The physical therapy got harder and more painful, a fact that helped keep me sane because I was so tired all the time that I slept a lot. Speech therapy was done three times a week along with some exercises that I got on-line.
I really missed Jennifer, but I could usually force my memories of her away if they became strong enough to bring the tears on. About the only time I really felt the heartache was at night, when I would end up kissing the pillow next to me. which I'd named Jennifer, before I went to sleep.
Two weeks after I went home, I started learning to walk again. Oh my god, the pain was excruciating. I got to the point that I hated the therapist and that damned equipment. I think part of it was that it took a lot out of me and even more out of my caregiver to get into the van to go to the therapist. By the time the session ended, I was so exhausted that once I was in the van, I fell into a deep sleep.
The caregiver I had was as sweet as she could be and she had the patience of a saint. She was older than Jennifer and I loved her to death. I asked her if she knew Jennifer but she said they'd never met as far as she knew. I tried the phone number Mom got for her but all I ever got was her voice mail. Every day I told her I loved her, but she never called back.
A week later, my nurse was off with the flu. I assured Mom that I could be on my own for a day or two if I was in my wheel chair so I could get to the bathroom. Of course, I would have to miss therapy. She said there were leftovers in the refrigerator and juice and bottled water if I got thirsty. The phone was sitting right next to me when she left, along with a list of emergency numbers..
I was half awake and half asleep in my chair on Tuesday, trying to watch a movie on the television, when the doorbell rang. I called out for them to come in but I guess they couldn't hear me so I wheeled over to open the door and burst into tears when I saw my sweet, wonderful nurse in the doorway, a beautiful smile on her face.
She ran over to me without a word and grabbed me in an embrace so strong that the wheelchair tipped over. I didn't care. I was wrapped in Jennifer's arms and she in mine. Not a word was spoken as we held to each other, rocking back and forth as the tears flowed unashamedly.
"Oh god, Jenni, I've missed you so much," I said.
"I know, I know," she said, "I'm sorry."
When she kissed me, I nearly died of joy. That little kiss became deeper and more intense until we were moaning into each other's mouths as our tongues fought for more.
I wanted to rip her clothes off right there in the living room but that might be dangerous simply because Mom and my sister were prone to walking in without so much as a word of warning that they were coming.
"Help me up," I said.
She helped me back into my wheelchair and held the chair while I got settled in.
"Why haven't you called?" I asked.
"I couldn't," she said.
"But why not?" I insisted.
"I was ashamed, Danni; ashamed and frightened. You have to believe me. Danni. I'd never done that to a patient before, but I'd never felt a desire like that. It was more like a need that I couldn't deny. When you woke up and I knew that you were aware of what I was doing, I felt so guilty and so ashamed that I couldn't face you."
"But what were you afraid of?" I asked.
She turned away from me and went to sit on the recliner. I wheeled closer to her and offered my hands, which she took in hers.
"Danni, I took an oath. I accepted a great responsibility to my patients and any violation of their trust would result in my immediate dismissal or worse. Nursing is my life, honey, and the thought of not having that frightened me to death. After I left you, I remembered the way your mother looked at me when I was brushing your hair one evening and when I rolled you over to smooth the sheets under you. In my heart, I knew she suspected that we were closer than a normal nurse patient relationship. I believed then, and I believe now, that she knew there was an inappropriate emotion there.
"She hasn't said anything to me," I said.
"But I haven't been around you," she reminded me. "She might just feel that my absence solved her concerns. If she sees me here, it might not be that way."
"I don't care," I said. "I can't stand not seeing you."
"That wasn't my only fear, Danni," she said. "An even greater fear, and the one that hurt the most, was the fear that you would resent me for what I'd done or that you could never grow to love me as much as I loved you. I had no right to assume that you were open to another woman touching you that way, and little hope that you felt the way I did. I fell in love with you almost immediately, but I took advantage of you, Danni. I used you for my own personal pleasure.
I lifted my hand to her face and tenderly stroked my finger over her cheek. "I've loved you since I first saw you, Jenni."
"How could you possibly know you love me?" she asked. "How do you know it isn't just lust because of what I was doing to you?"
"I thought about that a lot," I said, "and I went through a period that I questioned my acceptance of your lovemaking. I couldn't understand why I wasn't appalled at what you were doing, but I wasn't. Not once. Then I decided that what I was feeling was lust. No one, man or woman had ever given me such pleasure or such satisfaction, but when I couldn't get you out of my mind and my heart, I knew I loved you. No matter what I did. I thought about you day and night, and I saw you lying next to me almost every morning. When you left, my heart ached so much I knew for sure it was more than lust. I can give myself a deeper satisfaction with my toys now because I see you when I do it, but it hurt so much to know you weren't there and that you might never be there again."
"Did you just say what I thought you said," she asked. "Did you say that when you masturbate, you see me there with you?"
