Navigating Pain

One night when I’m in pain, I ask my partner to put his hand on my back and simply rest it there.

I’ve had three back surgeries for nerve damage and I also have postherpedic neuralgia, a complication of shingles. I’ve tried myriad medications and alternative treatments, too. Nothing helps as much as my lover’s touch.

I know he’d like to make love. I feel his wordless need. In his 70s, he’s still virile, while I, in my late 60s, desire the desire for sex.

I admit there are many times my preference would be to simply sleep through the night with my partner’s hand resting all night long on my owie place just below my right shoulder blade, its warmth a healing salve through the thin fabric of my blue nightgown.

Once, curious, I Googled “seniors and sex” and learned things I had already intuited: that research shows older women are more likely to lose interest (due to post-menopausal and hormonal changes, vaginal dryness, etc.) than are older men. Of course, there are exceptions.

More limited research has been done on sexual activity in people with pain issues, findings showing that females demonstrate significantly lower sexual satisfaction than men with similar pain levels. I recall that when my partner had been hurting in the months before he had his hip replaced last year, he was still able to push through his discomfort and reach that lovely release that can be such a welcome panacea for pain.

Me, I don’t reach that happy place as easily or as often as I used to. There are some nights when his hand on my back feels as lovely as any orgasm I’ve had.

I wonder about so many things. I wonder if a time will come when erectile disfunction changes the logistics of our sex life.

I wonder about taboos that limit frank, open discussions about sex in our society, let alone the delicate subject of seniors and their sex lives.

I wonder about my pain condition and its trajectory, if it’ll turn a corner and, if so, what things will look like around the bend.

I wonder what my partner will think of this story. So I stop writing and read it to him. He’s a good listener and is as concerned about my pain condition as I am. Always upbeat, he says something flattering, risqué (and unprintable) about his powerful attraction to me.

It’s mutual, and I’m not hurting much right now, so … .

The author, who hurts (sometimes) in McKinleyville, believes this is an important conversation, but would prefer her name not be published.