Dawn In The Dark Ch. 04

When I was discharged, I stayed in a hotel nearby so that I could visit every day -- and the doctors and nurses seemed not to mind that I spent so much time probably getting in the way as they went about their business. A week or so later, Harry was transferred to our own local hospital, and Anna insisted on chauffeuring me there for my daily visits. Occasionally, she'd come up to the ward with me and sit for an hour or so but, for the most part, she just left me to it and picked me up again later.

It was nearly three months later before Harry was allowed home. At first, it was just for a weekend because he was still in a wheelchair and they weren't sure how I'd cope with all that was involved in that. He was so happy, though, that it wasn't long before he was back permanently. The district nurse came to see him every day at first, then it was every other day, then once a week as she determined that I was perfectly capable of taking proper care of him.

Anna offered to help -- and she certainly did when it came to cooking, cleaning and ironing -- which she did so cheerfully that it was always a delight to see her. She offered to help with some of the more personal things, but I was happy to take care of all of that. I was his wife, so it was only right that I should be the one who helped when he needed the toilet, when he bathed, when he got dressed and undressed. Those, and similar jobs, were mine and mine alone.

After a few more weeks, he began to try walking on crutches. It was possible -- but only for a few steps because the pain was etched onto his face each time he tried. The physiotherapists did all they could for him, but progress was very little in evidence. For myself, I was just happy when I was able to share our bed with him again, and delighted that he welcomed the darkness of our room. It didn't matter that there was nothing really physical between us, I was content to be able to kiss him goodnight and to welcome the mornings the same way. I know it may seem unbelievable to some of the readers on this site, but the absence of sex didn't bother me in the slightest. Our love for each other was always more important than that.

If I remember correctly, it was a Wednesday morning that Anna turned up at the house with a very good-looking and very smartly dressed man. I invited them in, nervously, and took them through to the living room where Harry was relaxing in his favourite armchair.

"This is Lambert Mortenson the third," she announced proudly indicating her companion and, when it failed to make any expression, she went on, "He's an American... and probably one of the finest surgeons in the world... as well as being a very good friend of mine."

Harry and I looked at each other, both wondering what it was all about -- but we soon found out. 'Lamb,' as Anna called him, sat down with Harry and began to ask him a lot of questions about his operations, about how he felt, what he was and wasn't able to do, and so on. It was clear that he was already familiar with much of it, and that he was mostly confirming what he already knew, but his thoroughness was impressive. At the end of it, he turned and addressed all of us.

"I am reasonably sure that I can help," he announced, in the kind of cultured voice that some Americans have -- more English than most Englishmen, "I don't want anyone expecting too much... but I believe that I can operate on Mr Wilson and enable him to walk again. It won't be any kind of miracle cure. It's going to take time. In fact it may take more than one process... and there won't be any absolute guarantee of success. I hope you'll all understand that."

"Mr Mortenson... I need to know what this is going to cost..." Harry said tentatively, but Anna quickly told him that it was already taken care of. (I later discovered -- to my shame -- that it wasn't any kind of wild sexual transaction such as I'd imagined; it was just Anna spending some of the cash that she'd been left by her late husband).

We talked a lot more, of course, but the upshot was that Harry desperately wanted the chance to recover his feet and be able to be his own man again and, although I was nervous about it, I was also excited at the prospect of being able to see him walk again. We had just about nodded our agreement when 'Lamb' got to his feet, saying;

"Right... it's agreed then. Be ready to leave next Monday morning at eight o'clock. You'll be picked up and taken to a clinic in the countryside of Kent where you'll be staying for at least a month... possibly longer. It's a private facility I've used before for English patients. I'll see you there." And he prepared to leave.

"But what about..." I began, but he turned and gave me a beaming smile.

"As for you, Mrs Wilson... I want you to stay at home for now," and when I went to protest he went on, "Note that I said 'for now.' You'll be able to visit for a few hours next Saturday... and each Saturday after that. And I'm well aware of the way you treat surgeons who seem arrogant!" he said with a wonderfully friendly grin, "But please understand that my concern is for my patient. I give you my word that it's in his best interests."

I was still hesitant, but Anna put her hand on my arm and said: "Dawn, you can trust Lamb. I said he's one of the best... a lot of people say he's the very best. He knows what he's doing." There was almost a pleading look in her eyes and it mirrored the one in Harry's so that, after a second or two, my shoulders slumped and I gave in.

So now, when she asked me "What's the latest about Harry?" I was only able to tell her that he'd had two operations and that 'Lamb' had pronounced himself 'satisfied' with both of them. He was never there when I visited. I was told it was because he had patients in many different parts of the world, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was also keeping out of my way in case I demanded to know more than he was willing to tell me. When I questioned any of the doctors, they simply shrugged and told me I'd have to ask Mr Mortenson.

"But how does he seem?" Anna asked me, "You know... in himself?"

"He seems pretty good, to be honest," I answered her, "he was telling me that that the main difference between private care and NHS was prettier nurses!"

"Then he's definitely on the mend!" Anna laughed, "When's he coming home?"

"Next Saturday, I was told," I said.

"And how's he getting here?" she asked, because I was still wasn't happy driving and Anna had done most of that for me.

"In the same ambulance that took him there, I'm told," I chuckled. We'd seen the ambulance -- it was a huge, luxurious affair that was more like a mobile home than an ambulance. "I don't know whether I'm more eager or more nervous. Mind you... after last night...." And I shivered as the awful memory came surging back and made me burst into tears again. "Could you imagine if he'd come home and found that I'd...." I couldn't manage to finish the sentence and Anna quickly rose to put a comforting arm around my shoulders. After a few minutes, she said:

"Tell you what, Dawn... I'm going over to 'shit-for-brains' house to get my stuff. There isn't much, really... most of its still at my old apartment... I never did move in properly. I'll be a little while because I need to tell him his fortune. Then, if you like, I'll come and stay in the spare room 'til Friday... help you get the place ready for a homecoming. Okay?"

Well, I don't know exactly what she told him what his 'fortune' was going to be, but I heard that Morton sold his company a few weeks later -- at a knockdown price -- and moved to Spain, shortly before their building boom began to implode. We haven't heard anything from him since.

For the rest of the week we enjoyed one another's company tremendously. We redecorated the kitchen, and went shopping together for clothes. Anna was brilliant, with comments like; "That's much too 'tarty' for you, Dawn... I'll take that one!" and "That's perfect! It makes you look vulnerable... and that's what he'll want to see. You'll have to give him the chance of feeling that he's the man of the house again... your strength and your protector."

I followed her advice (for the most part, anyway) and she was also a big help in sorting out the business. She was a long way from being an accountant, but she ought to have been given a degree in common sense. It was Anna who, while I was in hospital, had made Geoff Murphy take charge of the day-to-day running of things. He was in his fifties and had been in the business for most of his life. He'd done an excellent job.

The books were up to date because she'd hired another 'friend' who'd failed the final part of his accountancy exams (from nerves, and I couldn't blame him for that because I'd only just scraped through it myself), and, once again, I couldn't fault what he'd done.

By Friday evening, as she loaded her Landrover up with her possessions, I was almost crying to see her leave. It was even worse when she told me that she was shortly going on a bit of a tour that would take a year or two at least. "Don't worry, Dawn," she told me, "I'll be back to see you... you should know that. You're probably the best friend I've ever had. Anyway, if you don't hear from me for a while... just check out the 'erotic couplings' on Literotica." And then she was in the car, waving, and disappearing down the road.

On Saturday morning, my nerves were so on edge that I couldn't settle to anything. I hadn't been told exactly what time he'd be arriving, so there were times when I needed to go to the toilet but didn't dare to in case he arrived when I was in there. Eventually, of course, I had to go and, (Sod's law!) I was almost caught out. I was actually on my way back down the stairs when, through the landing window, I saw the huge 'ambulance' pulling in and parking on the drive. I hurried down, flung the door open, and stood there waiting while my heart rate went into overdrive.

After a moment or two, the rear doors opened and Harry was pushed onto the hydraulic ramp in a wheelchair. I was aware that it didn't matter to me whether he could walk or not or whether we could hope to make love or not; I wanted him with me, beside me, always.

I watched as the tall handsome figure of Lambert Mortenson III pushed him gently to the foot of the three steps in front of the door. He was beaming. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to get reacquainted for now," he said, "and I'll be back later in the week to see how you're getting on.

Then I gasped with shock as Harry carefully and very slowly, climbed to his feet and, clutched at the rail and slowly made his stiff-legged way up the steps.

I couldn't help myself. I burst into floods of the happiest tears I'd ever known and, as I threw my arms around him, I heard him whisper: "I love you more than you'll ever know, Dawn!"

EPILOGUE:

That was over a year ago. For the most part, Harry still has to use a stick to get around comfortably because the foot that was crushed in the accident will never be quite right. He still has enough vision from his injured to "See that he has the most beautiful wife in the world," so he tells me, and there is only one thing left that left that hasn't completely healed.

As yet, he hasn't been able to obtain an erection. He insists on satisfying my 'needs' with his hands and his lips even though it isn't really necessary. It's enough for me that he's there beside me when I go to sleep; that he's chased away the bad memories of the night our bed was invaded simply with the comfort of his presence.

He knows, because I've told him very truthfully, that a couple of guys tried to hit me when he was in hospital and that I repulsed their advances very sharply (Both Anna and I agreed to say nothing about Morton -- we didn't see any point in telling him the extent to which his former best pal had tried to betray him). He asked if I wasn't even a little bit tempted, so I again told him the truth.

"Anyone can be tempted. But, although I'm not the least bit religious, I promised to 'forsake all others;' and that was 'for better, for worse... in sickness and in health.' And nothing will ever change that."

We have enough money to retire if we wanted to now (the luxury homes were all sold, and all at the asking price, and another similar project is under way with Geoff Murphy taking very competent charge), but Harry likes to oversee the business himself and still likes to have me checking what he calls 'Whatever our failed accountant is doing.'

And there is still hope.

The other morning, when he 'spooned' behind me in bed, I felt a definite twitching and slight beginning of the hardness that I love. Someday, maybe soon (although I'm happy to wait!) that thing is going to blossom again. And when it does, I'll be ready! I'm still happy to believe that, someday, Harry will be able to give me the baby that will make our lives complete.

POSTSCRIPT:

If you don't like the ending -- tough! It ends that way because this story was inspired by a friend of mine.

Most of it is fiction, of course, but my friend (I'll call her Dawn and her husband Harry, even though those aren't their names) went through exactly this kind of hell. The real-life 'Harry' used to race motorbikes -- just for a hobby -- and he was involved in a near fatal crash. His injuries were horrific.

Through the long process of mending, he was in and out of hospital many times and it was thought that the lower part of his body would remain totally useless for the rest of his life.

During that time, 'Dawn,' who was, and still is, an exquisitely beautiful lady (She was 23 at the time of the accident and is now in her thirties) was 'hit on' many times by predatory males -- many of whom were more than acceptable by anyone's standards. She was resolute, however, never gave up hope, and absolutely refused to betray her husband. She was the one who reminded me that she'd taken vows she would never dream of breaking.

I was with her one time -- we were having a cup of coffee in a 'Costa' shop - when two very attractive young men tried to chat us up. I wasn't interested (I'm in a pretty good relationship) and I was deeply impressed by the way she politely, but firmly, turned them away. It was obvious that she'd become fairly used to doing that.

She also managed her husband's motor repair shop business when he wasn't able to be there -- very successfully, I might add.

A brilliant surgeon did eventually operate on her 'Harry' and with excellent results. To cut to the chase, they now have a beautiful 4-year-old daughter (I'm her proud godmother!) with another child on the way.

Although I'm sure she'll never read it here, this story is my tribute to her, to her lovely husband and, of course, to my wonderful goddaughter.

THE END