Well Wasn’t That a Big Oops

I’m sure most of you know that I have been struggling with what I thought was a lingering cold, that had ramped right off the tail end of the stomach flu near the middle of December.

I’m also sure that most of you have heard “nurses make the worst patients”.

I’m proof of that saying. Fuck.

I figured I had a lingering cold. It was a deep hacking cough that made me retch from time to time, but Delsym and Mucinex enabled me to keep on chugging. Sure, I was exhausted, but that was just because I wasn’t sleeping so well at night. Sure, I was getting slower and slower going up the stairs, or rushing from one class to the next, but hey, maybe that was because I was *tired*. Yeah, I was hocking up yellow junk, but I recently read a report indicating that even with the presence of green and/or yellow phlegm, antibiotics don’t really do shit. So I talked myself out of the possibility of bronchitis, didn’t tell N that I was having a hard time making it up the stairs in the morning, hid how much Delsym I was taking, never mentioned the exhaustion, and withdrew from a large part of the world because I felt limited. I stopped going to the gym when my heart rate soared to 160 bpm just 5 minutes into a light warmup. I stopped wanting to go out when I realized people looked at me like I had tuberculosis when I was out shopping and had a coughing fit. No lie…I had people in class move when I couldn’t stop coughing.

The most embarrassing, and probably the clincher, was when I started having stress incontinence problems when I coughed. That’s right bitches, nothing says sexy at 30 like having to wear Poise out in public.

I’m not sure how many of my readers realize this, but I don’t have medical insurance. The policy offered through N’s work to cover us both would eat up nearly a quarter of His take-home pay per month. I’m kinda winging it, treating myself for what I can and praying for the rest. I just need to make it though the next two to three years, and then I can secure a job that offers me my own, slightly more affordable policy.

Knowing that I don’t have insurance really makes me find ways to squirm out of seeing a doctor. Eventually I couldn’t squirm out of it anymore, and I took advantage of my school’s free-one-visit-to-the-local-clinic program and headed out to the doc.The visit is free, any lab work, pharmaceuticals or therapies are out of pocket

The conclusion was: Asthamtic Bronchitis. The fatigue and exhaustion were a combination of lower oxygen saturation, bad sleep from congestion and coughing, an infection and the inflammatory response. The phlegm was stuck in the lungs because my airways were too inflamed to let it all out. I was an idiot for letting it go on so long. I was given a scrip for prednisone to end the inflammation, albuterol inhaler for ease of breathing/coughing, and an antibiotic to stop anything breeding in the dregs of my stiff lungs.

The cost of the medication alone made me feel like a complete and utter dipshit.

What does this have to do with O/p? Well, quite frankly, it illustrates how I failed to uphold my end of the transparency deal. I didn’t tell N when I was really hitting rock bottom. I kept lying to myself, because if I lied to myself, not only does it not seem so bad, but I get the added bonus of not lying to Him. In my efforts to keep what I viewed as annoying BS out of His life so He didn’t have to worry about it, I let myself fall far apart and needed twice as much work to fix. I took it upon myself to filter information, which is never supposed to be my responsibility.

I don’t know if He trusts me now not to lie about my health. I don’t deserve the trust, but who knows?

So that’s what I have been busy doing. Recovering and feeling like the fool.

The Scene

Two lovers, laying in bed, spooning. Room is pitch black, but if you could see there would be thin white traces of tears already spent traced down the sides of their faces. Voices are husky with emotion and exhaustion. Pain and love are nearly palpable in the air.

Her whispering: I love you.

Him: I love you too, dear. Very much so.

Her whispering: I’m sorry.

Him: I know you are. And I am so very sorry that we are here. But if you can believe that we are the one thing that will hold together longer than anything else, this will pass.


We are on the final leg of the journey back to the land of the living. He’s helping me swallow the irrational desire for vengeance and reciprocated pain, shown me that He is dedicated to us, and He has been more reasonable and understanding than any other person I have ever known. Many times my lashing out, a protection meant to shield my aching and terrified self, was aimed at Him only because He was there, not because He earned it, and yet He stayed by me, soothed me, deflected the anger and anguish with consistent love and devotion.

He has said that as much as I worship Him, He worships that I  give Him all of my service and devotion.

He has said that our foundation is unable to be breached, and as long as I have faith in that, nothing can do damage to us. I may be hurt (never on purpose, but shit happens and we are all just human), but it will never be permanent, it will never ruin us. If I can learn to believe that we will only grow stronger and closer through hardships, through unrest, through pain, then those things won’t hurt me as much, won’t linger, won’t cause festering sores on my psyche. When you live in a concrete house, what’s a little rain?

I want to believe. So desperately.

I need to believe.

How do you take that step out over the abyss, even when everyone tells you the safety net is only four feet from the drop, but your heart is screaming you’ll fall to your death?

Just one step.

I can do this. I can do this for Him.

I will do this for me.


He had an analogy that is aimed to explain why I need never worry that my one limit on Him will convince Him that He deserves someone better.

“It’s like I love storms…I find them exciting. So I go onto my property and do a raindance, to bring the storms. Only, I got a tornado instead, and it tore up my property bad. So I go about fixing it back up, not selling it. And I don’t do another raindance, because the risk of another tornado isn’t worth the little excitement of a storm.”

Kaya once wrote that having a limit, designed specifically to protect herself from her willingness to destroy herself to give her Owner something He desired,  made her feel like a failure, like she was less worthy of a Man who would set aside His desires to protect her.

I didn’t understand then. It seemed fairly logical that an Owner could define what He deems to acceptable risk, and who is the property to say He isn’t doing it right?

I understand now.

I am not failure, even if I can’t give Him that thunderstorm He finds exciting.

I am not an impediment to His happiness.

I am worth being cherished and loved.

I am worth being protected.

I am worthy of being His most prized property.

It does not make an Owner “less than” to realize that just because you can wrap your Ferrari around a tree doesn’t make it the smartest thing to do. In fact, it can definitely make you a damned irresponsible car Owner, and few people will want you driving their cars when they see how callous you treat your car.

“Because I can” should not automatically mean “Then I will”.

Helter Skelter


  • Cracks found in the foundation mortar.
  • Some pieces of foundation mortar missing.
  • Load-bearing structures not properly supported.
  • Poor communication of maintenance crew led to some disrepair.


  • Fill in cracks with stronger adhesive.
  • Re-patch the missing mortar with stronger type made for higher pressures.
  • Revamp the support structures to accept the load more safely.
  • Streamline the communication process and engage more in “active maintenance” than “later repair”.

Outlook: Highly favorable, nearly guaranteed to succeed. Foundation will be completely sound once again after the repairs are finished.

Effort Required: Heavy. Unfavorable conditions, harsh requirements to ensure a good repair. Will require consistent worker support and assistance.