M/s Under Stress -- This is How We Do it

I've long held to the view that there is way more to true power-based relating than the hot and spicy, sexy, flashy, "stand and model" interactions that so fuel the imaginings of those "outside" our lifestyle. I am sometimes perplexed by those who report that, when life becomes stressful or challenging, the power exchange aspects of the relationship fade into the background. It seems that there is a prevailing view that this thing we do is only for the good times, and cannot be carried into those parts of our lives that are not sunny and light. I've never believed that was the truth, and having lived through the last 7 or 8 days and nights, I am even more convinced that our way of life is durable enough and functional enough to carry us through whatever may come our way.

We are in a passage that has Master feeling terribly ill. Recovering from His surgery and the infections that have ensued has been far from smooth or easy. He is weak and frustrated and sad. He is in nearly constant pain. He remains, for me, "Master." I remain, for Him, "slave." We cannot play, but our relationship is firmly grounded on the solid rock of our understandings and committments.

Service, in these difficult days, is even more vital, even more appreciated, even more needed than it is when He is well and strong. I have carried endless pitchers of ice; poured cup after cup of juice and tea and cool water. I've cleaned up the messes -- the vomit, the urine, the feces, the pus. I've bathed Him, kept clean linen on His bed, fluffed His pillows, straightened His blankets. I've opened and closed the window to His room, and adjusted the fan -- now on, now off, now on again. I've watched the care He is given and questioned when I didn't understand or didn't like what I was seeing -- keeping a running list in my head of the medications, the vital signs, the visible extent of the infection, the foods consumed (or not). It isn't my role to play "cheerleader," but it is important that I am there with Him, believing in what He cannot presently see of the future, supporting, holding, listening, advocating.

Now that school has started up again, I am rising from sleep just after 4 AM. I get a quick shower and dress for school before the doctors and nurses begin stirring around. I get Him all set up and arranged for the day. I listen carefully to what the doctors might say at morning rounds. I grab a yogurt and a piece of fruit from the hospital cafeteria, and head for school. When my teaching day is done, I am headed back to the hospital, or somedays like today, I'll head home to tend to chores there before I go to the hospital. I spend the evening doing whatever it is that He wants; whatever will help Him to heal and regain His strength. I straighten and tidy and put away all the detritus of the day, tuck Him into His bed, and settle down to sleep in the recliner beside Him. Whatever He needs through the night, I am there and able to help.

I know there is a big part of our lives that is not possible for us. The intimacy that we so enjoy when we are both well, is necessarily on hold for the time being. That will come back in due time. For now, it is enough that He is cared for, loved, and supported through all of this.

swan

"Those Things Should Commend Me"

John Hope Franklin, a scholar and pioneer of African-American studies who wrote the seminal text on the black experience in the U.S., and worked on the landmark Supreme Court case that outlawed public school segregation, died Wednesday. He was 94. Franklin was born and raised in an all-black community in Oklahoma where he was often subjected to humiliating racism, and he was later instrumental in bringing down the legal and historical validations of such a world. He was the first black department chair at a predominantly white institution, Brooklyn College; the first black professor to hold an endowed chair at Duke; and the first black president of the American Historical Association. Franklin's book, From Slavery to Freedom (1947) sold more than 3.5 million copies. It was based on research Franklin conducted in libraries and archives that didn't allow him to eat lunch or use the bathroom because he was black. Some of his greatest moments of triumph were marred by bigotry.

I heard a National Public Radio interview with him, done a few years ago. He told the story of searching for a house to buy near the campus when he became a professor at Brooklyn College. He spoke of being unable to find a realtor who would agree to show him properties that were clearly being advertised for sale, and he told of the struggle he had, once he did find a place to buy, in getting a bank to loan him the funds needed for the purchase. The interviewer asked him if he'd ever felt like just getting in front of people and saying, "Do you know who I am?" He told her that he'd never done that, and when she asked why, He said, "I am a human. I am well-educated, fairly well-dressed, well-mannered and well-spoken. I think those things should commend me."

That simple statement really struck me. I've been in several conversations lately about the way our lifestyle choices have impacted our lives; about our decision to keep our choices largely private. I know that I have a simmering anger about the fact that such hiddeness is necessary, about the fact that we could lose our jobs should any of this become known, about the fact that there are absolutely NO legal protections or guarantees for us or our family. It just isn't fair.

There is a segment of the polyamory/BDSM community that believes strongly that the only path to equality for all of us is to "be out" so that we can be seen as another definable minority able to petition for the same rights as others are given. I understand that thinking, and I believe there is power to a grassroots citizenry that is visible and united. However, the beliefs that underpin that approach seem to me to be very close to the question asked by the incredulous interviewer: "Don't you ever want to say to people, 'Do you know who I am?'" Like Dr. Franklin, I think we ought to be able to insist that we are human, polite, responsible, educated, honest, committed ... and that those things ought to commend us. It ought to be enough. It probably won't be enough, and it is likely that we'll need to fight for a very long time before we are allowed to live openly and safely in the communities that are our homes, but I hope we never lose sight of those qualities of character that commend us.

swan

Internet Censorship

Oh good grief!

This is day three of our temporary residence in room 1220 here at Good Samaritan Hospital. For the most part, it has been fine, and we've not had much that would cause us to complain. However, this morning, I am feeling completely crabby about the place's Internet censorship policy.

Here's the way the paperwork reads that we were given as we registered:

Free Wireless Internet Service --
Because we want you to have a good experience at Good Samaritan Hospitals, we are providing Wireless Internet Service to you free of charge. We offer this service as a way to continue your life while being inside the hospital.
TriHealth ascribes to a set of values that help direct our daily choices. To ensure that we are honoring those values -- respect for all people, stewardship, service excellence for all customers, response to community needs, respect for our spiritual heritage and valuing differences – we use a filtering program. While most sites are accessible through our free Wireless Internet Service, we will filter sites that conflict with our values (such as pornographic or gambling sites).
So...

I can't get to a good number of places that I regularly visit. If your site is identifiable by the filtering program as having sexual content or adult content of any sort, I can't get to it -- even though I am an adult. There are many sites that I can't access from here in the hospital that I can easily get to from school. Go figure!

At first, I found it just annoying and frustrating, but I'm working my way up to fullblown anger over it all. I might be less angry if their policy statement simply made it clear that they are praticing moralistic, judgemental censorship that declares that their choices are more right than those that others might make. But they are at great pains to claim that they respect all people and value differences. Since that is part of their organizational value system, I wonder why I don't feel respected or valued? Grrrrrr...

Wikipedia tells us that censorship is the suppression of speech or the deletion of communicative material which may be considered objectionable, harmful or sensitive, as determined by a censor. Moral censorship, is the removal of materials that censor deems, or thinks, to be obscene or otherwise morally questionable.

I've long worked in school settings where Internet filtering, and consequent censorship is just part of the deal. I'm not at all opposed to adults making decisions and choices about what is and is not appropriate for the children in their care to access. However that is not in play here. We are not children.

Too, I understand that this is a hospital that has a religious affiliation. Fine. However, this is not a hospital that limits its client base to those who share the same religious perspective. This hospital will quite happily bill our insurance for the full price of the care they've provided, and they will not feel the need to "filter" their charges based on moral judgements about our choices. Our money is perfectly good, even if our morals are seemingly objectionable. Blech!

Oh yeah, and one other thing about hanging out with folks who are unable to hear or understand because the static of their religious views drowns out everything else -- why is it that, in spite of clear directions to the contrary, the hospital chaplains insist on coming in to visit? Get a clue, please! Those blank stares that we're giving them until they leave are obviously not registering.

swan

All is Well

Both Master and T came through the surgery just fine. Both are resting. T seems more comfortable at this point than Master -- He seems to have some pretty significant pain. They did have different operations. Master ended up with the rouen-y gastric bypass, and T had the sleeve gastrectomy, so I am thinking that the difference in pain levels may be related to that.

Both are sipping water and tolerating that fairly well. They've had times of queasiness, but no serious nausea which is a very good sign. T has already been up and walked the length of the hospital hallway. Master is due to sit up for the first time in about 15 minutes.

We are all fine. I haven't been able to get connected to the hospital network all day long. Just finally managed to get a connection, so I apologize for keeping everyone waiting to hear. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back tomorrow and update you all.

swan

The Journey Makes us One

I teach in a Catholic school. Part of the deal is that we take our children to worship once a week. I've been attending Catholic masses on a weekly basis for some 18 school years now, and while I know there are some who will find it amazing, I have yet to burst into flames at the door to the church.

I am an increasingly confirmed "heathen," and I find that there are weeks when it comes around to Thursday morning, and I just cringe at the thought of having to go sit through the ritual. Still, it is my view that I can participate in the "customs" of the place at the highest level I am capable of. Learning to be respectful when encountering another culture is part of what I try to teach, so I try to model it in my own behavior.

Every now and then, sitting there watching the whole business, something will strike me as meaningful. Not necessarily meaningful in the way that is intended, but with a message that speaks to my heart in the moment. That has been the case in the last week, with a hymn that is being sung during this season of Lent. The music line is particularly evocative -- and it does seem to be stuck in my brain, but the words speak to me about my life; about our lives, especially just now --

Jerusalem My Destiny by Rory Cooney
...Though I cannot see the end for me I cannot turn away.
We have set our hearts for the way; this journey is our destiny.
Let no one walk alone. The journey makes us one.

swan

Keep Quiet

Things got pretty intense around here yesterday. As we struggled to understand what had happened to land Master's father in the hospital, and the possible implications of that for the planned bariatric surgery on Monday morning, we received information from one of his nurses that "grandpa" was about to be moved to intensive care.

The whole situation was upsetting and scary. Worry for our elder family member combined with frustration and concern for the well-being of Master and T, and the whole business created an atmosphere of tension and short-tempers.

I was terribly upset. I knew, absolutely and without any doubt, that if it came down to it, Master would cancel His plans to be able to take care of His dad. In my heart of hearts I was enormously proud of the Man He is. It is simply His way -- whatever is going on with Him, He puts those He loves first, and that often costs Him in big and small ways. I wanted Him to make the choice for Himself this time. I wanted Him to let me handle whatever needed to be handled, and just go forward with taking care of Himself --and I knew with a sure certainty that He would not do it.

A tumble of arguments and reasons and debating points (many of them really good) ran through my mind -- all worthless, useless, of no merit in the circumstances. Master would do what He would do. It simply did not matter what I might think about it. The choice would be made, and my opinion was just not needed.

That is a foundational reality that goes with our dynamic. It very seldom comes up, and I don't usually smack into the fact of that truth. Most of the time, we converse and banter and debate, and my opinions and ideas get weighed into the mix, and it is easy to believe that I have an equal say. It isn't true, but most of the time it just isn't something that we pay attention to.

So, when I find myself right in the face of that fact, it is shocking, and terribly difficult to accept. After all, I am a product of my culture and I lived my whole life knowing that I had the right to my opinions, and the right to speak my mind, and the right to be taken seriously when I have something to say. I learned "the rules" about all of this at a very early age:

• You are a citizen and you have the right to say what you want to say. You have the freedom of speech.
• Say what you have in mind. People can't just stare at you and expect you to be quiet, they don't own you.
• Speak clearly and make yourself heard, but you don't need to yell, just speak loud enough to let people hear your voice. Say exactly what you have in mind.
• Practice speaking your mind even when the most simple things are going on, say what you want and what you think it's better.
• If you believe what you have to say is important, others will too.

Except that here, inside our home, within our power-based dynamic, He DOES own me; He can expect me to be quiet; He can refuse to listen to my opinions. I'm not "entitled" to speak my mind, even if I do usually have the privilege of doing so.

Slavery is a funny thing -- I can go along, day by day, and never really notice it at all. It is just part of who I am, and I can sometimes find myself questioning whether it really exists at all. But then, I encounter some hurdle like this, and I am reminded. There are all kinds of things that a person might imagine are difficult about slavery. Those imaginings are,I believe, largely fueled by the very sensationalized views of BDSM that we can pick up from the fictional realm. The truth is more subtle, and even tougher than the "stand and model" fantasies. For me, the business of holding my tongue when I just know I have something incredibly important to say is devilishly difficult.

swan

So I'll Remember

We have not been playing these last few weeks. We've been very preoccupied, and for some significant part of this stretch, He hasn't felt especially well or vibrant.

We haven't talked about it much. He commented about a week ago, that He'd read somewhere that severe caloric restriction kills the libido. Maybe so. I have simply focused on trying to serve, trying to keep things calm here, trying not to make demands or increase the tension levels.

Waking up this morning, knowing it was our last morning before surgery, I was resigned to the likelihood that we'd probably not be going there today either. I was feeling sad, feeling scared, feeling already lonely and small.

So, when He woke up and wanted to play, I was thrilled, but also afraid. My emotions have been under such a tight rein these last weeks, that I was worried that the intensity of SM play would bring them boiling to the surface.

He wanted to play with our new spreader bar. We've had it since Winter Wickedness, but hadn't had it out to play yet. So, when He was ready, I rounded up all the cuffs, the pillow, the spreader bar. Once I was in place over the trusty pillow, He proceeded to hook me up, and with my face buried in my little, squishy, red neck pillow, we were on our way. He did some hand spanking, some caning, the red paddle (of course), the 5-fingered tawse, more red paddle, the dressage whip, and the single tail... oh, and more red paddle at the end.

I cried. I begged. And, yes, some of my fear about the pending surgeries did bubble to the surface. He was right there. Settling me and soothing me, and then taking me on further on the path He had in mind. The spreader bar worked just fine, thank you very much. We finished, and we made love and it was good.

I imagine I'll remember, quite vividly, just who I belong to as I wait for Him and T in the hospital tomorrow morning. I am feeling warm, stronger, safe, better equipped to make the journey ahead.

Thank You, Sir.

swan