Printer Friendly

Email This Page

Leave a Comment

Read Comments (0)

Sign Up!

Sex…the final frontier. These are the voyages of the wheelchair known as ‘Matesky’. Its 25-year mission: to explore strange new social situations; to seek out new life receptive to intimate relations with partners who cannot move some or all of their limbs; to educate, enlighten and forge new alliances with the skeptical, or embarrass myself beyond the point of no return in trying; to boldly go where no mid-thoracic, lower-motor neuron lesion, neuro-genic bladder-equipped, center-cord injured paraplegic has gone before…

[Cue Star Trek theme music]

Theatrics aside, in my experience, sex is the topic that seems to be on everyone’s mind, yet few that we encounter will be so bold as to come right out and ask you about it. Depending on where we ourselves happen to be on our own journey of sorting things out and adapting to an acquired disability, we might also be extremely hesitant to supply any answers. Also depending on how much experience we have under our belts (excuse the pun), we might not actually be able to answer!

While others in similar situations may beg to differ, I have found that most intimate encounters usually progress to the point where you’ve tumbled into bed, clothes have been shed and you’re all but ready to do the deed.

“So now what,” she asks. Buzz kill.

By the time you’re done explaining what you can and can’t do, where you can feel and where you cannot, the subtleties of a reflexi-genic erection (provided you’re fortunate enough to have such a thing), she might either be headed out the door, or at the very least switching on Conan. Buzz kill.

So it was for many eons during the journey of the ‘Matesky’, until something truly miraculous happened: In 2000, I met Elizabeth. Bold, brassy – my wife to be, although here, in one of our first encounters on the subject of sex, we were still platonic friends, grabbing a quick bite to eat:

ME: “Your hair”, I said, “it’s – “

SHE: “Copper. It’s a new color line, and we’re supposed to be using the products we’re selling to the salons, so there you go. Brilliant reds are their specialty”

“Wow, it looks great. So they, like, turn you into a new woman every month with this job huh?” Indeed, it’s as if she’s stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine – skirting the line between business and fashion with her chic hairstyle and power suit.

But today, the salon industry wasn’t on her mind. She seemed more serious than usual, as if carefully searching for the right words. “So, how the hell do you go to the bathroom, anyway?” she finally asked, her eyes scanning me more intensely than in any of our previous conversations.

No one had ever come right out and asked that. I was shocked, but pleased too. I had always preferred that people just ask me about my disability, rather than hold back. “I’ve got no problem telling you”, I said, “but I don’t want to ruin your appetite. You sure you can handle it?”

“Oh please” she replied waving her hand. “Do you know how many diapers I’ve changed just today alone?”

“Well I can assure you I don’t wear a diaper!” I was glad I could clear that up right off the bat – “Okay, so do you know what a catheter is?”

“Oooh yeah!” she said, wincing, which I expected, since I’ve never met a person who didn’t wince at the mere mention of the word “catheter”.

“Well, I use one of those.”

“Wait – you don’t strap on one of those, those things – “, her hands were in the air, a pulling apart motion that suggested an oblong object.

“A leg bag? No, I don’t use one.”

“But I thought that everybody paralyzed in a wheelchair used one. That’s what my friend said, anyway.”

I laughed. These preconceived notions were always a little amusing to me. “Oh, some people do.” I continued, “But with spinal cord injury, everyone is different and that system doesn’t quite work for me. “

“So can you feel it?” she interjected “Like when you have to go?” Her eyes were wide.

“Well, not like I used to. It’s kind of hard to describe; my blood pressure spikes and it feels like thousands of little needle prinks up and down my whole body – very uncomfortable. And when I gotta go, I gotta go – If I don’t catheterize myself I’ll either wet my pants or have a stroke trying. Nice, huh?” I could tell by her slightly perplexed expression that she wasn’t sure if I was kidding or not.

“OK, so, what about sex – can you feel that?”

“Whoa, you don’t hold anything back, do you?”

“I guess not.” She grinned devilishly. “I’ve always been like that. Sometimes it gets me into real trouble.” She rolled her eyes upward, as if remembering past events. There was not a bit of hesitation or awkwardness in her questioning about subjects that would be extremely embarrassing for most people. Yet in many ways this was new terrain for me as well, for I wasn’t really the type of guy to throw all his cards on the table at once.

“Well, a good number of spinal cord injured males have some sexual function.” I realize I sound just like one of the group lectures they used to give us patients at the rehabilitation hospital in Boston. “I mean an erection of some sort.” I look around just to make sure the couple sitting at the other end of the dining room isn’t listening in. “But aside from that even –I guess it forces you to explore other, uh…means” I’m just slightly embarrassed, since I hardly ever explain this to a woman in a platonic situation. Finally I blurt out “I guess you come to realize there’s more to sex than just a hard-on!”

Elizabeth looks amused. “Of course – everybody knows that. But how do you, you know… ”

“Have intercourse?”

“Yeah”

“Well I don’t mean to sound prejudiced against my own kind, but I’ve found it only really works out if at least one of the partners has all of their body parts moving!”

She’s laughing at this, thank god. I’ve turned almost as red as her brilliant new hairdo.

* * *

Like I said, I was extremely fortunate to have had the opportunity to iron out these mundane, mechanical details ahead of time. The moment of intimacy, when it finally did occur between us was that much more relaxing and natural, rather than terrifying.

So the lesson learned: with sex and disability communication is your prime directive. Captain’s log, OUT.