It Only Took a Second

The understanding of how much I craved the smell and flavor of her crotch allowed her, a few minutes after my release, to enjoy the sensation of my tongue which brought her to an intense, roiling climax.

She returned the "favor" a few hours later and smacked her lips loudly and comically after she brought me to an orgasm inside her mouth. By the end of our honeymoon, we were almost too sore to have sex or even touch each other's genitals more than gently.

We were newlyweds. We were husband and wife. We were mated. We made a hell of a lot of love, experimenting, testing, discovering, and becoming much less clumsy. We had an incredible amount of intense, physical fun in those six months before the accident.

Then... it happened. It happened in the very park in which we were engaged and wed.

We were both jogging a newly completed and paved hike-and-bike path. The jog turned into a sprint as we tried to reach the safety of our car before an approaching thunderstorm caught up to us. The winds were fierce in the shallow canyon. We were less than a half mile away from the parking lot when a strong gust split a limb from a palo verde tree.

The mind does strange things. I was maybe ten strides behind Kaley, so I saw it happen right in front of me, but I remember very, very little of it now. I must have witnessed it, but... my mind has healed, which included the purge of the graphic visual memories. The only thing I remember now is the sight of Kaley, facedown on the path, with the eight-inch-thick branch across her neck and shoulders. Her body was bent in odd angles, and I knew better than to try to move her. All I could manage to do was shift it off of her back so she could breathe easier.

I also distinctly remember her first words.

"Steven, I can't move my legs."

The words came out of her mouth more calmly than I thought they should, but the terror in her eyes conveyed the emotion absent in her voice.

We began getting pelted by small hail. I removed my windbreaker and hung it over her like a minuscule tent from the branch to keep the rain out of her face as best I could.

"Don't move, Kales. Please don't," I begged. "Hold on. I'm going to go get help."

I had no choice but to abandon her there alone because my cellphone had no signal in the canyon. It seemed to take an hour to run the last half mile, but I'm sure I covered it in less than four minutes, despite the intense rain. It took me longer to find the ranger's station from the car.

A huge guy stared at me in surprise when I crashed through the door, soaking wet and breathless.

"My wife is hurt, and she can't move her legs! Call an ambulance! Please !"

"Take me to her," he insisted, putting on his raingear and throwing me an extra cover to use.

He grabbed a first-aid kit from the wall, though I was certain it wouldn't contain any miracles. He spoke unintelligible code words into a radio.

He drove a ruggedized utility vehicle, and I directed him. He maneuvered it around the concrete bollards at the edge of the parking lot, then drove it along the paved pathway.

As he neared the location where I'd left my wife, I saw that the arroyo paralleling the path had become swollen with rushing water. It had risen to within two feet of the trail, and I began to panic. I was beyond relieved to see the water hadn't yet risen to where my wife was situated. I also noticed my windbreaker was nowhere to be found. It must have been blown away. I replaced it with the slicker the ranger had given me.

I held my wife's hand and kept adjusting the makeshift shield to keep the rain off of her, though she was soaked to the bone already. The ranger unfolded one of those silvery thermal blankets and tucked it carefully around my wife's prone body when he observed her becoming hypothermic.

It was twenty minutes before the ambulance arrived. The EMTs, after performing their assessment, called for an air ambulance. A helicopter arrived fifteen minutes later, partly because the pilot had to wait for the tail of the storm to pass. They had her aboard and in the air ten minutes after it touched down. I became infuriated because they wouldn't let me go with her as they flew her to Phoenix. They insisted there wasn't room for me. The ranger had to hold me back.

The helicopter was airborne for barely thirty minutes, but I spent two agonizing hours driving. I called Kaley's parents from the hospital almost as soon as I'd arrived. They were dismayed, and told me they would book the first flight from New York they could find. I paced the waiting area for a half hour before a surgical nurse came to give me news.

"She broke her clavicle and dislocated her shoulder. She's going to be in surgery at least four more hours. She's stable. That's the important thing right now," he encouragingly said.

"What about her legs? She said she couldn't move them."

"I can't tell you more. You're going to have to wait until a surgeon can update you. There's two of them in there, an orthopedic surgeon and a neurologist. All I can tell you is that they're doing everything they can, and they're two of the best on staff at this time of night."

It was almost three o'clock in the morning before I was finally given information by one of them.

"She's out of surgery. She did really, really well," were his first words. "Her clavicle has been reset with an intramedullary rod she'll have for the rest of her life, and her dislocated shoulder has been reduced.

"Come over here and sit with me for a minute," he said, making my blood run colder than it already was.

"The injury to her spine is an unknown right now. The compression force along her back caused some bone damage to her sacrum, right above the hips. There's discs in her spine which were significantly damaged, so we've stabilized the vertebrae with a couple of rods."

"What does all of that mean?"

"Don't panic with what I'm about to tell you. Short answer is, right now, I don't know. And we might not know more for months. But, she's likely going to have some paralysis and loss of function in her lower extremities."

"Oh," I said, rising and pacing the room again.

"Don't go dark, okay?" the doctor said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "It all sounds bad right now, I understand. But give it time. We're on a long road here, and it's going to be a while before we can test her for nerve damage because surgery, in and of itself, is a bit of a trauma. We need to let her heal somewhat and wait for the swelling to go down. Only then will we know more."

"When can I see her?"

"She'll be in recovery until later this morning. My recommendation is that you find a hotel and get some sleep if you can."

I didn't want to sleep, but I checked into the hotel across the street from the hospital. I think it was probably four o'clock when I crashed. My body forced its own will on my resolve, and I simply cratered at some point.

I was awakened at 9:00 that morning by a call from a nurse at the hospital, informing me my wife was awake and asking for me. I also had received a text from Kaley's father advising they would be laying over in Chicago and were expecting to land in Phoenix later that afternoon.

I replied with the hospital's address, then put on the almost-dry clothes I'd been wearing the day before. I received an immediate response to my text. Kaley's parents were already at O'Hare.

When I arrived at the hospital, the nurse described what I was about to see before she escorted me into the room in order to minimize the visual shock. Kaley was strapped into an unusual contraption called a Roto-Bed which kept her in an almost prone position. She was nearly facedown, her shoulders and hips at about a forty-five-degree angle to the floor.

"I'm here, Kales," I whispered as I pulled a chair alongside her.

She whimpered, "I'm scared. My legs... I can't feel them."

"I know, honey. I know," I said, fighting back tears because I didn't want her to see or hear my fear. I did a pretty pathetic job of it, though.

"Your mom and dad are on their way. They'll be here in three or four more hours."

"Oh."

I heard her repeatedly click a button she had strapped in a hand.

"I love you, Steven."

"That's a morphine pump, and she just dosed herself. Answer her quickly," her nurse gently prompted.

"You're my world, Kaley. I love you, too," I whispered to my wife.

I desperately wanted to kiss her, but her inverted position made it impossible for me to reach her lips with my own. I kissed my fingertip and gently brushed it across her dry lips then mine once again as a substitute.

"There ya go," the nurse said with a gentle smile. "Sorry to be so pushy, but I wanted you to be able to tell her because she's about to be out of it for a few hours. Believe me. She's in no pain now, but she was waiting to activate the pump again when I told her you were on your way here. She was determined to see you. Your wife is an incredibly tough woman."

"You have no idea. What can you tell me right now? Why is she like this?"

I gestured toward her bed, if that's what it could be called.

"Her lower spine has been fixated by two rods, right here."

She turned her back and illustrated by running two forked fingers up her own spine from her tailbone to a point about six inches higher.

"Positioning her like this is reducing the pressure which would be there if she were recumbent. She's catheterized because she can't control her bladder right now. It might be necessary going forward, depending on how severe the injury is.

"Her neurologist will be on shift at seven o'clock. You'll need to ask him for more details because that's about all I can tell you."

"Okay, I understand," I said as I wiped more tears from my eyes with the backs of my thumbs.

"Can I offer a suggestion?" she asked, gently putting her hand on my upper arm.

"I guess," I answered, rubbing my brow, fidgeting with angst and nerves.

She chuckled in a compassionate manner. "You're kind of a mess. You have time to go home and pack a few things if you plan on staying here in Phoenix for a while."

"Okay."

I wasn't offended. I knew she was correct. I was disheveled and had a day's stubble on my face. I probably appeared as though I'd walked in off the streets. The nurse went somewhere, returned, and handed me a red plastic bag which held my wife's clothing and other belongings.

I didn't want to go home. Instead, I went to a nearby megamart and bought a few days' worth of clothing plus some toiletries then returned to the hotel. I showered, shaved, and dressed in clean, fresh attire. I bagged my dirty clothes to send to the hotel's laundry service. I figured I'd do the same with Kaley's shirt, leggings, and underwear until I saw they'd all been destroyed because they'd been cut from her body.

All that was left were her shoes, socks, and the hip-pack which held her cell phone. Her rings and necklace were in it as well.

I discovered her engagement ring had lost its diamond solitaire. The mounting prongs were bent and distorted. It, along with its matching band, were insured, so the sobs the discovery induced weren't because of any financial loss.

The precious jewel my girlfriend and future wife accepted to become my fiancée was... it was just... gone. The loss dismayed me because it felt like an omen. The fear it induced was more than I could bear.

My soul felt the crushing weight.

I numbly returned to the hospital after I got my emotions at least somewhat back in check. Kaley's parents arrived after two o'clock that afternoon. The embraces we shared were certainly comforting, but were shallow succor given the weight of the circumstances.

The neurosurgeon came to Kaley's room after I tried (and failed) to eat dinner. He spent maybe ten minutes giving as many specifics as he could in so short an amount of time. Though I had enough questions to probably keep him pinned down for two hours, most were left unasked as he deftly excused himself from the room to attend to other patients.

Kaley spent five days in the hospital before being transferred to a short-term recovery facility in Tucson where she spent another two weeks learning to become ambulatory in a wheelchair. She also needed education on other basics of life without the use of her lower limbs. During that time, and with the help of Kaley's father, I found a new vehicle which would be able to manage her transportation needs more appropriately. My wife returned to our home nineteen days after having last departed it.

She was a different woman.

I knew from hours upon hours of research during those weeks that despondency and depression are common in such life-altering events, so while I expected it, I was ill-equipped to deal with it.

She seldom spoke, and seemed mortally embarrassed by the fact that she needed my assistance with her toileting needs. It was a shift in my reality, as well. I'd never changed a baby's diaper, let alone a full-grown adult's. But Kaley was my wife, and I was determined to do anything required to care for her.

It was many months before she finally began to come out of her funk. Slowly, but surely, I began to see a hint of her former spark and soul as she adjusted to her new "normal."

With her guidance and suggestions, we reorganized things in our home, especially in the kitchen, to give her easier access and greater mobility in her wheelchair. One of her most-enjoyed pastimes was cooking. So, given the more accessible organization, she was able to begin preparing meals again. The first complex one she completed by herself came with astounding happiness and pride in the accomplishment.

"See, Kales? You've got this," I praised, eating a forkful of absolute deliciousness.

"Maybe," she said as she noshed on the Italian sausage lasagna she'd prepared completely by herself, at her insistence, from start to finish, without any help.

The meal was one of her specialties, and my absolute favorite. I only sat at the table and enjoyed some wine while chatting with her and watching her work. Hell, she wouldn't even let me uncork the bottle or make the salad dressing because she wanted to do it all.

I was incredibly proud of her. But, of course, every ray of sunshine had to come with clouds.

She'd become comfortable cooking again, but she was unable to continue her usual exercise regime, so she gained some weight. She noticed it when certain clothes began to get snug. That realization sent her into a new tailspin and began to further rout her self-esteem.

She'd added barely ten pounds to her svelte nine-stone form, but no arguments from me about how she still looked damned fantastic made her feel any better about herself. She was still the same phenomenally attractive red-haired, green-eyed beauty with whom I'd fallen in love, but I stopped arguing.

Physical intimacy with my bride of only six months was, of course, off the table after the accident. I knew that. I expected that. I only hoped it would return, if even slowly, at some point in our future.

I spent almost every hour I could spare in research. I joined a "Partners of the Paralyzed" forum I found online.

I met a lady there. No, we didn't form anything more than a casual, commiserative friendship.

Her husband of eight years suffered a similar injury in a motor vehicle accident six months before Kaley's. She challenged me to find a specific type of physical therapy specialist because her husband had abandoned the use of his wheelchair and was almost entirely back on his feet.

I asked for and was provided contact information for her husband's physician, and immediately made arrangements for Kaley's to consult with that neurologist.

Kaley's doctor wasn't as confident but didn't see any harm in trying the different rehabilitation protocols. He faxed in a referral. Kaley wasn't confident either, though she humored me by making an appointment with the recommended facility.

Within weeks, she was cursing me because of the amount of pain her therapist often induced, but she continued to employ his service. During one appointment, she became so enraged she screamed at him using words the likes of which I'd never heard spew from any woman's mouth, let alone my own wife's.

He stepped two paces back from her.

"You want to hit me, don't you!" he yelled.

"You bet your arse I do," she barked, with anger in her eyes.

"Okay, do it!" he said, fetching two foam-padded batons which were about two feet long. He thrust them into her hands.

"Hit me," he demanded, moving directly in front of her between the parallel support bars.

And she did. With a baton in each hand, she positively pummeled him. He simply stood there, only protecting his face and head from the repeated blows, as she yelled and whacked the absolute crap out of him. When she'd exhausted herself, she took two steps back and collapsed into the wheelchair which was behind her. Withdrawing his arms from his face, he stood there and started laughing right in front of her.

"What the hell is so bloody funny?" she yelled.

Everyone else in the work room had stopped what they were doing and were staring at them.

"You are! You just beat the snot out of me!"

"You deserved it!" she hissed.

"I did! But you just beat me with both hands!"

"I'll do it again if you keep pissing me off!"

"Kaley! Don't you realize that you were standing on your own legs when you were doing it?" he sassed back at her, still laughing.

She needed several moments to grasp what had just happened. Her eyes went from anger to bewilderment to surprise. The corners of her lips curled up in the slightest of grins.

"You're an arsehole , you know?" She actually chuckled.

"Believe me, ma'am, I've been called much worse. You've found your coordination and balance again."

He smiled broadly and clapped. "And damn , girl! You've got some fierce upper body strength!" He sort of whimpered as he rubbed his arms and shoulders where he'd been assaulted.

"Listen to me. You're improving. I'm no doctor. You're getting better . I don't care what your doctor says is possible and what isn't. I'm gonna keep pushing you as long as I continue to see improvement, okay? Now. We're done for today. See you next week?" he asked, still grinning.

"Count on it," she said and smiled back. "And sorry for beating you up."

"Oh, no you aren't, and neither am I. You needed that release. To see you standing and moving while maintaining your balance was worth it. I mean this as much figuratively as literally. You needed to know you can stand on your own feet, and I wondered if it was the only way I could convince you, because you haven't let go of those freaking bars once until right then."

It required about another month before she was able to transition almost completely out of her wheelchair and walk with forearm crutches. Her body was healing. Even though she refused to admit it, she was making progress. She even returned to work at her office instead of working from home.

I admit it. By that point, I was desperate for the affection of my wife. I adored her. That hadn't changed a single bit. I was so proud of her strength and resolve. My soul clung to her so tightly I knew I'd never leave her. Never did I even consider it.

But... I sorely missed our affectionate moments. I so desired intimacy with her, but she resisted every one of my advances.

Well, that's not completely accurate. One evening, after we'd returned home from her appointment, I was cuddling her closely to me after we'd retired to bed. I could only guess she thought herself ready for some amorous attention because she unbuttoned her top and beckoned me to her breasts.

I, quite happily, accepted her invitation. It'd been so long! I felt as giddy as I did on our wedding night. I softly suckled her nipples as I had many times before the accident. It might sound gross, but I was thrilled to be able to smell the sweat on her skin because it meant I was close enough to her again to be able.