Page 38 of Tropical Heat

“You have every right to be scared. Polyamorous relationships require much more work than monogamous ones.” She held up a piece of paper to the camera on which she had drawn a straight line and labeled the ends Partner A and Partner B. “This represents a monogamous relationship. Where all you have to consider are the feelings and needs of each other. Pretty simple right—yet people manage to screw it up all the time.”

She drew another line from the first to form a V. She labeled the terminus of the second line Partner C. “This represents the type of relationship you thought you were in. Juggling two partners is never easy, but like many people, you made it work.”

“Then things got messy. You discovered the two men were also in a relationship with each other.” She drew another line and held up the paper. “Triangles have been used in construction for centuries because of their inherent strength and stability. But they are only as good as the lines that connect them.”

“So what you are saying is, if the individual relationships are strong, then the triangle can withstand anything.”

“Exactly. But those relationships require maintenance. The biggest mistake I see triads make is spending all of their time together. They don’t take time to focus on the inner relationships that connected them to begin with.”

“You mean I should still go on dates with them individually?”

“At least occasionally, and they should do the same with each other. But it's just as important for the members of a group to have time to themselves, otherwise they lose their identity.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed.

“Then I guess you need to ask yourself two questions. One, are you sure you love these men and that they love you and each other?”

“Positive,” I said, without needing to think about it.

“Then the only question which matters is, what’s holding you back from happiness?”

“I’m afraid of getting hurt, or ruining their relationship.”

“I can relate. When Jay and Trent asked me to be their partner, I had the same fears. In fact, I was scared shitless. But if I had let fear stand in my way,”—she paused for dramatic effect—then held up a sonogram print out, "this would never have happened.”

“Oh my god you're pregnant. I am so happy for you. You’re going to make a terrific mother.”

“And so will you someday,” she said. “Don't say anything to your mother about me being preggers. You’re the only one who knows besides Jay and Trent.”

“Do you know which one is the father?”

“No, and we don't intend to find out. I know both of them will love this baby as if it were their own.”

“I hope I can be as happy as you are someday.”

“It sounds to me like you already have a couple of amazing guys, if only you would let them into your life.”

“I’m trying Cyn, I really am.”

“Well, try harder.” She smiled and, before logging off, said, “I'll talk to you in a few days to see how you are making out.”

Cynthia was full of tips on how to have a successful poly relationship, which she happily shared in our subsequent conversations, but had no answers for overcoming my fears.

I wish I could tell you that two weeks of scientific research and introspection eventually helped me resolve all of my issues. But while there were plenty of studies on the connection between fear and love, the vast majority focused on cause and effect without providing solutions. I was so desperate I even picked up a couple pop-psychology books at Ziggy’s Twice Loved Books. They were beyond useless.

In the end, it was an elderly woman by the name of Bernice Thome who helped me overcome my fears. When I first met her, she was clutching the hand of her husband, who had arrived at the ER by ambulance. Bernice explained that Mr. Thome, who suffered from numerous health issues, had fallen and banged his chest against the arm of their sofa the previous day. According to his wife, he was a stubborn old man. Despite her protests, he had refused to go to the hospital and allow to be checked out.

But earlier that day, he began complaining of chest pains, which was when she called 911. A quick examination revealed low blood pressure and a muffled heartbeat, but it was the bulging veins in his neck which convinced me he was suffering from cardiac tamponade.

His impact with the couch has caused fluid to accumulate in the pericardial sac—a thin membrane that surrounds the heart. If I did not release the pressure, at the very least, his heart would be irreparably damaged. In the worst-case, he would suffer a fatal heart attack.

I explained this to Bernice and that while it was a simple procedure, she could not be in the room while I performed it. She held tight to her husband’s hand, a look of terror in her eyes. I hated to send her away, but was about to stick a huge ass needle in her husband's chest and needed to focus. If distracted, I could accidentally puncture his heart. “Kristy, will you escort Mrs. Thome to the waiting area, please?”

The procedure went smoothly, and his vitals quickly returned to normal. Once I was satisfied he was stable, I went to speak with his wife and let her know Mr. Thome was being transferred to a room on the third floor and she could see him soon. When Bernice saw me walk into the waiting area, her bottom lipped trembled.

“Your husband is going to be fine,” I said. “But given his advanced age and medical history, I am admitting him overnight just as a precaution. He can go home in the morning.”

She gave out a sob of relief and thanked me for saving her husband's life. I assured her I was just doing my job, but she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the seat next to her. “I know Sam is going to die one day and I’ve made my peace with that, but I am glad it won’t be today.”

---