For the first time yesterday, i felt really odd about publishing what i wrote.  i was concerned that someone might misunderstand and think i was suicidal or that i had no respect for the journey of the dying.  Neither is true.

The documentary made me understand that in some ways, i have more in common with the dying than the living.  i give thanks for being able to get my lists done, just like they do.  i get frustrated not being able to do common things without help some days, like getting up to use the bathroom.  The last two weeks of one woman’s life contained the sharp intake of breath, the inability to talk through the pain, the sitting down and staring at nothing-just like me.

The difference is she was doing well, for long months, on a small amount of morphine.  And i remember the half year i took it myself, the same small dose.  i was a totally different person.  The anxiety comes from the pain.  When i wasn’t constantly trying to determine some algebraic model of comparing work that needed to be done with pain involved with doing it, the anxiety went away.  i wanted to do things.  i wanted to fly to Europe, actually,  i wanted to hike, to ride a horse again, to make love, to dance.  i wanted to do All The Things.

This morning i’ve had coffee and meds, scrubbed the toliet and tub, showered and put on make-up, vacuumed and moped the house, washed the counter tops and made the bed, washed ashtrays and got the recycling together to carry down.

That’s it.  It’s my daily morning chores.

And my hip feels like it’s ripping, my calf muscles feel like i’ve been walking in place on top of a camel all night, my skin hurts and i’m running a fever.  Again.

As a patient, i think i have a right to palliative care.

i wanted to tell my doctor about all of this, but by the time i get there, i’m weary and my pulse is high from the pain and i feel like i could vomit and i want to shake her i’m so fucking angry.  i can’t articulate clearly, can’t remember what was said thirty seconds previously and have to turn to Sir Raven to ask.  It’s too much, too damn much, and i spend most of my time trying to behave like a normal person.

So i retreat.  Into myself.  “Zone out,” Sir Raven calls it.

She is annoyed when i don’t know where to get off when we take the bus.  “It’s been two years,” she points out.  i was off by a stop.  That was my best effort.  i want to scream at her, hiss at her, but instead i apologize and follow her off the back of the bus, thinking i might throw up on the street when i have to navigate a step down that is almost longer than my short legs.

As a slave, i don’t have rights.

i can’t demand she be reasonable, ask her to get off my ass, make her slow down, ask her to be comforting, expect her to do anything other than get frustrated with me.

i feel guilty about the seemingly endless parade of doctor’s this month; she shouldn’t have to do this.

When we get home, i wash my hands and put away her jacket.  i bring her ice water and maybe fix her something to eat.  i crawl into bed and cry silently, pray for sleep, try to not make a big deal out of it.

i certainly can’t make her take me home, beat my ass with the strap-anything to take it all-all of the pain, the anger, the humiliation-and tuck me into bed.

i wonder what it would be like, if i could at least count the days til release.

As a slave, i have the right to medical care, housing, food, and being controlled.  i’d also add that i should have the right to discipline, punishment, and knowing what to expect.  But meh.

So, thank you, for the kind remarks yesterday, for the virtual hugs, for the support.

i’m going to go and try to enjoy my day, a rare afternoon out with Karida. 🙂

Today, i’m thankful that my Master takes me to the doctor and wants to understand my medical problems.  i’m thankful that i never have to worry about food, clothing, or shelter.  i’m thankful for friends who try to understand, who don’t shame me when i’m already ashamed.  i’m thankful for slaves who are doing the work, just like me, with all manner of reasons they could use to not be bothered and choose to keep pushing forward on the path.  i’m thankful that i don’t need to be dying to savor the little things, the kindness of strangers, the perfect breeze, the kiss goodbye in the morning.  i have such an enormous amount of gratitude every day, so much to be thankful for and to really notice.  i never forget to be thankful, and that is definitely something to feel gratitude about.  In weakness, times of turmoil and anger, it sustains me.


2 thoughts on “Rights

  1. Audi says:

    I hope you know you are an amazing person. ❤ *more hugs*

  2. night owl says:

    Jade, I’m certainly no expert in Master/slave relationships, or your and Raven’s in particular, however I do know a little about the BDSM community in general. Is it not possible let for your Master to negotiate with another Master or Top or Sadist to beat you? I truly understand the benefits you receive from the endorphin releasing activity, while I also understand the physical, mental, and emotional effort it takes to get in the Sadist’s headspace. Perhaps Raven could invite another community member to help alleviate your pain.

    It would seem a compassionate thing to do, and serve everyone’s needs.

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