Badge of Betrayal

I gave Shannon's hands a slight squeeze with my left hand and managed to give her a slight smile, even though I know she could see the hurt and disappointment. I looked away, but not before seeing the sympathetic and disappointed look on her own face.

"But if it makes you feel better," she said hopefully, "I just received word from Doctor Slattery. As long as your latest labs come back okay this afternoon, you will be moved out of intensive care and to a room on the Med/Surg floor!"

I mustered a smile again and said, "Thank...you."

"Get some rest, Mr. Quinn. I'll be right here if you need anything." She turned to go, but I continued to hold on to her hand. For one, it just felt good. And two, I wanted to tell her something. "Yes, Mr. Quinn? Is there something else?"

"Don't....call me...Mister Quinn. Call me....Patrick. Please," I managed with no small effort.

Shannon gave me another heartwarming smile, squeezed my hand again and said, "Okay, Patrick. Get some rest now."

My blood work that afternoon came back showing steady improvement. I still had a couple of infections to fight off, one in my right leg and another in my right arm. But so far, I was still able to remain free of pneumonia, which was a big fear considering my lung injuries.

I still had a chest tube in my right lung, which caused no small amount of discomfort. But the thing that really had me upset the most was the damned urinary catheter they had shoved up my dick. There was just something really humiliating and emasculating about it, although I can't really say why. I guess there are just some things a man needs to be able to do for himself. And one of those things is being able to hold his own dick to take a piss.

Shannon told me that I wouldn't be moved out of intensive care until early the next morning, which she said she was happy about because she would get to take care of me for a few hours longer. I would come to find out that Shannon fought tooth-and-nail for the right to be able to take care of me and insisted on working extra shifts so she could be there for me every day. In total, the surgery that I had after I was brought to the hospital lasted for 16 hours and involved a total of 36 personnel, including 9 doctors who assisted Doctor Slattery.

Shannon's nursing shift ended that night at 7 pm. She knew that I would most likely be in another room by the time she arrived for her next shift the following morning as they would probably try to move me before breakfast. Shannon entered my ICU suite at six o'clock that evening and brought in a small cart with a bowl of soapy water and numerous wash cloths and towels.

"Since you're feeling a little better, I thought I would send you off to your new room with a bath and a fresh set of linens," she said.

I had gained a little more strength throughout the day and my throat didn't hurt quite so much, mostly because Shannon had been allowing me to drink some water and juice through a straw instead of receiving all of my fluids through my IVs.

"You mean, like a sponge bath or something?" I asked.

"More or less," she replied. "We don't really use sponges, just rags and towels. I promise to be careful around the bandages to your right arm and leg, though, and especially around your chest tube. Depending on how your chest x-ray looks tomorrow, that might get to come out, too!"

Shannon was about to help me take off the light gown covering my upper body, as well as the sheet that was covering me from the waist down. It made me kind of nervous because it would pretty much expose me in all of my not-so-much glory and I was extremely self-conscious of the catheter - and also because of the fact that I certainly didn't have the biggest dick in the world, either. I wasn't small by any means, probably on the high end of average.

I also had a pair of testicles that I was extremely self-conscious of, as well. Not because they were small and shriveled, either, quite the contrary. My balls were huge and they damned near hung halfway between my crotch and my knees. I guess I had always been self-conscious of them because the first girl I ever showed my package to was Kathy Steenson back in high school. Kathy wanted the privilege of being the first girl to ever give me a blow job. Instead of getting to know the pleasures of blowing a nut in a girl's mouth for the first time, Kathy was grossed out by what she described as my "hairy, freaky old man balls". Needless to say, Kathy Steenson didn't want to date me anymore after that so it wasn't until I got to college before I got my first blowjob. And I insisted on that being in the dark to avoid the shame and disappointment of a similar experience.

And I really liked Shannon and didn't want to embarrass myself in front of her, either.

"Uh, Shannon?"

"Yes, Patrick?" she replied while prepping for my bath.

"Do you, um, have a towel I could use to maybe.....cover up with a bit?"

Shannon stopped for a moment before saying, "Well, Patrick, it is important that I do my very best to try and get you nice and clean. So I'm going to need to wash everything. You're doing such a great job of fighting off those infections and we don't want you to get hit with another bug while you're on the mend," she explained.

"Oh, I guess you're right," I said. "I suppose it isn't like you haven't seen everything already anyway, either," I replied sheepishly.

Shannon said nothing and turned away briefly, but not before I caught her smiling to herself knowingly. But she remained professional anyway.

Shannon slipped the thin gown off me and pulled the bed sheet above my waist as she was going to start the bath from my head and work her way down. She had put a "Do Not Enter" sign on the sliding door and had closed the interior curtains around my bed. She soaked one of the rags in the warm, soapy water and started around my left ear and neck and proceeded to wipe down my upper body. The warm, soapy water had a soothing effect and I began to feel very refreshed. She helped me sit up for the first time in over a week and gently washed my back. She was very tender and caring, particularly when washing around my incision sites, wounds and my chest tube. It took her about 15 minutes to finish the first half of the bath.

"Okay now, Patrick. We're finished with your upper body. Now we're going to wash from the waist down. I'll start with your feet."

She took the warm, soapy cloth and washed the bottom of my feet, working the rag in between each of my toes. Shannon seemed to have a slight smile of contentment on her face. Not a smile of prurience, but one of a dedicated nurse who truly enjoyed taking care of her patients.

Shannon worked her way up my legs, washing and massaging my leg muscles as she did. I didn't realize how stiff and cramped I was all over. After all, I had been lying nearly motionless in the same bed for over a week prior to yesterday morning.

She eventually worked her way up to my thighs, again being careful of the gunshot wounds to my right leg. But it was when she gently started to wash my groin that things got interesting. Shannon lifted each leg up and washed right up to the bottom of my buttocks. She gently washed my groin and then very tenderly lifted up my scrotum and testicles. The sensation of her washing my private area, especially with a very soft and wet cloth, was exquisite. Without warning, Mother Nature started taking her effect and I could feel the rapid onset of an erection.

Normally, it wouldn't be a huge deal. But when you have a rubber hose the size of a pencil running into your dick, hardons become a problem. It was uncomfortable and I was afraid it was going to hurt soon.

"Um, Shannon, I think I need you to stop," I said. I started to tense up all over.

"It's okay, Patrick. I'm just about finished."

Fortunately, in a way, the discomfort from the catheter prevented me from becoming fully erect. But when Shannon took my semi-erect penis in her hand and began to gingerly wash me, I had to try very hard to stifle a sigh of sexual longing.

"There now," Shannon said with satisfaction. "You're all nice and squeaky clean!"

Shannon retrieved a nursing assistant named Bonnie to come in and help her change the sheets, which is no easy task when there is still someone lying in the bed. When they were finished, Shannon's shift was nearly over. She would give report to her replacement and then she would be free to head home to her daughter. Shannon returned after her report to say goodbye and good night. Again, there were fresh tears in her eyes.

"I want you to know how special it has been for me to be able to help take care of you, Patrick. Having this opportunity meant a lot to me. I feel like I owe you so much for getting my daughter back to me," she said on the verge of crying.

"Thank you for taking good care of me," I replied hoarsely.

"I'll be down to check on you in your new room to make sure they are taking good care of you," she went on, trying to hide her tears. "I gotta make sure my friends down on Med/Surg are keeping a close watch on you."

"I'm sure they will," I replied.

"Good night, Patrick. Rest well." Shannon turned, opened the curtains again and then the sliding glass door to my suite. She paused at the door and turned to give me one last look, gave me another beautiful smile, although sadder this time, and then left the intensive care unit.

I was awakened at 0600 when several nurses arrived, along with my overnight nurse Tina, who then took me to my new room on the Med/Surg floor, which stands for "medical/surgical". It is the floors that patients are often admitted to who have medical illnesses they are being treated for or who are recovering from surgery.

My nurse on this floor was actually a male named Brian who was cool as hell. He was aided by a nursing assistant named Cherie who carried out a lot of the routine check ups such as my vital signs and temperature.

About 10 o'clock that morning, my wife Clarissa finally showed up to visit me, although she did not bring the boys.

I told her how great it was to see her and how much I missed her. I asked her why she hadn't been up to see me before now.

"What do you mean?" she asked, rather angrily. "I spent most of the first week up there! I waited forever while you were in surgery for over 16 hours! And you think I've been ignoring you?"

"Well, no," I said. "But I woke up two days ago and haven't seen you until now. I was just kind of getting lonely and wondering where you were. That's all."

"No one has been ignoring you, Patrick. And I sure as hell wasn't about to let the boys come up here and see you while you were in this condition," Clarissa said as she tried to make herself more comfortable. "Besides, you were in the intensive care unit. The boys and I have all been fighting allergies and stuff and I didn't want to take a chance that we might be coming down with something."

I was still too weak to put up much of an argument. We spent an hour with the docs visiting about what my prognosis was. Dr Slattery and Dr Morganstern, the hospitalist who would be overseeing my care from now on, talked with my wife and I about the future of my care and how soon I might be able to go home. The good news was that I was making progress and Dr Morganstern thought I might be able to leave in about another 4 to 6 weeks. The bad news was, at least to me, is that I would be stuck in a hospital for over another month. It felt like a prison sentence.

After about two hours, Clarissa said she needed to be getting back home and would be back to see me tomorrow.

"Really? You're leaving already? You haven't been here that long," I pleaded.

"Well, Patrick, I've been here for over two hours. I've gotta head home, clean house and get ready for the boys to come home from school. They're gonna be starving. Plus, I have to feed the horses, the calves and the rest of the animals. I can't stay here forever," she said as she put on her jacket.

I couldn't understand why Clarissa would be acting so distant and reserved. I figured she would be ecstatic to see her husband doing better. Instead, she acted more like a regular visitor instead of my wife.

"Yeah, okay," I said, defeated. "Be sure to tell the boys that I love them and can't wait to see them. Maybe you can bring them by tomorrow? I don't think I can handle not seeing them for one more day."

"Well, you've already gone well over a week without seeing them. One more day or two isn't going to hurt. We've got to think about them and how this is all affecting them, too, you know. I'll see you tomorrow." Clarissa walked over, gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and left the room. And just like that, she was gone.

I started breathing quicker, my chest swelled with pain, and I was afraid I was going to burst out in hysterical crying right there. My heart rate shot up and soon my nurse Brian was in the room to see if I was okay.

"Yeah, yeah," I assured him. "I'm okay. Just really missing my kids right now," I told him, trying to hide being suddenly and overwhelmingly pissed at my wife.

I couldn't believe that Clarissa was so cold and distant. I know that if she had been sick or injured, wild horses wouldn't have been able to drag me from her side. She and I have had our ups and down over the years, particularly ever since I got hired at the Sheriff's Department a couple of years ago. The move for me from Red River Falls PD to the Sheriff's Department had been a good one for us since it allowed us to move from Red River Falls out into the county where we purchased a small ten acre ranchette.

Clarissa had been diagnosed with a low testosterone disorder, which greatly affected our intimacy. She could have chosen to take her doctor's advice and accept a prescription for a medication which would almost certainly take care of the problem. Instead, my wife always opted for herbal remedies that she insisted were healthier for her but did little or nothing to help her condition. After a great many arguments on the subject, I decided that any sex with Clarissa, no matter how infrequent, was as good as it was going to get for me. It wasn't worth me risking my boys growing up in two households to get a divorce. So we just continued on, Clarissa doing her thing and me wallowing in my celibacy. I don't even need all of the fingers on one hand to count the number of times we have had sex in the last year.

The only bright spot occurred almost two years ago, shortly after I became a deputy. Things were pretty rough between me and Clarissa. My mother-in-law Caroline was going through a rough patch herself with her third divorce at the time. While helping me out at our acreage one day, Caroline sensed an opportunity and proceeded to give me the most amazing blow job I had ever received. It was the kind of blow job where my testicles ached for a few hours afterward due to the ferocity with which I had blown my load in my mother-in-law's mouth! Things only escalated from there over the next month or so when I helped Caroline out at her small acreage that she was preparing to leave following the divorce. Whether it was in the horse stalls in the barn, her living room, her enormous king size bed -- Caroline and I fucked every which way you can imagine and then some. It was the most amazing and fulfilling series of sexual encounters in my life.

And as quick as the trysts had started, they ended just as fast. Caroline met a man and eventually moved to the Twin Cities and we saw her less and less. I still think about her often, though, and the mind movies of our sexual encounters still produce an instant and raging erection. On the extremely rare occasions when Clarissa and I do actually have sex, I'm almost ashamed to say that I spend most of the session thinking about her mother. Almost ashamed.

The whole affair caused me a small amount of guilt. I'm not that big of a pig that I felt no remorse over stepping out on my marriage briefly. But that guilt has steadily faded over the last year each time I have been rejected and refused by my own wife. And the guilt has been replaced by an increasing sense of anger, jealousy and confusion. I always told myself that if I didn't know better, I would think she was having an affair.

I didn't think it was possible because Clarissa was a stay-at-home Mom. Until this year, she had been homeschooling both of our boys. But now that both were getting older, they decided they would like to be with their friends in public school. I detest the nearly 1 hour bus ride they endure daily each way to get to school in Red River Falls, but the boys seem happy. And that's what is most important to me and their Mom.

The following day Brian gave me the excellent news that he would be in shortly to remove my urinary catheter. I was almost ecstatic. It didn't even bother me that he was going to have to hold my penis with his own hands to do it, either. I was just glad that they were going to take that damned tube out of my dick!

Clarissa didn't show up that day until almost supper time. I tried calling the house several times but got no answer. But when she did arrive, she had the best medicine - she had brought the boys with her.

Nick and Jake both shouted "Dad!" and rushed to my side. Clarissa admonished and cautioned them to be careful as I still had injuries that were slowly healing. The boys both hugged me on the left side of my body and were very careful about the remaining IV in my left arm and my chest tube. With luck, the chest tube would be getting removed the following day.

The boys talked pretty much endlessly for two hours straight, telling me all about their friends, school, sports and what they thought of my whole experience. They told me that all of their friends thought I was a hero and thought it was so cool that I had shot and killed two very bad people. That got to me a bit. Even though I was very glad that little Bridget was okay, I still hadn't been able to wrap my head around the fact that I had taken the lives of two people. Even still, it made me happy to know that my boys were proud of me. I couldn't help but be glad to sense that my experience had even given my sons a little bit of gravitas of their own, especially for Nick who was my oldest and who was now navigating the social minefields inherent in junior high school - especially since he was basically a new kid in school, despite living in or near Red River Falls his entire life. Even though homeschooling is becoming more and more prevalent, especially in Mason County, there is still a bit of a social stigma to being a home school kid. Anything to help deflect the attention of a bully away from my kids was a good thing. And if the cause of that was me shit canning a couple of meth heads, then so be it.

At precisely 7 pm Clarissa said, "Okay, boys. It's time to head home. Tell Dad good night and you'll see him again soon." The boys both whined their displeasure and asked if they could stay a bit longer, to which my wife adamantly said, "No! Grab your stuff so we can go. It's still a school night and you both have homework."

I hugged both boys tightly with my one good arm and told them to come see me soon. Before she left Clarissa turned to me and said, "Do you need anything before I come back again?"

"Well," I said with a slight smirk on my face, "they did take my catheter out today. Maybe you could sneak back in later after visiting hours and we can fool around a bit."

"Oh, God, you're pathetic," she said rather loud and with some hidden contempt. "Is that all you ever think about? Even when you're near death? The answer is no, I won't be coming back later tonight. But if you really need something, I can bring it tomorrow or whenever."

"Okay, okay. Jeez. Keep your voice down." I figured everyone out in the hall probably heard her. "If you want to bring me something then get me some decent toothpaste and a toothbrush. All these pain meds make me sleep so much that my mouth tastes like a urinal and I have constant morning breath."