Fanny has her own room in the mental clinic. After 6 month of treatment the doctors were convinced she would not recover from this condition and the only thing they can do is to prevent her from harming herself or others.
Everything is adapted to that. She doesn't need the helmet with bars anymore. Instead she wears a colorful open face type helmet on which a mouth cover can be attached. On the inside there is a bracket that slides into her mouth while attaching it preventing to scream and spit. The color and the fact that there are no bars anymore looks a bit friendlier, less scary than the old helmet.
I go out with Fanny almost every day in a power wheelchair. I can operate it from the backside. Her arms and legs are strapped down firmly but that's mostly invisible. Her helmet though is hooked on to a heavy headrest bracket. It prevents her from moving her head just an inch. This still looks frightening and most people keep their distance when they see us.
She now only needs a diaper at night. The wheelchair seat has an opening where she can just relieve herself whenever she wants. Of course therefore she has special clothes and doesn't wear panties. I can open a hole on the helmet's facebow and feed her something but usually I just take it off. She can spit with it just as well as without. If she is hungry she doesn't so that is my consideration rather i should feed her or not.
Her room is actually not equipped for a couple but I can sleep on a stretcher. I do so for 5 or 6 nights a week. I am not allowed to live there so i have to keep my apartment and now and then i have to do some housekeeping there.
A few weeks ago Fanny was ready early and I was sitting on my stretcher, drinking a cup of coffee. It takes 2 nurses, a doctor and myself to get Fanny washed and dressed in the morning. She has to be heavily sedated and still she fights with the little strength she has left, to hurt herself or others. I looked at her, her vicious hateful eyes. I know it is not my Fanny, it is her illness. She is ready for the day. The way she sits in her wheelchair now, she will be sitting all day. Head, arms and legs restraint. Her jaws fixed. Spit running down her chin on her nice summer dress.
It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining, although it was still cold. When I finished my coffee we went out for a walk. It is a 20 minute walk to the lake. The wheelchair is power operated and I walked slowly. I fed the birds and watched the ducks and swans on the quiet, sunbathing lake. There was no emotion on Fanny's face although it was a wonderful sight. But her look was not hostile either. I unlatched the mouthcover from the helmet. It seemed appropriate, like she deserves a little enjoyment that day.
"Now look at you, there is drool all over your beautiful dress. Don't you just love that dress? I do. The blue flowers match your eyes so perfectly. You are pretty, you know. Look what a handsome couple we were."
I take out my phone and show her the picture I like so much. A few years ago we were on a holiday near the Dutch coast and took a selfie in the dunes. Cheek to cheek with our hair waving in the wind, the north sea in the back. Fanny looked so happy, mature. And me? Innocent, still a child but very much in love with this beautiful woman. I defeated my religious family who thought lesbian love was a sin. It had hurt so much and I had to leave them behind but these days in the windy dunes in Holland I knew I would fight for Fanny, for our luck, with all my power.
"Now don't spit on me. Breathe in deeply, isn't this cold air lovely? If I clean your chin you won't bite me, do you?"
