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.


This is what I look like at 6:30 AM. You can't see the wads of tissues left behind. It is damned smexy.

Not much going on here. I’m still battling what appears to be bronchitis. I started class this week.

This bronchitis has me sapped. I’m tired, I can’t breathe as well, I don’t sleep as well, I don’t think as well. Not exactly sterling slave material here.

I’ll be back in a day or two with some more original thoughts out of my fuzzy head. Maybe I will talk about the indelicacy of aging in front of an Owner who loves to mock you.

Srsly. Why didn’t anyone tell me that the hair on the head isn’t the *only* hair that grays?!

Life Beyond

A few discussions with some close friends have dragged up some stuff that I thought I had addressed from the upheaval that dominated my life at the end of April. I hadn’t even noticed it, but there were a few gems festering in my psyche, just waiting for the chance to break free from their bonds and run amok in my brain, making me appear to suffer from a case of emotional Tourrette’s.

The biggest one was another run at being abandoned. And it’s sadly hilarious that this would even be an issue for me, because I was so fucking good at denial that for ten years (at least!) I had myself convinced that despite all the indicators for abandonment fears, I was most certainly NOT a member of that large and infamous group of sufferers. Nope, not me. Baggage, yeah, but none about abandonment.

I should have been a politician, because those were some whoppers of lies I told myself all that time.

I am terrified of being replaced in N’s life. When I am confronted with a situation where my typical “job” or duty for Him is done by someone else on a regular basis I feel expendable and aimless, ripe for discarding.

Part of it is a section of self-esteem that hasn’t rose quite as quickly as the rest of it.

Part of it is the esteem I tend to hold Him in.

Part of it is the fatalistic pessimism that runs my life.

And a huge fucking part of it is the self-loathing and self-shame I still carry with me like a can tied to my tail from way back when I was seven.

Despite His assertion that He needs me just as much as I need Him, I can’t help but think someone as wonderful as Him does not deserve to be saddled with me. He’s hot, He’s smart, He’s funny, kind and one of the best people I have ever met. It is hard for me to accept the idea that He considers our relationship together to be on equal par as far as worth and deserving of each other. He deserves so much…and I don’t know if I will ever be enough.

He says I am.

God I just so desperately want to believe, to have the peace of mind a person has when they are secure in the knowledge that they are loved deeply and are worthy of that love…

And the worst thing is having to be on guard, knowing that if I don’t watch myself, I will destroy the very thing I cherish above nearly anything else. It will become a self-fulfilling prophecy because I will break everything apart so I don’t feel the anguish and terror of being left behind again.

Better leaving than being left. At least, in crazy land.

I know it takes time to change such deeply held beliefs. At some point in my life, I will declare myself worthy of love and affection from Him. I will stand up and be able to fully bask in the relationship we have nourished. I will be able to really hear Him when He says forever.

I won’t have hope anymore. I will have sincere conviction.

But it is so hard to have it there just beyond…so close. Like the forty year wait at the edge of Canaan, I can smell the milk and honey. But there are hardships and hard lessons to be learned before I can cross into the promised land of supreme happiness.

And there is a darkly humorous part of me that just has to laugh at the idea of me having to be right that I push the love of my life away, just so I can prove that He was going to leave anyways. See? Sick, dark morbid humor. At least I can still laugh at my stupidity. 😀

The Softer Side

Sunday we painted the utility room and kitchen. This involved the very clumsy tora on top of a step ladder painting all the edges (it is called cutting in, I guess).  I was doing pretty good until I moved the foot of my ladder a little too close to the hole in the floor where the dryer vent normally would be. I wobbled on the ladder a little too much and BAM!! I was on the floor, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

The foot of the ladder had lurched into the vent hole, and I went flying backwards off the ladder. I hit the dryer with my ribs and head on the way down, I twisted my left ankle in the side of the ladder, and the other shin was bruised hitting the other side of the ladder. I clawed for purchase during my fall and managed to pull the cat food bowl on top of myself as well. My paint cup left a large puddle of cream-colored paint in the floor next to me, and somehow my ponytail tip had been dipped in said cream-colored paint.

N had been painting the kitchen when I fell, and He hollered out “Are you okay in there?”

“I don’t know yet.” I grumped. “Ask me in five minutes when I figure out what just happened.”

It took me a while to gather my wits, so He came wandering in, confused as to why I hadn’t come out or starting bitching. To His eternal credit, He didn’t laugh when confronted with the image of me sitting with my legs tangled in the ladder, in a puddle of paint, cat food all over me, stuck in the corner. He helped me get out from the ladder’s death grip, gave me the stuff to clean up the paint and let me lick my wounds (figuratively!) from the safety of the desk. After I had soothed my wounded pride I went back to painting, but with a sprained ankle. He was nice enough to do all the stuff that required a ladder. 😀

Monday I had my top right wisdom tooth pulled out. The oral surgeon was kind enough to allow for IV sedation, so I was out for the actual extraction. My dad gave me a ride home, and I stumbled in, looking like Charlie Sheen after a bender (without the anger). N steered me down the stairs to our bedroom and I crawled under the blankets immediately and slept the rest of the stupor off. He finished painting, cleaned the floors in the rooms, put the knickknacks and appliances back, made the kids lunch, worked on the new washer/dryer stand and check on me. I crawled upstairs sometime after lunch and laid on the couch, staring at the tv when not drifting into a druggie-trance. He helped me take my pain meds and did the dishes for me. I got up to start supper and got everything three-quarters of the way done, but after that I had to lay back down again because I was dizzy and started to get a migraine. He finished supper, fed the kids, cleaned them up, and put them to bed, while I laid on the couch and drifted in and out again. After that He went back outside to work on His woodworking projects again. I started to feel really unpleasant, so I crawled back down the stairs and fell asleep clutching my collar. He came in and covered me up, making sure I felt okay before going to bed.

Everyone seems to think that O/p is all about the Owner being remote, cold, barking orders and getting blowjobs (or the equivalent for female Owners). Especially with regards to N, who can seem a bit aloof to those that don’t know Him. I felt so cared for, so princess-y, so secure in that He will take care of me when I am ill and not hate me for it, not feel put upon, not resent the sudden dependence on Him for my usual role.

I love You, for taking care of me and doing it with a smile on Your face.

Because Y’all Are a Nosy Bunch

I’m still here. I had gone through great pains to get the kids shipped off to their grandparents this weekend so that N and I could have a little “grown-up” time that we could spend getting all hot and bothered. Painting. Yes, you read that right. I shipped all the kids off so we could have alone time to paint. We hoped to paint the whole first level, five rooms and two hallways. Of course, plans with this set of grandparents always end up changing somehow, and we went from being childless for two night down to being childless for just over twenty-four hours.  Needless to say, the painting became wildly over-ambitious and we settled for just doing the bedrooms and living areas. Of course, we made sure to eke out some time for us to get nasty. And by us, I mean N did. I was totally unaware of any plans to be law-breakers of the most delicious sort until He assured me that I would wholly hate it in the process but love the end result. (I think He reads this blog. Do you? 🙂 ) First we laid down the ceiling coat, then went out to use our gift card from Christmas for supper. Wandered over to the adult books store (really, do they even sell books anymore?!) and was sorely disappointed in their selection. Ever since they were bought out by Romantix the variety and quality has plummeted.

When we got home I wasn’t feeling so hot.  I gave it the good old college try and helped Him paint a little more, but I really started feeling like shit so we went to bed, me feeling very sorry that I had ruined His wonderfully planned (if a bit mysterious) night. The next morning I was worse, and while I did my best to help Him finish the painting before He picked up the kids, I spent most of the day shuffling between the couch, the painting and the bathroom. Today is the first day I have felt any interest in anything not involving sleep, Tylenol and more sleep. In fact, the sleep still sounds good.

I never did get to find out what He had planned for that night. He assures me that He does not hold it against me that I was unable to perform that night. In fact, He has said with a wide grin, we will just have to push it back until the next weekend.

I’m not sure I want to be better for some reason…the grin was too wide and the eagerness too gleeful.