

“Exhausted,” I replied, “but otherwise all right.” My head felt heavy rather than light; I hardly had the strength to lift it off my pillow, but at least I no longer felt like I was about to faint. The tightness in my throat and pressure in my chest were gone, making it easier for me to breathe.

The doctor nodded, pausing to look at the notes the nurse had added to my chart. “Your vitals have been stable all night, and your last few blood pressure readings have been close to the normal range. Still on the low side, but that’s not uncommon in quadriplegics.”

I nodded, feeling impatient as I waited to hear whether she was going to admit me to the hospital or send me home. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Well, we didn’t find any evidence of a pulmonary embolism or cardiac event in the tests we ran. Your CT scan and chest X-rays were clear, your EKG was normal, and your labs were negative for the markers we typically see with blood clots or heart attacks.”

“That’s good news, right?” Natalie asked hopefully.

Glancing back at her, the doctor nodded. “Yes, but it doesn’t explain his symptoms.” Returning her attention to me, she added, “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say the double dose of sildenafil – Viagra – that you took caused your blood pressure to drop. When your B.P. is low, your heart has to work harder to compensate for the decreased blood flow to your brain. It begins to beat faster as the demand for oxygen increases. I believe that’s what caused the initial dizziness, shortness of breath, and chest discomfort you felt. Your fear of having a heart attack or pulmonary embolism probably made it worse by triggering a panic attack, which presents with a lot of the same symptoms.”

“A panic attack,” I repeated flatly, feeling even more foolish. “So you’re saying there’s nothing physically wrong with me.”

“Not that we’ve found. That doesn’t mean it was all in your head, though. The symptoms you felt were real. Fortunately, they don’t seem to have been caused by a life-threatening condition, but you should follow up with your primary care physician or whichever doctor prescribed you the sildenafil before taking it again. You may need to try a lower dose or a different drug.”

I nodded, my cheeks burning. I knew I should be relieved that I wasn’t at risk of dying, but I felt more ashamed than anything else. I had made a dumb decision, then overreacted to the consequences of that decision, ruining my night with Natalie in the process.

Neither of us talked much during the taxi ride back to my house. “Will you text Dawn and let her know we’re on our way home?” I asked Natalie, who had kept Dawn updated throughout the night since I didn’t have my phone with me.

“Of course.” She took her phone out of her purse and sent the text message, her thumbs tapping rapidly across the screen.

I didn’t know if Dawn would be awake, but she was waiting in the driveway with my wheelchair when the taxi pulled up. “Did you sleep at all?” I asked as she helped me transfer out of the back seat. I was glad to see her, but I felt guilty for keeping her up all night.

Dawn nodded. “A few hours. How about you?”

I shook my head.

“C’mon, let’s get you into the house and up to bed,” Natalie said, putting her hand on one of my push handles. I felt my chair start to move forward, then stop. “Sorry,” she quickly apologized.

“No, it’s fine. You can push me.” By that point, I was too tired to argue about it, too tired to care, and, quite frankly, too tired to push myself.

Dawn cleared her throat. “Don’t forget, we have to do your program today,” she said in a low voice as she followed us into the house. “Do you wanna do it before you go to bed or wait until you wake up?”

I groaned. The last thing I felt like doing was sitting on the commode for half an hour or more, but I worried that if I waited to do it later in the day than usual, I would wake up to another mess in my bed – and I wasn’t willing to take that risk, especially with Natalie around. “I guess we better do it now,” I replied grudgingly.

“Can I help?” Natalie offered as she pushed me down the hall to the elevator.

“Absolutely not.” I had already endured enough embarrassment for one day. “Go to bed,” I told her flatly when the elevator door opened on the second floor. “You can sleep in the guest room.”

“But-” I heard her start to protest.

I put my hands on my push rims. “Watch your toes,” I warned as I wheeled myself backward out of the elevator. With a wounded look, Natalie moved out of the way. I turned around and rolled toward my room.

“Well, at least let me grab my bag.” She walked into the room behind me and went around to her side of the bed, where she’d left her suitcase lying open on the floor. “You know, I’m not sure why you’re punishing me after I waited in the ER with you all night,” she said as she hastily zipped it up.

“It’s not a punishment,” I replied, annoyed. “I know you were up all night; that’s why I told you to go to bed instead of waiting for me to take a shit. Now, can you please just respect my privacy and go?”

“All right, fine.” She tipped her bag onto its wheels and extended the handle with more force than necessary, dragging it toward the door. “Goodnight then, I guess.”

“‘Night,” I echoed hollowly as I watched her disappear down the hall. I felt guilty for shutting her out, but not enough to make me change my mind.

“You know, you really should reconsider letting Natalie learn how to help you with this,” Dawn said later as I lay on the bed, waiting for her to finish the first part of my bowel program. “If she’s willing to do it, y’all would have so much more freedom to do whatever you wanted as a couple. You could go away for the weekend, just the two of you, without having to worry about bringing a caregiver along.”

I remembered Natalie saying something similar when we were in London. “Did she say something to you?” I asked, glancing back over my shoulder at Dawn.

“No. Why?”

“We had an argument the last time she was here, just before we left for London. She made some comment about having to share me with another woman. I thought she was talking about Kristin, but she actually meant you.”

“Me?” Dawn laughed.

“Yeah. She was, like, jealous or something ‘cause you get to see this sexy body of mine naked every day,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness of it.

“All the more reason to teach her the rest of your routine,” Dawn replied matter-of-factly. “Then, if she still wants to do it all herself when she’s with you, I won’t be in her way.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want her to do this. It’s disgusting.”

“Would you feel differently if it were Kristin who’d been paralyzed and you were her caregiver?”

I had often wondered what my life would have been like if Kristin had survived the crash, but I’d never considered how it would have changed if she were the one in the wheelchair. “Probably,” I admitted to Dawn, “but that’s not a fair comparison to make. Kristin was my wife; we were a married couple. ‘In sickness and in health’ – those were the words I said to her on our wedding day, so of course I would have taken care of her. But it’s different with Natalie. We’ve only been dating for a few months; I’m not ready to subject her to this part of my life – and I’m not sure she’s really ready either, no matter what she thinks. She has no idea what this actually entails.”

“Maybe not, but so far, she’s been willing and eager to learn,” Dawn said as she stripped off her gloves and tossed them into the wastebasket. “I understand why you’re self-conscious, but I still think you should give her a chance.”

I sighed. “Maybe someday… but not today.”

“Fair enough.” She brought over my commode chair before she helped me sit up on the side of the bed. I was so tired, I hardly had the strength to slide my body across the transfer board to the commode, so Dawn did most of the heavy lifting. “So, what did the doctor say?” she asked as she strapped me into the chair, draping a towel over my lap. “Natalie texted me the summary version, but I didn’t get many details.”

I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. They didn’t find anything wrong with me. The doctor thinks my blood pressure dropped because of the damn Viagra I took before I went to bed with Natalie. That’s why I felt so weak and dizzy at first. But then I freaked out thinking about everything Dr. Collins warned me about at my appointment and had a full-blown panic attack.”

As I talked, Dawn pushed me into the bathroom. “Is that why you thought it was a pulmonary embolism?”

I nodded. “Turns out, I was just being a hypochondriac. All my test results were normal.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she replied, positioning me over the toilet.

“Yeah, but I totally ruined my night with Natalie.”

“You can make it up to her tomorrow – or tonight, I mean.”

“Maybe… if she’s not too mad at me for making her sleep in the guest room.” I heaved another sigh. “I really fucked up, Dawn.”

Dawn smiled sympathetically. “I’m sure she understands. We all have our hypochondriac moments.” She paused, then added, “After Michael was diagnosed with DMD, we found out I was a carrier of the mutated gene that causes it. Female carriers aren’t affected the same way males are, but they are at higher risk for heart problems down the road.”

“I didn’t realize that,” I said, frowning at her. “But I guess it makes sense. I mean, the heart’s a muscle, too, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Dawn shrugged. “I’ve always been healthy, so I try not to worry about it too much. But whenever I get winded playing with Mason or carrying laundry up the stairs, I can’t help but wonder if it’s just because I’m old and fat or because my heart’s beginning to fail. I know I’m probably just being paranoid, but that fear will always be with me. I usually try to keep it buried in the back of my mind until something digs it up again.”

As I studied her face, I noticed not only the laugh lines on either side of her mouth but also the worry lines etched across her forehead. Under the bright bathroom lights, I saw strands of silver in her coppery blonde hair. “So you definitely understand,” I said.

She nodded. “I do.”

I paused, thinking about what she’d told me. “Is that why you didn’t have any more children after Michael? Because you were worried about passing on the gene?” I asked her. Immediately, I wished I hadn’t. “Sorry…. I know that’s a really personal question,” I added, feeling my face heat up. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Dawn flashed me a crooked smile. “I just stripped off your clothes and stuck a suppository up your butt, Kevin. If that doesn’t entitle you to asking me a personal question, I don’t know what does,” she replied. “As for the answer… Yes, I suppose that was the main reason. I had actually just found out I was pregnant with our second child when Michael was diagnosed, but I miscarried a few weeks later. I figured it was because of all the stress, but there may have been something wrong with the baby. We’ll never know for sure why it happened, but my husband and I took it as a sign. We thought maybe it was God’s way of telling us we weren’t meant to have any more children of our own, so we decided not to try for another. We always talked about adopting someday, but we never did. We didn’t have the money – and when Michael got worse, we didn’t have the time or energy to devote to another child either.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, shaking my head. I didn’t understand how Dawn managed to stay so strong and upbeat after enduring so much heartbreak in her life. “That must have been a hard decision to make.”

She nodded. “It was, but I believe everything happens for a reason. Just think – if either of our lives had turned out any differently, we wouldn’t be where we are right now.”

I glanced down at myself, then back up at Dawn. “In the bathroom, waiting for me to take a shit?” I replied, raising my eyebrows. “I’d be okay with that.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. If you hadn’t gotten hurt, you wouldn’t have placed that help wanted ad. And if I hadn’t gone through everything I did with Michael, I wouldn’t have answered it. We probably never even would have met each other.”

“Well, I’m glad we did,” I said, smiling up at her. “Thanks for commiserating with me – and taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome. Make sure you tell Natalie that, too,” Dawn said, handing me my phone. “She’s the one who was with you all night.”

I felt my face redden again as I remembered what Natalie had said earlier: “I’m not sure why you’re punishing me after I waited in the ER with you all night.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I admitted. “I should probably reach out and make sure she’s all right.”

Dawn patted my shoulder. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

After she left the room, I wrote Natalie a text: “Thanks for being there tonight. I love you. Sorry I didn’t show it. You’re welcome to sleep in my bed if you want to. If not, no worries.” I added a red heart emoji to the end before I hit send.

I never got a text back from Natalie, so I assumed she was already asleep or still mad at me. Maybe both. But when Dawn came back to help me finish, she whispered, “You have a guest in your bed.”

At first, I thought she meant Mason. On lazy mornings, he liked to climb into bed with me and cuddle while we watched cartoons. “He can stay,” I said, smiling. Although I was exhausted and craving sleep, I couldn’t turn my son away. I knew he’d probably been up half the night worrying about me. He needed to see for himself that I was really all right.

Dawn didn’t reply, and when I finally left the bathroom a few minutes later, I figured out why: the “guest” in my bed was my girlfriend.

Wearing a slinky lavender nightgown that left little to the imagination, Natalie reclined against the raised head of the bed with her legs crossed, reading a book. When she looked up and saw me, she set the book facedown in her lap and offered me a weary smile. “I love you, too,” she said softly. I knew then that I was forgiven.

“I’ll leave you two alone now,” Dawn said after she helped me transfer into bed. “Try to get some rest. I’ll call and cancel your P.T. for today so you can sleep in. When Mason wakes up, I’ll take him to the park to play so he won’t bother you.”

“Thanks, Dawn,” I said gratefully. As soon as Dawn left, closing the door behind her, I looked over at Natalie. “I didn’t know if you would come or not. When you didn’t text me back, I figured you’d already fallen asleep.”

“I tried to, but I couldn’t sleep,” she said with a shrug. “You ever get to that point where you’re too tired to sleep? That’s where I’m at now.”

I nodded, thinking of late nights on tour and the jet lag that followed long days of traveling. “Believe me, I know the feeling.” Taking a deep breath, I added, “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. You didn’t deserve that, especially after everything I put you through last night.”

“Apology accepted,” she replied. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to disrespect your privacy.”

“You didn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you were only trying to help. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but… there are just some things I don’t want your help with. Wiping my ass is one of them. That’s why I pay Dawn to do it.”

She flashed me a sympathetic smile. “I understand. I guess I wouldn’t want my girlfriend wiping my ass either if I were you.”

“Thanks for understanding.” Eager to change the subject, I glanced down at the book in her lap. “So, what are you reading?”

“Me Before You.” She showed me the cover, which featured a woman in a red dress standing on top of a grassy hill, her arms spread wide. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Never heard of it,” I said with a shrug.

“It’s pretty new. Actually, I’m not sure it’s even been released in the United States yet. My friend Jana picked it up in London last month and told me I just had to read it. She let me borrow her copy.”

“How is it?”

“Pretty good so far.” She paused, then added, “The main character is this girl who gets hired to be a caregiver for this rich guy with a spinal cord injury.”

“Ah… so that’s why your friend recommended it to you.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes, forcing myself to smile instead. “‘Cause you’re dating a rich guy with a spinal cord injury.”

“She thought I could relate,” Natalie admitted with a sheepish grin. “And I can – sort of – but the guy in the book is the complete opposite of you. I mean, he’s a quadriplegic with the same level of injury, but the way he’s described makes him seem so helpless compared to you. He can’t feed himself or anything. All he does is mope around and feel sorry for himself.”

“Been there,” I said with a shrug. “You should’ve seen me the first few months after my accident. I did a lot of moping, too.”

“Well, sure, that makes sense. You were grieving. But this guy got hurt two whole years before the book began.”

“The first two years are the hardest. Honestly, the second anniversary of the accident was actually harder for me than the first,” I admitted. “The first year felt like more of a milestone to me. Like, ‘I made it. I survived a whole year this way. It can only get better from here.’ The second year was when it really sank in that I’m going to be stuck in this body for the rest of my life, that I’m never going to get any better. That was a bitter pill to swallow.”

“You don’t know that for sure, though,” Natalie said. “You never know what might happen in the future. If you keep working hard at your physical therapy…”

I shook my head, shutting her down before she could finish her sentence. “At this point, all physical therapy can do is help me maintain the function I already have, not recover more. My recovery plateaued about three years ago, which they told me is typical with complete spinal cord injuries. I’ve already accepted the fact that this is as good as it’s ever going to get for me.”

“You shouldn’t give up hope,” she argued. “There could be a scientific breakthrough that could help you walk again someday. I bet there’s a team of doctors working in a lab right now, researching ways to heal a broken spinal cord.”

Listening to Natalie talk, I realized how naive she was. I tried to be patient with her, knowing her heart was in the right place. “There may be, but even if they did discover a new treatment or procedure that could help people like me, it would probably take years, maybe even decades, for them to put it into practice. They’d have to do clinical trials and get FDA approval first.”

“Have you looked into any clinical trials?” she asked. “Because you’re right – at some point, they have to test this stuff on real people to make sure it’s safe and all that. If you got into a trial, you could receive the latest treatments before they’re available to everyone else.”

“I don’t wanna be a guinea pig,” I replied flatly. “What if I tried some experimental treatment that made me worse instead of better? I’d rather live like this than risk losing my life or the little function I’ve worked so hard to regain.”

“Sure, that makes sense.” She offered me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, babe; I didn’t mean to push. It just makes me sad to imagine you feeling as miserable as the man in my book.” She slipped a bookmark into the novel, giving the hard cover a pat before she set it on the bedside table.

“It’s all right. I’m not miserable anymore,” I assured her, using the remote to lower the head of my side of the bed. “My life may be a little harder now that it was before, but it’s still a pretty good life. I can’t complain.” I tapped the switch to turn off my lamp.

Natalie did the same on her side, then rolled over to face me. “I didn’t know you were taking an antidepressant,” she said softly.

I tried to decipher the tone in her voice as it drifted through the darkness. It sounded more concerned than accusatory or judgmental, matching the look of sympathy I’d seen in her eyes earlier. “Yeah… I’ve been on one ever since I got hurt,” I told her. “It helped with the depression, anxiety, and insomnia I had after the accident, but nowadays, I take it more to help manage my neuropathic pain.”

“You’re in pain?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

“It’s more of a burning, tingling sensation, like pins and needles.” I struggled to explain the nerve pain I experienced below my level of injury, where I could feel nothing else. “You know when your foot falls asleep? That’s how my legs feel most of the time. The meds help to mask the sensation so I don’t notice it as much.”

“You’ve never mentioned that before.” She made it sound almost like an accusation, like I had hidden it from her on purpose. “I thought you couldn’t feel your legs at all.”

I sighed. “I can’t – not really. This isn’t normal sensation; it comes from having a damaged nervous system. Without the medication, it would feel like someone was stabbing me with a hot knife… but if you actually took a hot knife and stabbed me anywhere below my level of injury, I wouldn’t feel it.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath as Natalie winced. “Ugh, babe… that just made me hurt!”

“Sorry.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Spinal cord injuries are complicated. There’s a lot of side effects I deal with that don’t come up in everyday conversation.” I paused, then added, “People seem to think the worst part of being paralyzed is not being able to walk, but that wouldn’t even make the top five for me. It’s the loss of bladder and bowel control… lack of dexterity… chronic pain… breathing problems… impotence…” I tried to tick the top five off on my fingers, but they remained curled into limp fists on top of my covers, further increasing my frustration.

Natalie reached over and wrapped her arm around me. “It all sounds terrible,” she replied softly, running her hand up and down my right shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to deal with so much.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. My point was that walking again is the least of my concerns. It would be great if doctors could find a way to fix the other stuff first, but I’m not gonna hold my breath and wait for it to happen. I’ve got too much life left to live.”

“I’ve always admired your positive attitude.” She leaned closer, giving me a peck on the cheek. “That’s one of the first things I noticed about you on the day we met. You made a point to smile and say hi to me and my crew as you boarded the plane. You looked me in the eye and used my name when you talked to me. Not all passengers are nice, but you were nothing but polite and friendly for the whole flight. That’s what I found so attractive about you.”

“I thought it was because I was tall, dark, and handsome,” I joked as I slipped my arm around her, hugging her to my side.

“Well, yes – that, too. But your smile makes you even more handsome to me.” She stroked the side of my face, her fingers trailing lightly over my lips. “I just hate the thought of you hiding so much pain behind it.”

I kissed her fingertips. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. I probably made the pain sound worse than it really is. As long as I take my meds, it’s totally manageable. I promise.”

“Speaking of meds…” She paused to clear her throat. “Did your doctor really tell you it was okay to take two of your little blue pills, or did you decide to do that on your own?”

I felt my face flush. “No, not exactly,” I confessed. “That was my dumbass decision.”

“Why did you do it? Were you trying to please me, or was it for your own pleasure?”

“I dunno… both, I guess.” I sighed. “I mean, of course, I wanna please you – that’s the most important thing to me – but I would love to feel something myself, too. I haven’t had an orgasm in almost five years. It’s been frustrating for me because I can’t ever seem to finish what you start. I thought a higher dose might help me perform better, but, obviously, my plan backfired. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m just glad you’re all right. That’s the most important thing to me,” she said, resting her hand on my chest. “As for the bedroom stuff, don’t worry about it. We always knew we would have to do some experimenting to find what works best for us. We’ll figure it out.” She gave me a reassuring pat.

“Thanks for being patient with me. I’ll make another appointment with my urologist,” I promised, placing my hand on top of hers. “He mentioned last time there were other options we could try.”

“Sounds like a plan. But, in the meantime, there are ways to be intimate without having sex,” she murmured, her warm breath tickling my bare skin. “I don’t mind just snuggling.” She pulled the covers up over us so she could burrow beneath them, curling her body even closer to mine. “I love lying in bed with you like this, listening to the sound of your breathing, feeling your heart beat…”

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I looked down at her silhouette nestled comfortably in the crook of my left arm. “I dunno, babe… that sounds more ‘creepy’ than ‘intimate’ to me,” I replied, laughing.

“Oh, hush!” She smacked me as I started taking deliberately low, raspy breaths, letting the phlegm rattle around in my throat. “Way to ruin the moment,” she said through a loud yawn, rolling away from me. “You ready to go to sleep now?”

“Mm-hm.” I could barely keep my eyes open – not that it mattered much in the dark.

Natalie flipped the light back on long enough to help me get into a more comfortable position for sleep, turning me onto my left side and tucking pillows between my knees and ankles. Then she lay down beside me in the same position so that I could spoon her from behind. It didn’t take long for us to fall asleep that way.

When we woke hours later, the afternoon sun was blazing outside my bedroom windows, and the previous night felt like nothing but a bad dream.

***