A trip to the clinic

Warning, sexual content

Note: I thought long and hard about whether or not to post this blog topic, wondering whether it is too personal, embarrassing and/or revealing, and so best kept behind closed doors. I’ve decided to take the plunge, however, after a response I received from my good friend Lauren:

Yes the story does reveal your particular vulnerabilities, and maybe you should be embarrassed, but it is breaking down stereotypes in another way.  Our culture talks about sex so much, usually in negative, exaggerated, unreal, or misogynistic ways.  And you know how most Christians talk about sex; pleasure is missing, control is emphasised, prudishness is the norm and sin is always lurking. I think you are discussing sexuality and love, human frailty and desire in very honest and beautiful ways, which challenges cultural and Christian representations.

I’m pretty sure “beautiful” is the wrong word (bizarre, absurd, surreal, might be more appropriate), but what follows is an account of a recent visit to the spinal clinic:

I’m now more than three years on from my injury, and without doubt the hardest thing to deal with has been the injury’s impact upon my sex life. Now, before I say anything more, I don’t want to add to the general assumption that people with a spinal cord injury (or any other disability) are asexual, incapable of receiving or giving sexual pleasure. On the contrary, what people don’t realise is that most people with a spinal cord injury actually do okay in bed. If they’re creative, they have the opportunity to focus on their partner’s pleasure. Also, many retain some sensation (although many don’t) and may or may not be able to orgasm. Most men manage to get a sustainable erection with the help of drugs like Viagra. I say this for the sake of my single brethren in chairs, who are just as likely (or unlikely) as anyone else to be sensational lovers.

Even so, adjusting sexually to the injury definitely has its challenges. In my case, perhaps because God hates me, I’ve been unable to get any sustainable hard on, notwithstanding attempts to use any number of drugs and pumps (it’s all very romantic). As a result, my doctor recommended a Caverject injection. This is a drug similar to Viagra, which is injected directly into the muscle of the penis. And to make sure things would be safe (that there’d be no adverse autonomic dysreflexia or permanent erection – which apparently is a bad thing?), as well as to instruct my Elly in its use, we were asked to attend Clinic for the first injection.

And so last week we made our way to the Royal North Shore Hospital, and on arrival were ushered into a sterile clinic, white walls, floor, and roof – and a stainless steel sink. We were met by a delightfully friendly, buxom, redheaded clinical nurse, and a besuited, greying Doctor, and asked to flesh out our situation. After 15 minutes of “tell all” conversation, I was asked to tip back my chair, whereupon my pants were pulled down, and a redhead and grey-haired took a look around. Then I was injected (I couldn’t feel it, but the idea of an injection there was pretty horrific), and Elly was asked to massage it around. As you can imagine, she was red-faced mortified. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to scream. There I was, in a room with three people looking on to see if I’d go hard!

A little bit of success, but not much, so the doctor decided to add some vibration, using a machine that sound like an electric drill. The combination seemed to have some success, at least enough for the Doctor to call time on the show. What it will mean for us in the long term I’m not sure. Truth be told, Elly and I were just pleased to get out of the room.

Really, all you can do is laugh at the situations you find yourself in life!

PS Relax, I was joking. I know God doesn’t hate me.… at least I don’t think so.