better... i think

he's been pretty snuggly this last few days. He'll put his arm around me at night and hold my hand, and stuff. We haven't had sex in like almost 3 weeks, first because we were kind of fighting-not-fighting or whatever, then because I was on my period (yeyyy), and then just as I came off my period, he cut his Johnson shaving his pubes- I mean he was trimming them with scissors, and accidentally cut like a pinky-nail sized biopsy-esque flap of skin off his dick, which was visible on the scissor tines when he yanked them away. It was a deep gash, probably the whole top layer of epidermis came off, exposing the dermis beneath, poor guy. It was pretty angry red and weepy with blood / myoglobin at first. He's been kinda freaking out, because he thought maybe he should go to the emergency room or doctor and get stitches. However, neither of us have health care coverage right now. (I know, I know. I'm freelancing and he's looking for work and even though Obamacare says we gotta have it, our state's insurance exchange is super-fucked up right now, so bad that the company they hired to design the sign-up website got fired by the state itself. And we're honestly 'so broke we can't even pay attention', as my dad used to say. Even if we bought him coverage the day he injured himself, it would take like a month for the coverage to kick in and be active. But of course, guess what new expense we can't afford just jumped to the top of our To-Worry-About list? Well heyyy, let me just shoot some more imaginary dollars out my ass. Hang on. This'll only take a second.)

Of course he knows the dire state we're in, and that an emergency room visit costing thousands of dollars wasn't really ...uhm... I mean, not that we wouldn't go, if we had to. But treating it with basic nursing wound care as a first step was probably a prudent idea.

Luckily, I'm well versed in First Aid, as well as Medical Caretaking For Penises 101 (I mean, okay I'm not a doctor but during that whole cancer thing, I have to say, I got a little practice).

So I've been playing nurse for a couple of days, and he's been doing his best to suck it up and let "first aid" be good enough instead of stitches because we're poor, even though in his ideal world I'm sure we'd be totally on top of things in White Yuppie Loftland, as is our sociocultural destiny, and be able to take ourselves to the doctor anytime for a minimal co-pay and have a medical professional... handle it.

(I want all 2 of you who read these posts, plus whatever soulless google bot scans this content, to appreciate how very straight of a face I am keeping while typing this. I am totally refraining from snickering so hard. Are you appreciating it? See? See how I'm not even laughing, or even giggling out loud right now?)

...Heh, I said "handle it".
*rimshot*
*eyeroll*

Aaaanyway.
This is not to say that there's anything wrong with Being On Top Of Things, Being Insured, or being White and Professional. It's just above my pay grade right now. I'm working on it. Fuck.

We've both been keeping an eye on it, though I've tried really hard not to do suggestive things or play with it in a way that would give him an erection because he was really scared of pain and damage if/when that happened. (Buut, he popped morning wood a couple of times, and it's been painful, but okay. The bandaids got tight and uncomfortable, but honestly probably helped keep the skin tension in that spot relatively uniform.)
We just rinsed it with water/ sterilized it with hydrogen peroxide, applied pain-relieving antibiotic ointment to it, and covered it with anti-bacterial bandaids, changing the dressing several times a day. I've also... sniffed it a couple of times to make sure it smells "normal" and clean, not infected and weird. (The things I do for love.) (LOL okay real talk, I have put my *ahem* nose close to it enough times that I know and enjoy his natural "scent" so it was not a problem for me, and I would know if it smelled "different"/"bad" which would be time to really take him to a doctor regardless of future bills... anything that helps, you know?)

I have to say... basic wound care is basic wound care. This is the 3rd day, and it's looking a lot better. (Also, been making him take increased dosage of Vitamin C to boost healing.) Prognosis is good, no visible infection, I think it'll heal up pretty good without stitches and now he's a little more relaxed about it too.

It's too bad I don't own one of those white vinyl nurse outfits.
Not that we could use it right now anyway.
*begins concocting devious ways to eek some mileage out of this scenario later when he's fully healed*
>:-)

Anyway. I don't know if it's the no-sex and me still caring about his well-being thing, or if he thought about what I said the night I summoned all my courage to ask him if he still loved me, and begged him to tell me more often, or if he's trying to be less hateful about everything because he sees it gets me down, or what, but he's... you know, I can tell he's reaching out, and making an effort.

I really really want this to make everything okay. The truth is, it doesn't, though.
I guess some of my trust has been broken lately. I will say I'm willing to try and team-rebuild it with him, though.
And the good thing about having my trust broken is, it forces me to go back and rely on myself, and not be so... putty-in-his-hands or whatever. It forces me to remember it's only truly safe to rely on me, and to get what *I* want out of life, and not let other people's negative attitudes and whining and dicking around in circles of "no" and "I can't", derail me from the plans I had for mySELF. Even if those other people are people I love.
Because you know what? I'm a MOTHERFUCKING SURVIVOR, and I worked HARD for me to still be here, alive and kicking on this planet. It took some fucking effort, to commit to waking up every nightmarish day in that first 6 months after I found out my ex was a fucking adulterous child molesting felon, to choose not to commit suicide right after I watched 14 years of my life evaporate in the space of half-an-hour, and knew that I had, at that point, just irrevocably lost everything I lived and breathed for. I chose the painful way- to keep living. To smile even though I felt like I was spiritually disembowled and dragging my soul's entrails around everywhere with great effort. To attend every motherfucking court date, even though it's probably given me courtroom PTSD. To visit the loser in jail to watch over his arguably now-worthless life. And to pick up the shattered pieces of my soul, and to find new reasons to keep living without him.
*I* did that. Me. And I taught myself that I don't have to matter to other people in order to matter to myself. I can get by just fine on my own.
Broken trust reminds me of that.

Now I want this to work, with Mr. Man, I really really do. Still. And I have a soft spot for him and his effort is noticed and appreciated and reciprocated by me. I do feel warm fuzzy feelings when he snuggles me up or takes my hand...
But if it doesn't work out, you know what? I'm STILL gonna be okay. No, it won't be good for a while, but I'mma keep on living.
I'm just keeping that in the back of my mind for now.