I peeked at the title of the brochure I'd been given — “Sex After Stroke.” Oh goodie, something else to worry about. It might as well have said, “No Way You’re Having Sex After Stroke.”
When John is invited to a wedding he discovers his nice Italian suits are a lot more convoluted than my stroke-friendly wardrobe of crew necks, polos and jeans.
After two months of medical incarceration, the powers-that-be decided I was ready to face the outside world…or my insurance ran out. Either way I was a free man.