Best Wife Ever

"I understand," I told her. "But it won't hurt to find out. Please, call the doctor tomorrow and make the appointment. Promise me." She nodded her head.

"Okay," she said. "I will."

She called the next day and made an appointment for later that week. I took a comp day off and went with her. The doctor and I both listened as she explained what was going on. He took notes as she talked and waited for her to finish. Then he consulted her chart before speaking.

"I see you were on hormones before your hysterectomy," he said. "Are you still taking those?" Wendy shook her head.

"They took me off of them and said I wouldn't need them anymore," she said. He nodded his head.

"I see it's also been a while since we've checked your thyroid," he said. "Let's get some blood work done and see what we're dealing with first. Given your history, I also want to check your glucose level. My office will be in touch in a day or two and we'll go from there, okay?"

"Okay," she said. After the doctor left, a nurse came into the room and took a few vials of blood. We left and went home after stopping for a quick bite to eat.

A couple days later, the doctor's office called. Some of her levels were off, including her thyroid, so the doctor called in a new prescription. He also found her glucose levels were elevated and determined that she was diabetic, but not so bad that she required medication. His plan was to see if it could be managed through diet. That didn't surprise me.

I had started reading up on Turner Syndrome on the Internet and a number of sites suggested that diabetes was fairly common among women with the condition. I also made note of the symptoms that were listed and found that Wendy had displayed a number of them over the years.

The doctor also prescribed a new hormone therapy and set her up to visit his dietitian. He also asked her to come back in 30 days for a follow-up. I picked up her new meds and scheduled another day off to visit the dietitian with her. I planned to go on the diet with her, partly to give her support, but also because I wanted to avoid diabetes myself.

It took a few days before we saw results from her new regimen, but it was worth it. Wendy's mood improved considerably and she was almost back to her old self. About a week after the new diet and prescriptions, Wendy met me in the bedroom wearing nothing but a smile. It had been a while since I had seen this.

"You wanna play?" she asked, striking a sexy pose. I took her in my arms and gave her a kiss.

"Always," I said. I started to undress, but she stopped me.

"Let me take care of that," she said as she began unbuttoning my shirt. After she had my shirt off, she took off my belt and unzipped my trousers. She pulled them down with my boxers and knelt in front of me. She gave me a sultry smile as she took my growing manhood in her hands. "This looks delicious," she said before taking me in her mouth.

I groaned as she sucked me to completion. After swallowing my first load, she sat me on the bed, took my shoes and socks off and pulled my trousers off, tossing them on a chair. Then she laid me back on the bed and climbed over me, taking my cock in her hands. After she got me hard for the second time, she positioned herself over me and gently settled herself down, impaling herself on my hard prick.

We both moaned in pleasure and I let her take as much as she felt comfortable with. She felt so tight and wet and it took all my willpower to keep from pounding up into her. I didn't want to hurt her, after all, and this was the most we had done in a very long time.

She leaned over me as she slowly fucked herself on top of me and looked me in the eye.

"This feels so damn good," she said. "I've missed this so much."

"Me too," I said. "You feel so hot and tight. Don't ever stop doing this."

"I won't," she said. "In fact, I may just chain you to the bed and stay just like this, naked for the rest of my life."

"Works for me," I said. After a few more minutes, I exploded inside her and her orgasm hit at the same time. I felt like I could go on for much longer, and started moving under her, but I saw her face grimace just a bit.

"I'm sorry, babe, but I'm starting to get a bit sore," she said, rolling off of me.

"That's alright," I said, holding her close to me. "No need to apologize." She took my cock in her hands and looked me in the eye.

"I'm so glad you didn't take me up on my stupid offer," she said.

"So am I," I told her.

"You have my permission to kick my ass if I ever mention that again," she added.

"I may just take you up on that," I said. She laughed as she gripped my cock.

"This cock is mine," she said. "All mine. And no one else can have it, ever."

"Damn straight," I told her.

"I love you so much," she said, before giving me a deep kiss.

"I love you more," I said in response after we kissed. It felt so good to have the old Wendy back. Our sex life improved quite a bit. We weren't nearly as active as we were when we first married, but it was still very satisfying.

In 1997, Michelle got her bachelor's degree and prepared for the next stage in her education. After we watched her receive her diploma, the three of us went to Annapolis to watch Michael graduate from the Naval Academy as a newly-commissioned ensign.

After the ceremony, he introduced a number of his classmates to us, many of whom thanked Wendy and I for our service. We accepted their gratitude and congratulated them on their achievements. Afterward, I asked Michael what he would be doing.

"I'm going for jets," he said.

"You're going to be a pilot?" I asked him.

"I'm going to be a Naval aviator," he told me with pride.

After we celebrated our children's graduations, we came home and Michelle stayed with us for the summer until she had to back to school. She still had four years of medical school plus her residency before her education was complete.

Over the next 20 years, Wendy dealt with one medical problem after another. She began to develop cataracts, and ended up going through lens replacement surgeries. In 2005, doctors found an aneurysm on her aorta, so she went through yet another heart surgery to replace that. While there, the doctor discovered he would have to replace her mechanical valve, so he put in a pig valve, which he said should last for the rest of her life.

She ended up dealing with one niggling medical problem after another over the next 15 years. At one point, they found a lump in one of her breasts and did a biopsy. Fortunately, it wasn't breast cancer. Doctors fretted over her liver, then her kidneys, and at one point, they were concerned that she was having heart failure. Thankfully, we had good insurance which covered all this stuff, otherwise we would have been bankrupt.

I remember reading that a lot of this could possibly be traced to her Turner Syndrome, which, from what I saw, could decrease her life by as much as 13 years. At this point, I was grateful that she was still alive and I savored every minute with her I could. By that time, I really wasn't all that concerned about sex, or lack thereof. Just having her in my arms was good enough.

She finally retired from Scripps and spent a few quiet years at home. By that time, both of the children had married. Michael had just been promoted to Commander, and was in charge of a fighter squadron assigned to an aircraft carrier. He married a lovely girl he met in Maryland and they now had two children.

Michelle finished her residency and decided to join the Navy to serve as a doctor after she became licensed. By now, she was a Lt. Commander and was stationed at Balboa Naval Hospital, the same facility where Wendy spent much of her career. She had also married, but caught her husband cheating on her with a nurse and gave him the heave-ho with a well-deserved kick to the balls. After her divorce, she began dating another doctor, but there wasn't anything serious between them.

Then it happened. For some time, Wendy had been having difficulty breathing or swallowing her food. It got to the point that the only way she could sleep was if her head was elevated. One night in October 2019, she woke me up, frantic. I could tell she was having a hard time breathing and tried to get her to calm down. Nothing worked and I could tell that she was truly suffering. So I called 911.

The ambulance was there in short order and they took her to the emergency room. I followed behind and ran in as they wheeled her into the exam room. They checked her out as I took care of the paperwork. I had been through this many times, so I felt like an old hand at this by now.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, a doctor came out to inform me that they had found a mass in the back of her throat that prevented her from breathing properly. They took a sample of the mass to determine what it was and had her on a machine that would allow her to breathe. I asked if I could see her, but they said she was sedated at the moment.

So I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I drank one cup of bad coffee after another as I sat waiting for someone to tell me something. I drank so much coffee I had to use the head several times. I even dozed off for a while as I waited for them to tell me what was going on.

Eventually, the doctor came out and pulled me into a small conference room where we could speak in private. That's when he informed me that the mass appeared to be cancerous, and they were prepping her for emergency surgery to remove the mass so she could breathe. He also informed me they were still analyzing it to determine whether or not the tumor was malignant. The surgery could take quite some time, he said, so he suggested I go home and give the nurse my cell number so I could be informed when they were finished.

I followed his advise and headed home after leaving my cell number. I was exhausted, but anxious. When I got home, I called in to work to let them know what was going on and my supervisor told me to take whatever time I needed. I collapsed on the couch and slept fitfully until the chime on my phone woke me several hours later.

When I got to the hospital, I was taken to the recovery area and asked to wait until they had her room prepared. While I was waiting, a doctor came out and gave me the news that they had confirmed the cancer. Although it was a fairly aggressive cancer, they were certain it could be treated through chemotherapy. I signed all the appropriate papers to start her treatment and went to visit her.

My heart broke as I saw her in that hospital bed. She looked haggard and worn, but put on a brave face. I held her hand in mine and kissed her cheek.

"Did the doctor talk to you yet?" I asked. She nodded her head. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," she said weakly. "I'm just worried about you."

"I'll be fine, dear," I said. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." We sat there holding hands until she finally drifted off to sleep. I kissed her on the forehead and went home after the doctor said they were going to keep her for a few days to get her set up for chemo.

My supervisor understood the situation and told me to take whatever time I needed. I had a lot of vacation, sick and comp time saved up, so I took it and made the necessary changes in the house so she wouldn't have to navigate the stairs in her weakened condition.

The next three months were rough. Fortunately, the kids came out for the holidays and Jennifer, Michael's wife, cooked the holiday meals with Michelle's help. By this time, Michael was a Captain in the Navy, and commanded a carrier air group. He took enough leave so they could spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with us. Wendy and I spent as much time as we could with the grandkids.

It was just after Christmas when the doctors discovered her infections. They immediately stopped the chemo until they had settled on a plan of action. You know the rest.

The children were an absolute Godsend. They helped me arrange the funeral and deal with Wendy's final arrangements. We all cried on each other's shoulders during this time.

It was two months after the funeral when I finally decided to tackle the last of Wendy's things. By then, almost everything else had either been given away as she wished or donated to Goodwill. With everyone locked down due to this damn coronavirus thing, I figured this was just as good a time as any to get to it.

I went into the bedroom and looked at the large hope chest that ran the width of our bed. I had made it for her 45 years ago when we first moved into the house, using the table saw and router she had given to me as a housewarming present. Until now, I had never opened the thing so I had no idea what she kept in it.

I remember asking her what she used it for, and she would simply give me a sweet smile and say it was a place for her best memories. Whatever that meant. I figured she kept some knick-knacks or things that had been handed down to her over the years.

When I opened the chest, a part of me felt like I was invading her privacy. I looked inside, wondering what I would find. There was an envelope sitting on top addressed to me. I set that aside for a moment and went through what she had placed in the chest.

I found several notebooks and opened them up. Wendy had kept every picture the children and grandchildren had ever drawn, and had inserted them neatly into sheet protectors. On top of that, she had kept every card, letter and note she had ever received from us. There were several bundles of letters and cards from the three of us and I found that she had kept every note I had given her over the years. She even kept locks of hair from the children that she had collected over the years.

I also found a stack of videos she had made of the family, including a tape of the barbecue where Michael and I played "Dueling Banjos." I decided I would make copies of them for the kids.

I opened the letter and pulled out a handwritten note. I could tell this was fairly recent, as her handwriting wasn't as neat as it used to be.

"My Darling Jeff," it began.

"I don't know if I'm going to survive this operation or not, so I wanted to get this off my chest while I still can. Over the last 50 years, you have made me the happiest woman on earth, and I only hope and pray that I have made you happy as well.

"Please don't cry for me. I've made my peace with God and I'm prepared to meet my Maker with a clear conscience. In the 50 years we've been together, you're the only man I have ever been with and I know you've been faithful as well.

"I also know that you still have needs, so please find someone who will make you happy in your old age. Just promise that you'll remember me from time to time, okay? I'll be here in Heaven waiting for the day when we're reunited.

"Forever your loving wife, Wendy," the note said in conclusion. Tears ran down my face as I read that note three times, knowing it would be the last note from her I would ever read. I put the note back in the envelope and replaced it in the chest, along with her memories.

I closed the chest and decided to keep it closed and locked from that time forward. I looked up at the ceiling, wondering if she could see me.

"I love you, Wendy," I whispered into the room. "And I always will. You were the best wife ever and no one could ever replace you."

...

Notes:

Turner Syndrome is a very real condition that affects about 1 in 2,000 women. Symptoms vary from person to person, but all of the women affected by it are unable to conceive. There is no cure for the condition, but if diagnosed early enough, the symptoms can be treated, and many women are able to live fairly normal lives.

The USNS Mercy actually was deployed during the 1990 Gulf War during the dates in the story. I'm not certain if there were any female corpsmen assigned to it at the time, so I exercised a bit of artistic license there.

And now, back to the madness...