After my surprise homecoming celebration, everything was exactly as it should be, and Justin and I both found ourselves back in our comfortable routine -- me going to the office, him going to his studio, and the two of us enjoying dinner together at home most nights. However, those perfect days were short lived, and soon the routine started to fall apart once again, but this time not in a way that was overly concerning. Now, I could kick myself for thinking that, but there’s nothing I can do to turn back time and change the progression of events.

Justin’s show was creeping nearer and nearer, and as a result, Justin started spending more and more time in his studio -- leaving early in the morning and staying until late in the evening. And, just as he had been before, he was coming home frustrated, but he never wanted to talk to me about it. I tried -- god, did I try -- but I couldn’t get him to open up to me. Still, though, I wasn’t worried, because this was a familiar scene -- Justin throwing himself fully into his art, to the exclusion of all else. I just wished he’d been happier about it, and enjoying himself more. But that would come, I told myself, once Justin met his deadline and had the reassurance of everyone telling him how brilliant his work was.

I offered to bring him lunch and dinner at his studio, but he was always quick to decline, assuring me that he was ordering delivery and setting an alarm on his phone so he wouldn’t forget to eat. Sometimes I wanted to surprise him with a meal anyway, but I kept remembering the last time I’d done that, and how it had resulted in me feeling shut out and pushed away, and a little bit like I’d intruded into Justin’s private space. It was the memory of those feelings that kept me away, because the last thing I wanted to do was invade Justin’s privacy or do something that would result in him turning his frustration around on me, because as much as I used to live by the mantra, “You’re the only one you need; you’re the only one you’ve got,” I had to admit that my recent time in Pittsburgh had demonstrated for me just how little I desired to be alone. I wasn’t afraid of Justin -- I hadn’t been afraid of anybody in a long, long time -- but I also wasn’t fond of the vulnerable feelings that being lonely stirred in me, so any situation that might result in that was best avoided, and pushed through with as little thought as possible.

Then, as a result of a simple slip of the hand, everything shifted again.

Justin had left for his studio before I’d even managed to drag myself out of bed, though he did kiss me goodbye before he left and told me to have a good day. I felt like there was something in his smile that belied the brightness in his tone, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and I told myself not to read too much into it. After all, I was tired because I’d been late coming home from the office the night before, thanks to a client changing their mind about something at the very last minute. I had been trying to avoid late nights, because I knew what they did to me physically, but sometimes they couldn’t be avoided. And somehow, knowing Justin was busy too, with his own work, made it even easier to just stay at the office and keep working -- perhaps because it meant I wouldn’t be sitting at home alone.

A few minutes after I heard the front door to our apartment close, I finally pushed myself up into a sitting position and slid my body from the bed to my wheelchair, going into the bathroom to start my daily routine. For the next thirty minutes, everything was fine and went off without a hitch, despite my tiredness and the dark circles I could see under my eyes in the mirror. I could tell it was going to be a rough day at the office, but I’d get through it -- I always did. The entire time I was in the shower, I was mentally going through my calendar, thinking about my schedule for the day. Sometimes being the boss meant sitting in on a lot of conference calls and staff meetings, that was exactly what this particular Wednesday morning was about to entail. I was busy dreading one of those calls -- which always proved to be hopelessly boring -- when I started to move from my shower bench to my wheelchair, but my right hand slipped on the wet, still slightly soapy surface of the shower bench, and before I could even comprehend what was happening or make any sort of attempt to readjust or recover, I was on my ass atop the low threshold between the shower and the rest of the bathroom, my right leg and foot folded underneath me at an awkward angle.

It was one of those moments when I knew I’d done something that should have really, really hurt, but -- as always -- my paralyzed body’s reaction was strange. My ears started ringing, and I immediately felt like I was burning up, and for a brief moment, I’d actually thought I might pass out. But then, as quickly as they had arisen, those feelings faded away, leaving me sitting on the floor between my wheelchair and the shower bench, butt naked, both wishing Justin was there to help me and at the same time being glad he hadn’t been there to witness the embarrassing show. I didn’t even have a good excuse for what had just happened -- I simply hadn’t been paying attention. Once the lightheaded feeling had completely passed, I leaned to the right so I could dislodge my foot from underneath me and extended my leg, watching as it shook with a spasm then settled into stillness once again. Then, I extended my left leg as well and checked myself out. As best I could tell at that point, I’d gotten lucky, as there weren’t any deformities present that would indicate broken bones, so I sat on the wet floor until my hands stopped shaking and I felt like my strength had returned, then cautiously and carefully started the process of getting myself up and into my wheelchair.

It was more than a little bit challenging on a wet surface, completely naked, while also trying to avoid injuring myself any further than I might have already, but I was finally able to get myself into the right position, seated sideways in front of my wheelchair, with my feet pulled in as close to my butt as I could get them, knees tucked under my chin. Another wave of lightheadedness hit me as I completed the final step -- using my legs and feet as a base to pivot on as I pushed my body upward and settled my ass safely on my seat cushion -- but it passed quickly, after a few seconds with my head down, and I assumed it had more to do with the adrenaline still flowing through my veins than anything else.

Once my head was no longer swimming, I went into the bedroom to get dressed, more than a little apprehensive about transferring to the bed to put my pants on, but I quickly told myself that I was being stupid -- I’d done that transfer thousands of times without a problem. Of course, the same applied to transferring in and out of the shower. But I was fine, I reminded myself. No need to worry.

I got dressed without any further incident, glancing at my watch as I put it on and realizing that I needed to get my ass out the door or I was going to be late. Luckily, the subway ride was short and uncomplicated, with no out-of-service elevators to contend with, and I made it to the office just in time. I stopped for coffee and a slice of quiche at the cafe on the ground floor of the building, then went up to my office, where I managed to eat breakfast while checking my email, before I had to be on that conference call I’d been dreading.

The call wasn’t as terrible as anticipated, though I was grateful that my full attention hadn’t been necessary, freeing me up to look at and approve a handful of print ads on my second monitor while the video call continued on the other screen. Once the call was done -- though I wasn’t sure anything had truly been accomplished -- it was time for me to head downstairs for an in-person meeting that I was far more interested in, because it concerned some recent developments at Kinnected.

Though Kinnetikcorp’s most recent acquisition was, for all intents and purposes, headed up by Rob, I still took an active interest in what was going on, purely because I found it so fascinating to watch creative minds come up with solutions to help people live their best lives. And since this was Rob’s baby, that meant that, for once, I wasn’t the one leading the meetings. So they were a little bit of a mental break, too.

I needed just such a break on that day, because I was still tired, and there was a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I wasn’t sure how to identify. But I ignored it and hoped that a little bit of positivity -- and the caring, oh-so-zen way in which Rob managed his employees -- would give me whatever it was I needed to get through the rest of my day.

When I got to the conference room Rob always used for his team meetings, there were a few people already there, and Rob’s electric tea kettle sat in the middle of the table, having apparently just finished its cycle, with steam still rising from the spout. Alongside it was an assortment of various individually wrapped teabags and a bowl full of healthy energy bars and fruit. All of these items were a far cry from the typical “coffee and doughnuts” fare that tended to dominate the meetings we held upstairs -- both for clients and employees -- though neither of those things were there because I wanted them. They were there because people were used to them, and meetings and sugar highs apparently went hand-in-hand.

But Rob’s crew was different. Even though he’d only been at the helm for a couple of months, it seemed like longer than that because everyone was already so comfortable with him, and I knew a lot of it was because of his management style, which was very even-keeled, much like his life and his entire personality. And the same characteristics that made him a damn good friend also made him a damn good manager, so I was glad he had finally agreed to join our team.

I was pouring myself a cup of tea -- because, when in Rome -- when my longtime friend came into the room with a stack of papers and folders in his lap. He acknowledged me with a nod and a smile as he took his place at the head of the table and started the meeting. As always, the sheer diversity of knowledge and skill in that room was impressive, as was Rob’s ability to effortlessly bring them together into a cohesive unit where everyone felt respected and no one talked over anyone else or tried to out-do the person next to them. And, just as I always did, I sat and observed and didn’t throw in my opinion unless it was asked for, because this simply wasn’t my area of expertise. It was Rob’s, and to be honest, I loved watching him work, while I simultaneously tried to figure out ways I could be a little more like him in my own management style without people wondering whether or not I’d been replaced by a pod person.

In this particular meeting, though, I was having a hard time concentrating. The queasy feeling in my gut lingered, and the ginger tea I’d chosen -- which should have helped calm my stomach, as I knew thanks to my unfortunate bout with testicular cancer and the resulting radiation treatments what felt like a lifetime ago -- was doing absolutely nothing. I could feel the beginnings of a headache starting behind my eyes -- a subtle pulsation that seemed to follow each beat of my heart -- and after a while, I started to feel like the words being said around me were entering my consciousness but simply weren’t computing.

I had paused to rub my eyes and to pinch the bridge of my nose -- my unconscious habit anytime I had a headache -- when Rob stopped talking for a moment. When I looked up at him, he was looking back at me with slight concern in his eyes, though, thankfully, he kept talking before the pause became long enough to be awkward, and before anyone else in the room turned their attention to me.

I tried to stay present and pay attention after that, but I kept noticing Rob’s gaze would occasionally fall to me, and the same concern would be there in his eyes each time. I wondered if it would help to eat something, but the uneasiness in my stomach didn’t seem conducive to that, and the last thing I wanted to do was have to leave the room in a rush because I was sick. So I stuck with the tea and hoped it would kick in soon.

When the meeting concluded, I managed to sneak out while Rob was busy talking with a couple of his tech experts, and I went back upstairs. I was feeling a little better than I had been a few minutes before, but I wanted to get back to my office in case that changed again. Thankfully, I didn’t have any more meetings until after lunch, so that gave me a couple of hours to resolve whatever the fuck this was so I could get on with my day.

I was cursing having stopped at the cafe downstairs for the quiche, though with as many times as their food had been of questionable taste, it had never actually made me sick. But I couldn’t think of anything else it could be, and given my symptoms, it seemed to make sense. Naturally, it would happen on a day when I really didn’t have time for it, with my full slate of meetings and calls and Cynthia out of the office because she was back “home” in Pittsburgh, visiting her mom. But I would get through it, come hell or high water, because I always did.

However, my body seemed to have other ideas, and I was still wading through my email when I noticed that the headache was gradually ramping up in intensity, transitioning from a dull, pulsating ache to a full-out pound. And -- as if I needed something else to make me feel uncomfortable -- nerve pain had joined the party as well, starting with a low-level burning sensation that felt like it was emanating from my legs. So I decided to get out of my chair for a while and stretch out on the sofa -- perhaps the most invaluable piece of furniture in my entire office -- because taking a few minutes to lie down usually helped, or at least alleviated the need to fall back on taking the extra medication I kept on hand at the office for just such occasions, since I would prefer to keep my mental faculties completely intact and not be falling asleep at my desk.

Once I was lying down, though, my body unleashed a torrent of symptoms it had apparently been holding back, and soon I was sweating and feeling unbearably hot, still with a pounding headache, and nerve pain that was quickly escalating from a smolder to a blaze. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply, hoping I’d be able to relax at least some of this away, though I knew it was a long shot.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying there with my eyes closed -- I might have drifted off briefly -- when I heard the door to my office open. I cracked one eye open, ready to put the fear of god into whichever employee of mine was dumb enough to barge right into my office when the door was closed, but instead, I found myself looking at Rob, whose brow was creased with worry.

“I knocked,” he said softly, as he closed the door behind him and started to cross the room. “You didn’t answer, but I could see you lying down, so I wanted to check on you… make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound convincing, even though I knew Rob wouldn’t be fooled by my automatic response. No one close to me ever was, but sometimes they’d humor me anyway.

“Sure,” Rob said, the slightest hint of sarcasm present in his tone, which matched his wry grin. “Because lying on the couch in your office, sweating, is totally normal.”

“Thought I’d add a little excitement to the day.” Though I was speaking through gritted teeth, I still managed to pull off the sardonic inflection I intended, resulting in Rob rolling his eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, still obviously concerned and undeterred by my attempts at deflection. “You looked sick all through that meeting.”

“Bad food or something. I don’t know. But I don’t have time for this shit.” I listed off my myriad of symptoms for Rob, trying my best to ignore the ever-increasing furrow of his brow as I continued on.

“You know…” Rob let his voice trail off as he scratched his ear, tilting his head a little to the side. He looked every bit like he was trying to talk himself out of something while simultaneously trying to convince himself of that very same thing. “I know it isn’t supposed to be a concern for someone with a lower level injury, but…” He trailed off again, still looking confused, before he shook his head and appeared to make a decision. “Take off your shoes,” he said, his voice suddenly sure and unwavering.

“Huh?”

“Take off your shoes,” he repeated.

“If I move, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Then I’ll do it for you.” He moved forward and reached for my left foot, deftly removing my shoe and my sock before I could form any sort of objection. “Take your belt off, too. Anything that’s tight.”

I was confused, and not just from the fog in my head, but my first line of defense against uncomfortable situations -- sarcasm and making inappropriate jokes -- was alive and well. “Gee, I didn’t know you and Adam were open,” I said, gritting my teeth once again through a wave of nerve pain and dizziness that hit me as Rob started to remove my right shoe.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Rob’s voice was flat and clearly not amused, though I couldn’t look at his face because I had closed my eyes in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. “And take your damn belt off.”

I started fumbling with the buckle, still distracted by the cacophony of nerve signals coursing through various parts of my body, and had just finally managed to get it undone when Rob muttered, “Jesus fucking Christ, what did you do to your foot?”