Pain and Power, Hospitals v. wiitwd

So I sprained my ankle last night. Badly. I've sprained it before, but in the past I always knew it was sprained. Last night, the pain just kept getting worse, to the point that I thought I'd broken something. I finally went to the E.R.

There is an excellent hospital not far from my house, but in a shitty part of town. The next time, unless it is something life-threatening, I'm going to the shitty hospital in the rich part of town. Of the 50 or so people I waited with, I was one of the only ones with health insurance, and one of the only actual emergencies. And I waited. And waited and waited.

Four and half hours after I got there, and six hours after it happened, I'm in some of the most intense pain in my life. So intense, I'm blubbering in the hallway, nearly hysterical for the last two hours or so. Part of me wonders if I was faking--no, not faking--giving myself permission to let go--because it might get me through the system quicker. I've never seen myself lose control like that. Other patients starting complaining about my crying and moving away from me so they didn't have to listen to it. But I'm sitting in a hallway--I've told people several times that I'm in a lot of pain, and they won't even give me an ibuprofen. Meanwhile, there are people all around me who are not in pain, but have been there longer, who don't have health insurance and, thanks to our dear leader, had no other options. I kept having to remind myself that it is Bush's fault because I didn't want to be annoyed with people in a bad situation, but I had to fight that frustration. Especially when people just told me to be quiet.

I kept looking at my reaction to pain (partly as a mind-trick to try and distract from the pain). For about 14 minutes I tried to pretend it could be eroticized. No way in hell. Why the difference? Partly, I'm sure, is the intensity. But also, the dynamic is totally different. With wiitwd, I want someone to appreciate it. I want to be the center of attention, to know what I'm going through, to feel with me. To gauge what makes sense and push me, but just a little. Not to ignore me in a hallway as I cry hysterically.

Then I kept trying to distract myself. I actually saw myself using some of the techniques I used with my ex to try and endure. Solitaire (with my ex it was Sudoku in my head), singing to myself, repeatedly tapping my foot. Focusing on how much longer.

Unfortunately, the TVs are on the most gruesome forensics show I've ever seen. A flight attendant was microwaved to death in the plane and they are showing close-ups of the body. another woman burnt to death after being doused in gasoline. More close-ups. Who, exactly, thought "people in an emergency room--they'll want to see this?" I can't bear to look at it, but I have to listen to it because I can't listen to music or I'll miss it when they call me name. If.

I finally lost it when a nurse said there were 2 people in front of me. Then they let 5 people in. Then the nurse said there were still 7 people in front of me and I lost it. Panic attack! That always ended it with my ex when he was too rough. After a panic attack, there was cuddling, there was giggling and intimacy. But here, just more panic and more and more and more.

It turned from crying to coughing and crying. I kept trying to calm myself down because I began to hyperventilate. Quick breath in. Count to four (by hitting my palm against my thigh), a gulpy exhalation and another gulp of air. Now hold it till six. My ankle is tingling from having it up for so long, but so is my face. Much too much air. I know this intellectually. Count to eight. I can't anymore, I just want more air. And so on.

Finally, one of those people who really needed better options for a primary care physician went and told the nurse they had to see me, and I got to wait in a different area for another hour and a half before they gave me vicodin. Here I'm in a central hallway. There are 3 cops who get preferential treatement because one slipped on the job. They are clearly enjoying each other, talking on the phone to their girlfriends and goofing around. They watch me for a while, in a way that is invasive of my privacy. I put my hood over my face to have just a smidgen. I can't tell if they're watching me for entertainment purposes or to assess whether I'm a genuine threat. Finally, they move away from me because they don't want to watch. I think the guy who slipped feels guilty for getting to go before me. Better to move away.

Then, magically, a woman in a white coat comes and asks my name. She knows I'm not next, but she knows I'm in pain. And she says "we'll take care of you." And, amazingly, the pain recedes. What part of it is pain from my ankle, and what part of it is the helplessness, I don't know. Maybe all those times with my ex encourages me to be more melodramatic. Maybe it would be easier to bear other pain if I hadn't been able to end they days my ex was too rough by expressing that it was too much. (My ex and I always had a safeword. I just rarely used it.) Now I'm a little better. I can handle this, and half an hour later, I get a pill for the pain.

There is also a power dynamic. In wiitwd, I supposedly release power. But not really. I can stop a scene. What I wouldn't have given for a safeword last night!

There is nothing erotic about just being helpless, with no one to care, no one to support. Alone in the world. So alone. It happened at 6 pm. Finally at midnight (only half an hour and a half before they finally gave me pain pills!) I text messaged my ex, just to ask if he was up, and if he had been up, and if he had volunteered to come down, I probably would have gone home with him and all would have been forgiven. Or at least not talked about. And we would have slept together for a couple of weeks before something else broke any attempt at being lovers or friends.

Even though I would have been in no mood for sex and he would have had sex with me anyway (he loved seeing me so vulnerable I lost all composure), and I would have resented it incredibly. And it would have made me feel shitty about myself. Like I didn't deserve someone to just support me for an evening without having to pay for that support with really crummy sex that I just wasn't up for emotionally. I'm glad he was already asleep. Sometimes, I can't understand why this force for surrender is so powerful that I go through with it.