Chapter 2
Ann
They tell me that I'm through with in-patient therapy, so I get to go home tomorrow. My burns are as good as they're going to get, apparently, and I can finally put some concealer on them, which helps. I have to tell you that I'm thoroughly sick of hospitals, but at the same time, I'm pretty nervous about going home. Here, everybody is focused on my care, and at home, I'll be pretty much on my own once my folks go home. I keep going through these nightmare scenarios, like bathroom accidents, and falling down the stairs. I finally convinced Jim to go home and get some sleep a couple of days ago, and I have to admit it's terribly lonely without him.
He's learned how to wrap my stumps with ace bandages to keep them compressed, and he seems to have no problem touching my little arms. Actually, he seems to be happiest when he's taking care of me, especially when he's working with my stumps. When we made love a couple of mornings ago, I think he came because he touched them, not because of something I did with my pussy, which is puzzling. In spite of that, I can't believe how lucky I feel.
It has finally sunk in that my left stump just isn't long enough to support a prosthetic limb. I am really ok with it, since all the trials I did were incredibly frustrating. I don't know if I'm just mechanically declined (Jim's term, LOL) or it's just too hard. I mean, the arm just lays there while my little stump rotates in the socket. It's just too much, especially compared to the right side, which is working pretty well. I sure wish they'd been able to save my elbow, but you know what they say about wishing.
As far as my breathing hole is concerned (it's called a stoma, which means "hole". Go figure.), I can't take the little plastic tube in and out by myself yet, and I have been practicing my coughing. Coughing is important to keep the mucous out of my airway, because excess mucous breeds bacteria and increases the rick of pulmonary infections, which are more common in people with trachs. I have an advantage over a lot of trach users because mine (it sounds like I should name it, huh?) is due to trauma, not a Neuro-muscular disease, or NMD, so I have complete control of my breathing. There's a lot of incentive for me to keep up the practice. If the mucous builds up too much I have to stick a suction thingy down the hole and suck it out. They did it a couple of times for me, and it was way scary. I also have to keep the humidity high in the house, because I don't have my mouth and nose to condition the air I breathe by adding moisture to it. The Respiratory Therapist says I should try leaving the tube out in the daytime. I haven't tried yet; I'm nervous that it might collapse, although they made it so it wouldn't. One step at a time.
It's a good thing I have a strong sense of self-esteem, because it feels like I have a flashing light over my head that says, "Stare at me!" I don't think it's my stumps, or my fake arm when I wear it; I think it's my voice. Don't get me wrong, I am
so thankful
that I have the ability to speak, even by burping. The fact is, though, that it's just so
unusual.
People are not used to hearing it, and I'm really loud! The speech therapist has told me that I should be able to modulate it eventually, and one of the things I'm looking forward to the most about being at home is the privacy to practice. The s.p. arranged for me to have lunch yesterday with Janey, a girl about 10 years younger than me who has had a trach for 5 years due to a motorcycle accident. We hit it off right away, partly because she has no shame at all, like me, and partly because she has a wicked sense of humor. She's over a foot taller than me, and is willowy like a basketball player, so we make an interesting pair. Within ten minutes of ordering lunch (and she made me order my own, BTW), she had me laughing my guts out ("Go ahead and laugh girl. You will never blow milk out your nose again!"). She has an unwavering optimism and appreciation of life, and I think we are going to be good friends. She's bi, and her teasing me about how hot she thinks I am had me red-faced in embarrassment.
Apparently, at least according to Janey, I have become a member of the most exclusive club in the world, which she calls the EBS. This stands for the "Endless Blowjob Society", something which had actually crossed my mind. More than once. An hour. Believe it or not, Janey has had me practicing with a silicone dildo, which she wants to share with me some day. I have been able to pretty much turn off my now-useless gag reflex. I can take ALL of it into my throat and close my mouth over the end. As exciting as I find this, I'm hoping that Jim likes it even more.
Janey got a glazed look in her eyes helping me practice, and I have to admit I got a little wet in the knickers as well. She asked me if I'd been able to come since my accident, and I told her just once. She offered to help me out, but I told her I was letting the anticipation build toward my home
coming
(get it?). She insisted on a rain check, and as she dropped me off after walking me to my room, she gave me a sweet kiss with a little tongue. I really, really liked it. She also hugged me for a long time, which moved me to tears. You don't appreciate hugs until you can't give them, and you don't get them because people are too nervous to touch you, or afraid to hurt you. Add that to the talking thing, and it gets kind of lonely. Waaah! Listen to me whine. Sorry.
Jim's been treating me like a fragile little flower, which is fine as far as my stumps are concerned, but I want to get back to our lives together. I miss messing with him and our endless kidding and teasing. I guess we'll see what happens once I get home.
Wednesday dawned bright and clear, and it was supposed to be really hot. I was awake around 5:00, and Janey surprised me and showed up around 6:15. She said that she came to help me get ready and to feed me breakfast. She climbed into the shower with me after taking off my Ace bandages and putting a little plastic shield on us that she'd found to cover our stomas with in the shower so we don't drown. She is as lean as a greyhound and very pale, her hair the color of straw, typically in a long braid down her back.. Her pubic hair is almost invisible, and her breasts are really tiny, almost nonexistent. I think Jim's nipples are bigger than hers. Her stoma is lower on her neck than mine, almost centered between her collarbones, and looks as if it has always been there. There is a visible bump on her left clavicle, liked it healed wrong after her accident, and a trace work of white scars partially incorporated into her right shoulder and breast. My scars are deep purple. She really scrubbed me, 'cause she's a girl and knows what clean is. As she washed me, she held my shoulders and helped me balance.
The whole experience was almost otherworldly. It felt so good to be held, and touched, and the warm water was just the best. Janey had her head against my boobs as she washed my legs, and I realized I couldn't smell the shampoo in her hair. It was a fleetingly sad moment, which I fully intended to dwell on, but then I found something else to focus on. As her hand traveled up and down my legs with the washcloth, Janey bumped her thumb against my clit. Electricity shot up my spine and around my pelvis, and I must have jumped a foot. Without a word, she took her right thumb and index finger and placed them on each side of my clit, and then started to pull down and release, like she was milking my pussy. I started to follow her motion with my hips, pumping lazily. Her other hand slid down my back and under me, circling the inside of my right thigh and pushing her thumb into my vagina, where it circled into my G-spot in time to her milking. She turned her head to me and we kissed, our tongues languid and slow. Her eyes were open, and they crinkled in pleasure when I shook occasionally in response to her stroking. My right stump patted and rubbed her face and hair while the left one waved in frantic circles just inside my peripheral vision. I felt the wave approaching, and found myself speaking silently into her ear, telling her what to do to make me roll over the top. I don't know if she understood anything, but she brought me like she'd heard every word. As I rose onto my tip-toes, she rolled my clit with a vengeance, and I came, shuddering and sagging onto her hand.
When I could stand, she released me, turned down the water, and leaned back against the wall of the shower. Spreading her legs, she began to circle her right fingers against her mound, and her left hand sought her tiny nipples. After watching her for a while, I stepped across the shower and found myself nearly at eye level with her tits. I homed into her right breast and began to tease the little bud with my tongue. As I worked on it diligently, Janey gasped, her eyes looking down, and I realized that my right stump had begun to flick at her left nipple. I continued my two pronged assault, and she can almost instantly, her breath almost coughing out of her stoma. As she calmed, I leaned into her and laid my cheek on her chest, kissing her scarred white skin gently. She toweled me down, teasing my body softly as she patted me. She dressed quickly and went to the bag she'd brought with her.
