Pushing the Limits

I am, at heart, a pusher of limits. If you tell me I (or you) can’t do something, I am literally obsessed with finding a way to make it possible. This may sound like a mostly positive thing, but as one may expect there are times when pushing a limit means falling off the cliff hidden behind it.

I did an image search for “pusher of limits” and this was one of the first images in the results. I’m not sure my Pusher of Limits looks like Grover, but I just couldn’t resist.

Things have been a little challenging for me lately, as evidenced by the fact that I haven’t updated the blog since April 18th. I’m very sorry about that; I am trying very hard to make at least one post a week, but as the warmer weather defrosts my schedule, my responsibilities as a traveling educator start to eat up what little post-surgical spoons I may have had lying around. Not only was I teaching classes at the event, I facilitated a very intense ordeal. So intense, in fact, that several of those close to me pulled me aside beforehand and very seriously asked me if I was physically up for the demands of what I knew (and didn’t know) would be expected of my corpus habitus.

Pusher-of-Limits said, “I can do this. I will make it work.” Saner-Voice took steps to try to reduce the impact on my body.

Now that the event is over, and the season of events has begun in earnest, I’m seriously taking stock of where my health and my desires intersect. Pusher-of-Limits keeps telling me that nothing has to change, that I can continue to travel and go to camping events forever. Saner-Voice and Corpus Habitus disagree.

I turned to Ninja the first night I was at Ramblewood (a campground that hosts several alt sex/spirituality events during the summer) and said, “I shouldn’t be here. I can’t hack this. I need to rethink some stuff.”

I won’t lie. Even with having a personal golf cart, and two service people plus my spouse and friends who don’t mind lending a hand, it was fucking hard. I was frequently in pain, even if I didn’t show it. My incision, which is still healing (but doing nicely) hurt like a mo’fo most of the time. I didn’t get to do or see as much as I would have liked, spending heaps of time in bed with my Nook banking spoons for my obligations. I did get to have a little fun, but it was short and sweet and sporadic.

Wanna know a secret? I am scared to death that I can’t do this anymore. I was scared every moment that I was there that something would go wrong, that I’d be rushed to the emergency room in a strange place and have to find a way to explain why I was at a campground three weeks after surgery. I am terrified that the level of ability I have now is dwindling, and each event I attend I have a moment of “This may be the last time I can do this event.”

Doing these events for me is “being with the people”. I spend so, so much time in isolation, sometimes only seeing my spouse and my slave for weeks at a time. Other than doctor’s appointments, I rarely go out just for fun, and three times out of four I have to cancel because I feel like crap. The artifice of “obligation” that comes with being a presenter for events helps motivate me when really, if it were just another social outlet, I’d likely cancel. Even while at the event, there are times that twenty minutes before class time, I’m in my bed desperately summoning spoons so I can just get through the next ninety.

So it was with great trepidation that I saw Dr. WLS yesterday. I knew my drain had been very active while I was away, and my scar was aching at a pretty intense level. I honestly don’t know if he’s just so focused on ending our relationship that he wasn’t concerned, or if I’m really doing better than I think, but he “advanced” my drain (moved the tubing out about three inches) which is a step towards having it removed. He looked at my scar and said it was healing very well and didn’t look infected at all.

Today, the limit pushing is a different one. Now that I’ve realized Dying for A Diagnosis, and have a general feel for the difference between blogging and journalling, I’m seriously thinking about starting a second project, where I can talk about spirit work/shamanism and ordeal/kink, which only sometimes is appropriate for what this blog is for. I need to figure out if I have enough writing spoons to take on this new blog without neglecting this one. Baphomet is skeptical; if it were up to Hir, this would be my focus and I’d write in here every day, pumping out as much content on chronic illness and spirituality as I possibly can before I die.

I am aware, as I ponder this, that DfaD is more than a blog. It’s a devotional act, a very important vehicle of communication for those who feel vested in my health, and a meaningful tome for those who suffer from chronic illness and need to hear our stories told in honesty and truth. I need to evaluate my reasons for wanting this other blog, and what commitments I can make to it while still striving to post here at least once a week as health provides. There are a plethora of blogs about shamanism and ordeal/kink, but not as many about the spiritual experience of dying.

Can I push my limits a little further? Or is it time for Saner Voice to rule?

I made a promise, and sealed it with death. I will live up to my promise first and foremost, and will not shake the responsibility You have put on my shoulders and in my heart. Hail Baphomet! Rex Mundi!