Half the Man Ch. 03

Instead the mark of the beast reared its ugly head once more.

"Whoa! Stop right there. What do you mean surgery to repair the blood vessels isn't the best option?" Dylan's uncomprehending tone was a blend of frustration, shock, anger, anxiety and fear.

Dr. Harb looked at the bewildered faces. "This is a lot, I know that. I wish it were better news. I'll try and explain it more clearly, please bear with me." He shuffled his notes and began again.

"On either side of the penis are two cylindrical shaped chambers called 'corpora cavernosa' which run the entire length of the shaft. During sexual stimulation the brain tells the penile blood vessels to relax allowing the chambers to fill, and the penis becomes erect. Then the veins constrict, the blood is held inside and the erection is sustained. After ejaculation, the veins relax again and blood flows out, returning the penis to the normal flaccid state.

"In your case Dylan, the car accident caused small fractures of your pelvis bilaterally in the lower half, specifically the Ischium, and Pubis bones. Now bilaterally means both left and right side was affected. Normally nothing to worry about and usually these minute breaks heal without medical intervention, which based on the x-rays was the proper course of action. Speaking of x-rays, they are a wonderful tool, but can't show everything — especially soft tissue damage. More often than not unless there are complications, x-rays are the way to go. Unfortunately in your case something did happen that required use of enhanced testing. An MRI gives a much clearer picture, which is why I ordered it in addition to the other diagnostics. The angiography as expected showed restricted blood flow to the penis. Both pudendal arteries were seriously damaged. The left side's was extensive, and surgery would be pointless. The right though was a viable candidate—until I saw the MRI."

Dr. Harb took a sip of water, and contemplated again his next words. "The MRI revealed what the x-ray couldn't. Your pelvis not only fractured, it also fragmented. These fragments lodged near the nerve stalks that relax the blood vessels during arousal and also relay the wonderful sensations we males feel throughout the sexual experience. The fragmentation is also bilateral. Though highly unusual, it is consistent with the fractures shown on your x-ray.

"What does this mean? If I or anyone else were to perform surgery on the right side to improve the circulation, the chance of doing damage to those nerves is well above 95%. If the nerves are compromised you will lose the majority of sensation in your penis. Not all, but most of it. Compounding this is a high probability of damage to the external anal and urethral sphincter nerves, which can cause incontinence and bowel leakage. I'm so sorry Dylan but it is my medical opinion and recommendation that you, do—not—have surgery to correct the blood flow."

After a few seconds he continued, "The complications and long term effects, in my professional judgment, are not worth the risk. Of course you can seek a second opinion, but make sure to ask yourself this: 'is a five percent chance of the positive outcome worth the risk of a lifetime of diapers?' You have excellent sensation, but the machine itself is not working."

Dr. Harb stopped and took a long drink. "Dylan, if the operation goes wrong it could for all intents and purposes paralyze your penis. There are other al..."

Mari shot up at the word paralyzed and ran sobbing out of the room. Dylan slumped back into the seat and lowered his head. Tears fell from his eyes onto his lap. Dr. Harb pulled his chair closer, placed his arm around the injured soul and just quietly waited. Several minutes elapsed, before the anguished man looked up.

Dylan, staggered by the doctor's words, felt helpless. Twenty-four-years old and no longer able to get it up? Never again would he feel the inside of his wife's pussy? He couldn't be a father in the conventional sense. After all how can you get a woman pregnant if you can't stick it in? What about Mari? Only twenty-two, can she live with a man who can't make love to her? Can she live with a—eunuch? Should he set her free?

He thought about his parents and how he wished he hadn't been so stubborn. Then the realization hit. No grandchildren. That revelation drove him over the edge. The torment was too much, despair fueled his misery, 'It's over, I'm done. What's the use?' He grabbed his red cane to leave only to be stopped by the doctor.

Dr. Harb took the cane and gently sat the despondent man back down. His experience told him what the dispirited male was going through and he had to assure his patient that it was not hopeless. "Dylan, this is not over. Before your wife abruptly left, I was going to tell you both that there are alternatives. This isn't the end of the world. We may not be able to repair your circulation but damn it son, we can get you hard as nails."

Dylan stared at the doctor in disbelief. "What do you mean by 'alternatives'?"

"I think it would be better to tell the two of you together. I'll go find Mrs. Hunt."

"No, she'll be back. Tell me—now," he replied brusquely and inwardly thought, 'How many times have I heard that? Not going to bother her with this bullshit. Another false hope, another pipe dream, another miracle, another vision dashed to hell. She deserves better; hell, I deserve better.'

"Very well," the physician responded, and pulled out several pamphlets for Dylan to read.

***

Sylvia Anderson asked her daughter a second time, "You mean to tell me that if he doesn't have the operation, he won't ever get it up again. But if he does go through with it and if it goes bad, he will have to wear diapers for the rest of his life?"

"Yes mom, that's exactly what I mean," yelled Mari as she tearfully sat on a bench in the medical building's courtyard. "If the operation fails, he could lose feeling down there and nothing will work. If he doesn't do it, he will never get an erection again. It's a nightmare, I...I...d...don't know what to do mom. I can't live like this. I've told you how stressful it's been and now it will get worse," the pessimistic woman sobbed.

Sylvia concealed her glee, took a shallow breath and quietly offered counsel, "Honey, if it was your father, God rest his soul, I know in my heart he wouldn't hesitate at all. Regardless of the odds he would most assuredly have had the operation. He could not live as half a man, unable to make love. He would risk everything for the chance to be whole."

The memories Mari had of her dad were of her lying in his muscular arms. Everything else was too vague. She did remember at around four years-of-age going to her grandparents for the summer. She thought it odd how sad they were most of the time. When her mother came to pick her up at summers end, the first thing she did was sit down with the young girl along with her grandmother. Her mother gently explained that her father got very sick and died. She would never forget crying into grandmother's bosom. Years later her mother made it clear why she was sent away: she didn't want Mariette to see her father die.

Mari sniffled at the memory then echoed her mom's words, "Daddy definitely would have had the surgery, no doubt about it. But what if the operation failed Mom? Could you have still loved and stayed with him?"

"Sweetheart," the conniving woman said with crocodile-tears sincerity, "In the 'unlikely' event the operation failed, I would have, without a doubt, stood by your father because he gave his all for me and we would have worked through it together. That's what true love is all about. Can you say the same about Dylan? Will he put you first? Or are you second or third chair?"

"I simply don't know anymore. We just don't seem to get along. The past few days were horrible; it was like walking on eggshells. I honestly don't know if he would put me first. I would like to think so, but I just don't know. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, umm, he decided to get a lawyer to represent us," Mari said knowing full well it wasn't Dylan's decision alone.

"He did huh? Well I guess you have your answer young lady. It is obvious he doesn't care about you, or your wishes." Sylvia almost slipped and let her joy show, but once more spoke with calm firmness, "Mariette honey, sweetheart, I know you don't want to hear this but you need to listen to your mother. If Dylan won't have the operation and doesn't budge on the lawyer, you need to think about moving on with your life." She paused for effect and then with all the sincerity she could muster, "Do you understand what I mean?"

"Y...y...yes I do, but I really believe he will do it—for me, for us." She then sighed, "But—if he doesn't, I...I...guess I know what..." Mari became silent for a short time then sadly asked, "Will you help me get through this if...if...?"

Sylvia interjected and reassured her baby girl, "Of course my darling daughter, of course I will help you. You can always count on your mother. I love you Mariette."

"I knew I could, but I needed to ask. I feel a tiny bit better. I'm going back inside to talk with Dylan and the doctor. Thank you Mom, I love you. I'll let you know what happens as soon as I find out."

"I love you too. I'll wait for your phone call. Good luck honey, bye-bye," Sylvia ended the call, and exuberantly pumped her fists in victory. She hurriedly lit a cigarette and poured some vodka. She swirled the clear liquid, and with tears of joy alongside ones of sadness lifted the glass high, "Steve, I will always love you and our daughter. My...my biggest regret was not meeting you first." She wiped her eyes took a long sip then spat.

"And to you Gerry Anderson, the muscle-bound idiot I foolishly married: may you rot in prison for taking away the only man I truly loved."

Sylvia gulped the remaining liquor and plotted her next move. It was time to contact the lawyer Sally used for her divorce and start the ball rolling. But before that happened she needed to speak with someone first. She took a lengthy drag from her smoke and punched a number on her phone.

When the person answered, she happily said, "Hello Chris. I've got great news. It won't be long now; let me bring you up to speed..."

***

"I know what you've explained, but in all honesty will the procedures you've described actually work for me?" an unbelieving Dylan asked the doctor.

"Yes they will," the doctor said confidently. "The technology we possess is really quite amazing and whichever method you choose I can assure you without question you will be able to get an erection. No doubt about it, and to paraphrase the immortal words of Oscar Goldman, we can rebuild you. Indeed, we can make you bigger, harder and better than before."

"Who is Oscar Goldman?" was the puzzled response.

"Google it," chuckled the doctor, "The point is Dylan, we can put you back together, and you will be able to..."

The doctor stopped when the door opened and Mari walked back in. She gave a weak smile to Dylan and apologized to them for leaving. They simultaneously asked if she was okay. She nodded and sat down a few chairs from her husband. Both men were a bit surprised by her creating a separation from her husband, but said nothing. The urologist offered her a bottle of water, which was politely refused and after a few awkward moments resumed talking.

"What I was telling your husband Mrs. Hunt, is there are other alternatives besides the risky surgery." He paused to let the news sink in.

Mari folded her hands in front of her, looked at Dylan then the doctor, "Will these alternatives make my husband whole?"

The doctor replied, "He will be able to achieve an erection if that is what you are referring too."

"How will that happen?" she asked looking directly at Dylan.

Buoyed by her question, the doctor passed Mari the different brochures. She looked at each one, and sat back in her chair.

Her eyes moistened. She abruptly brushed the pamphlets aside and spoke tentatively, "I...I...don't like any of this. The thought of...of...these so-called alternatives, these...these...things you would put inside him—make me sick. It's not natural and it certainly won't make him whole. I'd rather he take his chances with the operation."

Mari turned to Dylan, his mangled face distorted more by the uncompromising tone of the words she spoke. "Baby listen to me, do you really want this stuff inside you? I am shocked you would even consider doing this. I...I...know the operation is very risky, but I want my whole man back. Please don't let him do this to you. Dylan, honey do you want to go through life as half a man? At least the operation gives you the chance to be completely normal." Then Mari slumped and began to sob uncontrollably.

Dylan's face fell at her opposition to the alternatives. His mind raced with questions. Half the man? What about no man? Didn't she hear the doctor say ninety-five percent chance of failure? He could end up losing most if not all sensation, so how would he get it up anyway? Would she stay with him if it failed? What would happen to them if he had to wear diapers all the time? Could she live with that? Is a five percent possibility enough to risk all? He pondered the main questions, 'Could I live like this, wearing a diaper and never enjoy sex again? No, definitely not and she shouldn't demand it of me either.'

His heart heavy, Dylan spoke, "Dr. Harb, I—will consider the alternatives." Mari shot him a look. He reached across for her hand but she pulled it back. He gazed at her hardened features, and softly continued, "And—I will also consider the surgery too. Thank you for your help doctor, but now I need to go home and think about this and decide what is best for—me."

The doctor shook their hands and told them to take their time. Dylan picked up his cane, walked towards the door and as he opened it sadly looked back at Mari, "I am going back to the apartment, are you coming?" Then with head down, he left her alone in the room.

She wiped her eyes and slowly got up to follow. Her phone buzzed when she reached the door. She didn't bother to look, she knew who it was. Mari would call later and tell her mother—she was right.

***

The days that followed were eerily quiet around the Hunt apartment.

Dylan tried to talk with Mari about the difficult choices that lie ahead, but she simply smiled and told him that whatever he decided was okay with her. This revelation surprised him initially, but he soon realized what was happening. She was emotionally withdrawing from their relationship. Their conversations were short and limited to everyday, mundane things. He tried several times to engage his wife, but she would have none of it.

"Whatever you decide is fine Dylan, so just drop it," was her standard response when he brought up the lawyer, his face, or his manhood. Despite his increased patience and tolerance, Mari was pulling away and it seemed there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew her mother was involved; she didn't come by any more and after every conversation between Mari and her mother the chasm separating Dylan and Mari expanded.

There was, however, one saving grace. Dr. Fryman finally gave him permission to resume exercising in the gym on a limited basis. When he told his wife the news, Dylan hoped for the usual snarky comeback that had been so prevalent before the accident. Instead he was told to—'have fun'. Puzzled by these changes, the workouts became Dylan's 'think sessions' on what to do with the lawyer, his physical issues and his marriage.

It was during his third day at the gym, halfway through the stepper exercise, that he felt a twinge in his leg and decided to end the work out early. When he arrived home, Mari was not there.

He looked out to the pond and sure enough, there she was on her phone. He mumbled about her mother 'the puppeteer', and went out to let Mari know he was back. He heard her laugh and wondered what snide remark 'mommy dearest' made at his expense now.

"What's going on dear, momma making fun of me again?" he asked playfully in the hopes of hearing the woman he married those short months ago.

Mari stiffened, "Oh, um, hi Dylan, ahh...how come you're not at the gym? I wasn't expecting you. I'll go and get dinner started." She turned her head and whispered into the phone something that sounded to him like 'bye Chris' as she got up and headed to the apartment.

Mari walked past Dylan and was about to open the patio door when she heard, "Who is Chris?"

She abruptly stopped and cautiously replied, "Oh, umm, a new coworker who started this week."

"How come you've never mentioned this 'Chris' before and why are you talking to him after work is over, hmm?" Dylan teasingly asked. He slowly made his way to her side and when she answered him, he was completely unprepared for her response.

"There is no need for me to tell you what goes on at my job and besides, what makes you think Chris is a he?" she asked. But before her husband could respond, she tersely added, "Chris called with a question regarding the schedule for Friday that couldn't wait." Mari opened the apartment patio door looked back at her husband and contemptuously added, "But I know what you really wanted to ask me. So let me answer your unasked question," and with an abrupt snicker she said, "If Chris is a male, the answer to your question is, no—I am not—sleeping with him." She finished with a laugh then walked inside.

Confused by her double-edged response, Dylan scratched his head. He had been playful, but didn't know if she was too. He honestly didn't know what to believe. Mari had never given him a reason to doubt her, but the way she was talking gave him pause. She sounded like her mother. And when she laughed at the end of her diatribe, was that sarcasm he heard?

Dylan recognized that they were treading water, and the boat was sinking. He had to do something to right this, but what to do? He hadn't heard from Quade in three days and every time he called he got voice-mail. Something had to be done and soon. He wished he wasn't estranged from his family. He could sure use some fatherly advice.

But he figured his Dad wouldn't talk with him and Dylan needed help, but if not from his father then from whom? He saw the light come on in their bedroom and as if by magic a light came on in his head too. He chastised himself. He knew all along a person he could talk to and tomorrow he would.

***

Friday afternoon a happier man came home early from work. Dylan had several things to discuss with Mari and he wasn't going to take 'drop it' for an answer today. He smiled when he tossed the mail on the ever-growing pile of unpaid bills no longer concerned about the threats of collection inside them. He opened the fridge, took out a beer then stopped and put it back. It was better to wait until after their talk. He instead poured a glass of water and headed outside to the pond. He carefully sat on the bench and got as comfortable as his healing injuries allowed. He leaned back closed his eyes and regaled himself with the events of the day.

He chuckled as he remembered what Mr. Kimbridge, no, 'Peter' did for them today. It was amazing. A small voice broke his reverie. He opened his eyes, and saw his loving wife. She seemed nervous as she spoke, "Dylan I...I just got home and some man followed me up the walk. He umm, asked to speak with you."

Her husband stood up and smiled, "Hi hon. No need for you to be so nervous; it's not a problem. Any idea who he represents or what he wants?"

Surprised by his reassurance and smile she hesitated, "Umm, I uhh, don't really know. It's just some man carrying an envelope. I kind of think he...he might be a bill collector because, umm, he asked specifically for you." Mari nervously twisted her chestnut hair as she spoke.