She was right. These were the hardest days of my life. Being sequestered to a hospital is definitely a nightmare. I learned that while I was unconscious the nurses didn't pay particular attention to my cleanliness. Once I was finally in the recovery ward of the hospital it took a good amount of time for the nursing staff to clean me, which was considerably embarrassing. When you are at the mercy of some lovely nurses who were not blessed with the task of cleaning up the filth from between your ass cheeks, you quickly lose all sense of modesty. You are never at a more vulnerable point in your life than having to live through that.
After that initial embarrassing bath and once my modesty was thoroughly demolished, I began to enjoy the attention of these ladies and I was pleasantly surprised that despite my injury I was still able to achieve a healthy erection. What can I say, I was still an 18-year-old man with raging hormones, so I couldn't help it. My above average appendage tended to have a mind of its own. The surreptitious looks from these young ladies definitely kept me from depression as I laid broken in this bed.
The part of the attention from my nurses that was discouraging was, as they proceeded to clean my groin, I was expecting the same old pleasure I would have had when I took care of myself before the accident, but, as she ran the rough wash cloth over my column of flesh, the sensitivity wasn't as I remembered. Though pleasurable, it seemed very much dulled. In my mind, I was hoping it was just due to the brief attention the red-cheeked nurse gave me and decided I would find out if I could relieve the throb myself once she excused herself from my room and left me for the evening.
Once I was alone, I did what every young man would do and took my tool in my hand. After several long caresses up the length of my cock, I definitely noticed the difference. The intense pleasure I use to feel when I tended to myself just wasn't there. What was left was a dull pleasure and I knew this was never going to be the same.
I continued to stroke myself, feeling the rough skin of my palm pass over the ridge, and tried to concentrate on the sensation. I closed my eyes and imagined the impressed look on my nurse's pretty face as she gazed upon my prominent erection that her hands had inspired. I could feel myself getting close, but the exertion was getting to me and no matter what I did, I just couldn't get over that peak. My frustration was growing until finally, after a good 15 minutes of thoroughly abusing myself, I gave up with a grown and thinking to myself, 'this is really going to take some work.' Still weak from prolonged unconsciousness, I just didn't have the strength to get the job done. Hopefully, in time, I would regain the strength I would need with the dulled sensation to get myself over the finish line, but for now, it was no use. I was just going to have to leave it and hope the pain, from lack of release, would also be dulled.
Turns out, the pleasant sponge baths only lasted as long as it took for me to regain the strength to start therapy. Once I was able to lift myself, they went about the process of teaching me what I needed to know to survive as a paraplegic and being up in a wheelchair most of the time allowed me to take care of my other needs.
It was fortunate that I had spent my teen years working for a neighbor in his dairy. The muscle I had built during the hard labor of milking cows and general farm work helped greatly with my transition into life sitting in a wheelchair.
My mother, Rebecca, was a constant strength for me. She practically lived at the hospital and hardly ever left my side. Without her continuing love and reassurance, I probably would have dropped off into self-pity and depression, but she was always there to support me and lift my spirits when I was feeling particularly down or frustrated. This was also a learning experience for her as well because, once they did release me, she would have to assume the role as my nurse until I was fully recovered and adjusted to my new life.
4.
Let me tell you about Rebecca, my mother. Her and my father had always been together. Even when they were very young and in school together, she always knew my father and her would end up together. At least that is what she told me. Her parents and my father's parents were close friends, which allowed my mom and dad to basically grow up attached at the hip.
Being this close, and already in love at such a young age, becoming intimate with each other also started early. It shouldn't have been a surprise when my mother became pregnant at 15, but to my grandparents, who apparently were oblivious to the growing passion between their children, it was devastating. To them, being Catholics, there was only one option. I guess you could have called it a shotgun wedding, but for my mom and dad, being married at age 16 was the happiest day of their lives. Until of course the day of my birth.
Both sets of my grandparents were farmers in the Iowa hills and my father was always expected to carry on the family tradition, so, wanting the best for their children, they pooled together what money they could spare and bought a small neighboring farm where my parents could start their lives together.
My dad dropped out of school and got his GED immediately afterward. He was a smart man and a natural farmer. Taking some finance classes at the local community college gave him the knowledge to invest and each year after harvest he would take a portion of our income and made smart investments. When he died, our farm was one of the largest in the county and that was disregarding the inheritance of his parent's farm after their deaths when I was five. My grandfather died of colon cancer in his early fifties and my grandmother, not being able to take the grief, soon followed. My mother's parents are still very much alive but have since retired and left the running of their farm to my uncle and now spend most of their time traveling the world.
My mother was a natural housewife. She devoted her life to taking care of dad and me, which was a tireless job that she loved. If you would have seen my parents together, you wouldn't have been able to find a pair who contrasted each other more. While my dad was well over 6 feet tall and a mountain of a man, my mom was as petite as they get. She was barely 5'-2". While she could never have been a model for the lack of height and the stick figure needed, she more than had the beauty of one. Her shiny brown hair, that cascaded down past her shoulder blades, was normally kept in a tight ponytail to keep it out of her perfect oval face. With her sky-blue eyes, a small nose and wide full-lipped mouth, she could cripple any man if she looked at them the way she looked at my father. I probably sound biased but her affectionate face has been the one true anchor that kept me from falling into the abyss these last few months.
After my father's death, you could see the unimaginable devastation it had reaped upon her. Though she stayed strong and never let me see her grief, I noticed that there was a certain light missing from her eyes. While my father had a quiet strength, my mom was a bubbly social butterfly who was the life of the party. After losing the love of her life, she seemed to close within herself and didn't exude the same life she had before.
After my father's death, we learned that he was one of the smartest men to have ever walk this earth. Not only was he able to expand his farm beyond even his imagination, he had also created a massive amount of investments that, even after the crash of 2008 and taking significant losses, he still had assets in the millions. Apparently, after 2008, my father had also set up a substantial amount of bonds so that, even if the economy crumbled again, some of our wealth would be protected. So even without the substantial life insurance, we would have been quite well off.
Since my mother was never going to be able to run the farm by herself, and frankly had no interest to, and wanting me to finish school like she hadn't been able to, she decided to let some other local farmers use the land and made arrangements for a percentage of their earnings from it. This ended up being more than enough to pay the yearly property taxes and allowed the farm to stay in our name, if I ever wanted to pick up where my father had left off. This left her with the ability to dedicate her life to me and still let us live quite comfortably.
5.
After a couple of months of therapy, my doctors decided that there wasn't much more they could do for me there that I couldn't do through outpatient therapy and released me to go home. It was a relief to finally get out of that hospital but I still had to wear a brace for at least another month. Also, I was instructed that I was not allowed bend my body at more than a 90-degree angle so I was still going to need substantial help.
When we had finally arrived home, I noticed that while I was in the hospital, my mother had been incredibly busy. Knowing that I was going to be in a wheelchair when I got out of the hospital, at least for some time, she took it upon herself to make our home as accessible as possible. There were ramps on all of the exterior doors, which themselves had all been made wider along with all of the interior doors. Since this was a fairly old house, there was no possible way to make the bathrooms accessible, so she chose an alternate root of adding on. She built a whole new, larger, bedroom with its own attached accessible bathroom and a walk-in shower so I could easily transfer onto the shower chair. The money my mother must have invested in the house had to have been substantial, but I knew money meant little when compared to her only son, which made me love her even more.
"Mom, I can't believe you did all this. Where did you find the time considering that you hardly even left the hospital?" I asked in amazement.
"It was nothing baby. Your dad was not the only person with brains and knew how to take charge. It was actually a benefit for me not to be here during the renovations so I could stay out of the worker's way. All I really had to do was approve the designs and pay the bills which your father made possible." Mom said as she smiled down at me.
"This is fantastic mom, but you really didn't need to go through all the trouble. I could have made do with what we had."
"No baby, you couldn't. At this point, you don't need your life to be more complicated and it's my job to take care of you. Now let's get you situated in your new room and then we can get you into the shower to wash that hospital stink off you."
