So that is to say, when I was diagnosed, I did have a boyfriend. But all the boxes were ticked for it’s not a forever thing.
I’m a Nona, he wouldn’t let me feed him.
He would not sleep over (No, there was no sex) I’m fine with as he was not ‘fit’.
*Fit – The term I picked up from living with two British Geezers for a month, to describe someone as ‘Sexy’. They flicked through a magazine to point out all the pictures; “Fit! Fit! Fit! Not Fit!” Hilarious.
Fit
Not Fit
And we’re back.
And he was working, but had some crazy idea that he was the ‘Hero’ in every scenario. He had moved back home at 37. You get me, right?
Oh, good lord. Guys just have that deer in the headlight look, don’t they?
What are we doing? Is this working?
Fine! I’ll rip the band-aid off.
“Let’s be friends!”
We remained friends for some years, which was more what we had been anyway. But…..
It’s really easy when you have an emotional detachment from issues that you can problem solve or find a solution to things when they are not your problems. You can assess the pros & cons and have a realistic expectation.
It’s easy to notice when people change and ??? when things in their live don’t go the way they would prefer.
I have found my circle of friends thin out over recent years, since my diagnosis and disability. Let me give you an example:
Once upon a time, well in last three jobs I worked in, office roles. Doing admin TPO Training Placement Officer) etc. The first job I ended up working up to having admin under my position and I was training them.
One woman, let’s call her ‘Sticks’ (she was tall and slim- don’t real any more it’s it) ‘Sticks’ and I worked there together and the next two places together. I saw her every day or had a conversation on the weekends of some sort.
She and I came from completely different walks of life. She still lived at home, still shared a room with her sister, yet managed to have sex. SEX! Every day with her boyfriend.
To be fair, her version of sex wasn’t mine, however that part is. When we no longer had that common thread, she got a different job (where she imagined she would have more time) and she would see me more.
Spoiler Alert: this did not happen.
For a little while after my treatment and before my hair had grown back and I’d started to see the ‘fall-out’ from my treatment, I’d go do lunch with ‘Sticks’ at the workplace I used to work at. I’d see the people I used to work with also. There was that sense of community I’d been part of, but no longer subscribed to. So for a little while the contact continued. I’d crank her (when you call someone and head up just as they got to the phone – which was something fun I used to do to her in the office, as I’d see her standing not far from her desk across the partitions in the office, so I could tell just how long to ring her and the conversations I’d have over the phone when she was forced to talk in code to have people around her not know what she was talking about or who) and on a rare occasion she’d call me at midnight. Yes, I know, midnight, wait
Because we were both awake and she wanted to pick my brain about getting or qualified for a mortgage. Wait! I know, I asked myself that question already. What do I know about getting a mortgage? Do I have one? No! I do not. But I would have a credit rating.
I’ve been a renter for so long, to sit down and work out how much rent I’ve spent, not on a mortgage and I’ve had household accounts with my name on them and while I’ve not recently owned a car or ever had a car worth much. (I had a poor art student car in the form of a Chrysler Galliant from the mid ‘90’s, but did I mention it was a mid 70’s model?) and I have had a Visa for some time.
So, the moral of the story is the less in common you have with your old friends, the less likely you will maintain that friendship.
The following day, I went looking for a particular speaker and topic at the conference, that others in my group were looking for.
It was something about “sex after ABI” for example. I find the right room and joined some fellow guys I already knew. This won’t be awkward right? Since he had given me his business card, the night before.
The guys I knew and I looked around thinking we were in the wrong place because it seemed everybody else in there were “industry-types” service providers, whatever.
Then in came the presenter.
That’s right, Stacey!
She started by recognising there were more industry-types there than she expected. I suspect she had wanted to empower people with ABI’s that sex could still be a natural part of life post ABI.
Here’s an example:
Stacey2 (not related to Stacey) had, had a stroke. She had her stroke while having sex (a little rumpy, humpy) with her husband.
There was a moment of sadness in the room when we heard this. Apparently, the married couple had a very healthy sex life before the stroke.
So, when in hospital, when she was able to get up and move around, they attempted to have sex in the hospital.
Must put this one on the bucket list.
We were made to understand it was perfectly normal and for them vitally important to be able to continue and maintain a normal sex life for them as part of her rehab and existence.
You might ask how they did this?
Stacey informed us they did it standing in the bathroom with her holding onto the handrails. And success apparently.
Now, Stacey 1, asked us a question. She asked us, what happens when we reach climax? (or orgasm). The room was dead silent.
I piped up,
“What? Your muscles tighten?”
Stacey was impressed and said I was correct. The industry-type people checked me out wondering how I knew.
Exactly!
So, I struggled a little and said,
“It’s been a while, but……”
The following day, at the end I walked Stacey out because I had enjoyed spending time with someone ‘normal’ as you do surrounded by numpties all the time. She thanked me for being her “Conference Friend” Sad face…
Every time I see some TV personality on TV, talking about when it’s acceptable behaviour to have sex in a public disability toilet, it sends the message that it’s acceptable.
It’s really a culture of anyone who doesn’t have a disability to not use those toilets.
It’s particularly abhorrent to me when I’m trying to get to and use a disability friendly toilet in public, when people are inside it using it for their own selfish gratification.
Hear me when I say, choosing to be celibate doesn’t make me a prude. I just think it’s totally uncool. I mean, really, are you 14? (that being an age of childlike behaviour still) not acceptable, just ‘young’ I mean. GET A ROOM!
Apparently, the cool thing these days for people who are ‘NORMAL’ is to use Accessible toilets in public places for SEX!
No, Really! There is a shopping complex in the city, I would cut through on my way from the train station to where I have my appointment monthly, with my shrink. (OK, my Psychologist/Social Worker, but I like to suggest I need a shrink!) (Or I get ‘shrunk) and I would always make my way to the Food Court down in the basement to use the accessible facilities. There was a doorbell to let people know someone was waiting and often I would be waiting so long the cleaner would come past and report they had been in there for ages.
Luckily for me if I’m desperate I can use the normal Ladies toilets with some difficulty, but I have to wriggle in, close the door, take off both my walking sticks and my bag before locking the door. I have to manage to pull down my pants, holding my upper layers up out of the way.
I think you get my point, so often if I’m not desperate, I wait outside the Accessible toilet door to see that the person departing is actually qualified to have used it!
Having the cleaner tell me what is more likely to be taking place in there, I confess, I start to knock and ring the doorbell more. What? Will that make it harder for them to finish? Sorry, I meant more difficult! No pun intended…
When they finally depart, a smug woman breezes past, holding the guys hand.
I usually will deliver them a really stern word or two to them and the guy looks back at me with barely a look of remorse.
I’ve waited for other Accessible toilets so long guys have gone into the men’s toilets next door only to reappear a moment later and try the door to the Accessible toilet. I raise my hand to say “that’s why I’m waiting!” and they again disappear into the men’s. I mean, c’mon! Everybody has to go to the toilet!
Hope you have heard the line; “Everybody has to eat! You don’t eat, you don’t shit! You don’t shit! You die!”
So, what if you need to defecate in a public toilet? That’s what it’s there for!
Anyway, excuse I’ve heard from perfectly able bodied people who think it’s acceptable to use Accessible Public Toilets!
Recently, a guy told me he had stitches coming out on his face! And he had to go to the hospital!
I didn’t notice any stitches, but maybe he should have gotten himself to a hospital!
I think it’s part of an Ice Epidemic more recently, but I also think it’s because people don’t think!
One of these days I might have to make someone my Bitch!
It goes like this! I open the door to the toilet just enough to insist the person next in the queue goes to a local department store, or anywhere and buy me new underwear and pants.
I will not even be able to give them any money…. As it feels like I never have any.
But that gives you an idea. What would you do if you were out in public and had as complete evacuation of your bowels and hadn’t made it to a toilet?
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 