On my thirty-first birthday, a year and a week after the accident, Brett arrived with chilled sparkling cider, Spago pizza, and an offer to perform oral sex, a startling new development and I suspect a cognitive exercise suggested by his shrink, Dr. Markowitz. We had attempted intercourse several times, but between my physical constraints and Brett’s anxiety about hurting me, we’d thrown in the towel.

I wolfed down the pizza and declined the sex, and though Brett tried to look disappointed, I knew he was relieved. If I’d had the verbal means I would have reassured Brett that eating pussy is neither proof of love nor one’s manhood, it’s just one of those things you either love to do or hate to do. But I appreciated the offer and how hard Brett was working in therapy.

When we finished our pizza, Brett took my hands in his. “Honey, you’ll be ready to come back home soon. I want you to know that you won’t have to worry about anything. I’ve installed a ramp and next week I’m going to have the entire house made handicap accessible.”

Then Brett opened a small velvet box. Nestled inside was the platinum ring, purchased over a year ago now, sparkling with five perfect carats. This was the first time I’d looked at it. It was stunning; exactly the ring I would have chosen.

He slid off the bed and got down on one knee. “You never gave me your answer.”

Here we were again, only this time I had none of the fear or the doubt I’d been racked with when he had proposed on the balcony of our hotel. I felt calm—serene. I looked into his beautiful blue eyes and saw his concern for me. I saw the pain, the worry, and the despair he had felt this last year. I saw his strength and his courage and his commitment to being there for me in sickness and in health. There were many reasons to say Yes. Brett accepted and loved me with my disabilities.

“Will you marry me, Jackie Gold?”

But twelve weeks in a coma had rewired my brain, and now Brett’s disabilities were no longer acceptable to me. I was done living under my own surveillance, taming and shushing my inner shrew. How much of myself had I buried out of fear of disapproval? I wasn’t just speaking sexually either. I couldn’t say when I would be ready for another relationship, but I knew that when the time came, I wanted a partner who would not just love my weaknesses but welcome my successes and relish the healthiest and best parts of me.