so i mentioned recently that i’ve been having some trouble sleeping. turns out a few other little things showed up in my tests too, so i’ve ended up seeing a couple additional doctors. everything looks good, thankfully. nothing serious.

the whole experience reminded me of something important though.

if you live this lifestyle, it really helps to have a primary doctor who understands it.

years ago, when i was still relatively new as Madam’s property, i ended up in the emergency room after falling off a ladder. totally my fault. totally avoidable. and before anyone asks, yes, i had been told not to be on the ladder in the first place.

the fall itself was not too bad, but i hit my head hard enough that a trip to the ER became mandatory.

the problem was that one of the doctors noticed bruises and marks on my body.

what they did not know was that about a week earlier i had participated in a BDSM exhibition event where Madam and several other women had used various impact implements on me as part of a demonstration. i had the marks to prove it, and i was actually supposed to be taking it easy afterward.

so suddenly the questions started.

lots of questions.

then more questions.

then counseling.

then brochures.

so many brochures.

it felt like every person who walked into the room had another pamphlet about abuse, crisis services, or emergency housing.

i kept explaining that i was fine.

they kept looking unconvinced.

eventually they brought in a woman from the psychiatric team to speak with me privately. at that point they were apparently considering admitting me for further evaluation.

so i decided to stop being vague.

i explained everything.

i explained Madam.

i explained our relationship.

i explained the event.

i explained consent.

i explained that i enjoyed what had happened, had willingly participated, and would absolutely volunteer again if given the opportunity.

she listened carefully through the entire thing.

when i finished, she smiled and said, “i believe you.”

i cannot tell you what a relief that was.

finally, somebody was actually listening instead of trying to fit me into a box.

she told me she was comfortable with my explanation and that i would be released once the medical side cleared me.

then her smile got a little wider.

i followed her gaze downward.

turns out hospital gowns are not exactly designed for discretion.

between discussing my lifestyle, reliving the previous week’s events, and generally being an overactive submissive, my body had decided to contribute its own supporting evidence to the conversation.

well.

that was awkward.

for me, anyway.

she just laughed.

and honestly, once i got over my embarrassment, i laughed too.

the experience taught me something valuable though. when you have medical professionals who understand kink, consent, and alternative relationships, everything becomes easier. they can focus on your actual health instead of trying to solve a problem that does not exist.

and these days, that is exactly what i look for in a doctor.

preferably one who requires fewer brochures.