In Sickness and in Health

Over the next couple of days, I found out just how helpless I was. It was like being a newborn. Somebody had to feed me. And wash the few bits of my body not bandaged. The biggest thing for me was the toilet stuff. I had a tube taking my urine away but when my bowel kicked in, it got more humiliating. The bedpan was bad enough but having to get an orderly to roll me away and then back onto it, followed by a nurse wiping my bottom after was terrible. With my bandaged hands, I couldn't even hold a drink bottle. When I was thirsty, I had to ask someone to get me a drink.

Any improvement was very slow, almost imperceptible even to me. It was like I was marking time. I'd wake up, get fed, go back to sleep. At ten o'clock, physical therapists would come in, manipulate my limbs and give me small exercises to try, more sleep. Next was lunch, then more sleep. I always looked forward to the afternoon because I got to watch my son. Emily was with me most of the time but a hospital crèche looked after Edward in the mornings.

Between them, they kept my spirits up. The uncertainty of my future still hung over me but with them around, I was sure I could make it. Except for every third afternoon. Every third day they changed my dressing in the morning. It took between two and three hours with three people working on me. First they unwrapped m. Apart from my groin, bottom and head, the rest was covered in light compression bandages. Then the wound dressings came off and I lay naked on a table while they inspected and discussed how healing had progressed or in some cases regressed.

The final ignominy was the endless photographs, fucking digital cameras. There must be one hell of a big digital file on my doctors, occupation therapists, and burns dressing nurse's computers. Why the hell they couldn't just take one series of pictures and share them I'll never know? They said they needed them to track my progress but it felt very invasive at times.

I was often told that the skin is the largest organ of the body and one of its main tasks is temperature regulation. After forty minutes laying naked on a table I knew all about it. Despite having the heating turned up to the maximum, my teeth would be chattering and sometimes I shivered uncontrollably. They would put a heated blanket on me but it would have to come off to re wrap my body.

The first time I saw my naked body, I was shocked. Sixty days on a feeding tube and glucose drip meant there'd been some dramatic weight loss. I'd gone from ninety two kilograms down to sixty. My legs and arms were skin and bone. My muscles had just wasted away. I was really disappointed to look down and find I still had my little pod stomach. While I'd been in the army, I hadn't been in special forces so as a guy sitting in logistics I had developed a minor middle aged spread. It appeared to be still steadfastly attached.

Not only were the muscles gone but the ability to coordinate them was mixed up as well. My fingers had been splinted straight for the same reason I had been laid out like I had been crucified. To stop the healing skin from contracting and forming scar tissue. When the splints were removed, the therapist asked me to bend my fingers, . I sent the message from my brain but they steadfastly refused to move.

"Try again," she said, this time putting pressure on the tips forcing them to move.

"Arghh," I groaned pulling my hands away.

"Those tendons are rusted up aren't they." She retrieved my hand and this time holding it firmly began manipulating each finger individually.

I gritted my teeth and tried to breathe through the pain. Hand therapy, started twice a day and it became my second most hated part, just behind the dressing changes. After two weeks, I could hold a water bottle to get a drink but I couldn't undo the lid. They gave me a knife, fork and spoon with big handles like old people with arthritis use. Even then, the simple act of picking up food with a fork or scooping up some with a spoon and getting it into my mouth took practice and intense concentration.

Slow progress got me down. When you are unable to perform simple everyday tasks and are trapped in a bed, there is too much time to dwell on what's been lost. Emily fought hard to keep me going, I leant heavily on her seemingly boundless reserves of strength. Of course, Edward always cheered me up, even when he was crying.

Friends and family visited, which was a double-edged sword. It was great to see them but I'm not sure they enjoyed seeing me. They would have been warned about my appearance but seeing it first hand is something else. There was often a double take or a sharp intake of breath as they looked at my shrunken bandaged body. My hairless, red and scabby head and face didn't help much either.

Still there were many repeat visits and more importantly, they rallied around Emily to keep her going. The boss of the company I worked for in Afghanistan came in after three weeks. Emily regarded him suspiciously but they had kept paying my contract and insurance was covering the hospital stay. He told us they were organising a place for me at a private rehabilitation centre when I was ready to leave the burns ward. Then he hit me with an offer from left field.

"When do you think you could come back to work?"

"Don't you think..." Emily started raising her voice but he cut her off.

"All from Australia, no more overseas work." He added quickly to placate her.

"What could I do?" I shrugged helplessly and gestured at my body.

"We are really impressed by the procedures and protocols you put in place. As of yesterday, we still haven't had an incident with any of our crews or convoys. We want to keep it that way so if you could look over your replacements reports and future plans, then hopefully we can spot any problems before they happen."

"One of my eyes has been damaged so reading's difficult..."

"I can help." Emily interjected, suddenly enthusiastic about the idea.

"Look. I'm not saying today. Just whenever you're ready. The company considers you an important asset."

After a brief hesitation I agreed, holding out my bandaged hand to shake his. He took it uncertainly holding it like he was shaking hands with a child.

"That didn't hurt did it?" He inquired.

"No, no," I assured him. "I haven't had too much pain. They are cutting back on my meds but I haven't noticed."

I didn't do any work in the burns ward. After five weeks, they felt I was ready to move on to rehabilitation. My skin was mostly healed but still delicate. My bandages had been replaced by a compression suit that I wore twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Except for when bathing every second day. It wasn't as bad as it sounds, more like a full body support stocking. It came in four pieces, two gloves, a facemask and the body suit with a zipper up the back.

After bathing, any trouble spots would be identified and dressed before I put on a freshly laundered suit. I had two and they had been hand made to fit my exact measurements. I was in a wheelchair, while I could hop in a Zimmer frame, I didn't have a prosthetic leg. The skin covering my stump was still too tender to withstand the rigors of walking.

The rehab centre was modern and sleek. Nursing care went down and physical activity went up. There were exercise sessions twice a day in the gym and self-help skills workshops squeezed in either side. Work had set up a small workstation in the corner of my room and in the evenings Emily and I would spend a couple of hours looking over whatever they e-mailed through. It was great to feel like I was contributing again. The first weekend I had to stay 'in house' but the occupational therapist in charge of my case told Emily that I should be allowed out for a night the next weekend if it was passed by the doctor.

That's when some anxiety crept in. On my third day at rehab after I had finished my allotted tasks for the day, I was laying on the bed with Emily relaxing. Edward was asleep in his stroller, gurgling occasionally. It was all very innocent, just lying on top of the covers side by side. I turned and put my arm across her chest and put my leg over hers, snuggling close, and it happened. I started getting an erection.

I must admit the thought of sex hadn't entered my mind before then. Although the fact that area had remained unscathed was a great relief. Emily noticed my arousal as well and she turned away slightly so it was no longer touching her. It was subtle but I began to wonder just how close we were going to be. The fight before I left and now my disfigurement and disabilities. Hardly the things to stir the blood of a young beautiful woman.

It ate away at me the first weekend at rehab. Emily had to return to her hometown to attend the wedding of her sister. We had both tried, half-heartedly, to get the doctor to agree for me to go. In the end, he said no. It was relief for me because I was sure I didn't want to become the freak show attraction at the wedding. Emily needed a break away from me too. The last one hundred days were probably tougher on her than me.

She left on Friday morning so she could be there for a pre wedding dinner the night before. Her not being there in the afternoon left a big hole in my day. I spent an extra hour in the gym but the evening dragged on. The weekend was worse, the gym and other activity rooms were closed. I spent a lot of time thinking and thoughts of my future with or without Emily festered. I spoke to her on Saturday morning briefly. She was hung over and trying to get ready for the lunchtime wedding.

I didn't want to appear needy but I rang her back three more times that afternoon and evening. I didn't get an answer, just her message bank. It didn't help my unease. The next morning I rang again and her mother answered. She was the only one awake, having risen to feed and look after Edward.

Emily's mum assured me that she would get Emily to call when she got up. For all I knew she hadn't even made it home. I admonished myself for thinking that way, she didn't deserve it. All she had done for me and I was thinking the worst of her. I wondered whether I would have been able to cope as well if it had have been Emily who was sick or injured.

I swung between love and hate for the rest of the day. Emily rang about two in the afternoon. She was very apologetic, said she was just about to leave and she would make it to rehab in time for dinner that night. I tried to be calm and watch television the rest of the afternoon but I was clock watching for most of it. When she walked in pushing Edward in his stroller, I almost cried. She noticed I was upset and came and hugged me in my chair.

"Heh, are you okay?"

"Yes," I wiped my eyes trying to hide my weakness. "It's just been a long quiet weekend."

She hugged me again, kissing my cheek and stoking my head. "We missed you too."

Edward protested that he was being left out so Emily unstrapped him and placed him on my knee. Then she retrieved her camera from the basket under the stroller and she went through photos from the two nights. I lost it completely when she plugged in a memory card that she had stored little video messages from family members and friends for me. I was so guilty for thinking the worst.

The next week I threw myself into my rehab with renewed gusto. The messages firing me to get better as quickly as I could. Before I knew it, it was Friday and I was going home for the first time. The nurses and Emily washed me and got me into my freshly laundered compression suit. An hour later, I was being wheeled down the hallway of my house.

In the kitchen, I was greeted by three old army friends and their wives. They had a beer waiting for me, my first since the accident. I'd love to say it tasted great but I struggled to finish it. The boys took turns to lie and say how great I looked,. I tried to steer the conversation away from me. It didn't work so I had to relive the bombing and its aftermath again. I was comfortable doing it but wished I could just melt into the background, as I would have before.

After dinner they left, Emily put Edward down for the night and then tried to help me upstairs. Hopping was easy on a flat surface but up the stairs was a different thing.

"I can make a bed downstairs if you want?" Emily said after I nearly collapsed on the third step.

Did she want me up there? Was this the excuse she was looking for? I was tired, frustrated that I couldn't get up the stairs and more scared than ever about our relationship.

"Do you want me up there?" I asked slumping down on the next step.

"Yes," she sat down beside me, "but I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Then I'll get there, I'll just have to crawl."

And that's what I did. I crawled up the rest of the stairs, then along the corridor to our bedroom. Emily brought in a bowl, a glass of water and my toothbrush so I could brush my teeth, then went to do her own. Lying back after I had finished, I waited for her to return. She came back, took the bowl and toothbrush away, before returning in her pajamas. I had my compression suit and a pair of boxers on, but I'd removed the mask as I had found it interfered with my breathing too much at night.

She got in and turned her back to me pulling my arm around her, then shuffling back so we were spooning. My heart swelled and I kissed the back of her head.

"I love you, thank you so much." I was battling tears again.

Emily pulled my arm tighter around her, then lifted my hand to her face and kissed it. "I love you, too."

She kissed it again then put my hand back down so it was encircling her rib cage. We lay like that for a short period, being that close to my wife again I became aroused. Not wanting to push the issue, I twisted a little so I was pressing against the mattress not her body. My hand was just beneath the swell of her breast, I moved it slightly higher so three of my fingers were in contact.

There was no adverse reaction so I went further, lightly tracing the outline of the curve before moving towards the nipple. It was erect, straining against the fabric. Emily reached back with her arm placing her hand on my butt as she pushed back so my erection was again pressed into her. I kept playing with her breasts sliding between the two.

Lifting her shirt, Emily put my roaming hand under so I was making direct contact with her flesh. Then she pressed her hand between us and inside my boxer. She found my hard cock. She stroked while I caressed, flicked and twisted. Both of our breathing became elevated. I was unsure how I was going to proceed,. I was quite happy to continue playing but Emily's need was greater.

She rolled on her back and pushed off her pants. I was still on my side facing her, playing with her breasts. After she lifted her closest leg over me, I twisted a bit and slid my leg between hers bringing my cock up against her opening. Emily reached down impatiently and put my head at her entrance then pushed down groaning as I entered her.

"Is that okay?" She panted.

"Yes."

"I'm not hurting you?"

"Oh god no!"

I thrust a few times but that wasn't enough for Emily, using my leg as a lever, she slammed herself against me.

"Fuck I'm going to cummm.."

"Me too."

She was first but I wasn't far behind. It was no sexual marathon, probably less than a minute but it was the most intense sexual experience of my life. After, as we cuddled I knew we were going to be all right. It was ridiculous really, after all she had done to prove her love, I still had doubts until that sweaty minute. Men, we can be such shallow creatures. Whatever the cause, from then on I knew I would get through this, and see my child grow up. I had a future with my wife. My beautiful loving wife.