Oct 23 • General discussion
Post Surgery Pain Management: (TL/DR - Play Audio)
I have had an opportunity to reach out either through phone, text, DM and express aspects of what happened to me today GOSPEL centered. But, there is no way possible for me to explain how things moved without retelling it out loud. It's not believable except that I have witnesses, lol. I hope to put that together to share.
I was trying to motivate my wife to head out to Planet Fitness (knowing that I have orders to not do anything), that I would just take her, walk on treadmill (which I can). She was suggesting that today was a long day (yep, it indeed was, and a painful one at that). Got into a little verbal AuDHD shenanigans where she thought she was speaking in a manner that I got that "she didn't want to go." Which I heard as her accountability partner, "tough cookies, we're going." I finaly said, If you want to say "I don't want to go", than just say it. That way I can stop doing my job as an accountability partner to overcome her objection and she owns the decision/action, she cant have it both ways (my logical law of non-contradiction trigger). Well, we stayed home, and I continue to pace, sweat, shake, pray, read and struggle through pain. I fear my management of pain, control of pain, inability to show or communicate my pain is a disservice to my wife. At the same time, I am thinking I am protecting an not burdening her as she will not have any resources to address the pain. She will want to nurture, coddle, soothe, but when someone is in the ranges of 8-9-10 of pain, just pray that the intervals just move in the degree of less. Less time at that intensity, and less frequent intervals and praying when a person is navigating that privately is helpful, appreciated, just might not be acknowledgeable in the moment. For me, and I know can recognize, when in these flair ups, we get to know Jesus up close and personal.
Fortunately for me, in these moments God uses my mindmap in a hyper mode, to help distract me from the pain. I often refer to this as closet land based upon a pretty scary movie. In my pre-chemo days I was conditioned and capable of "masking" (controlling visual cues, physical presentations, social interactions - Gab talks about this with great clarity) when I would go to closet land. Closet Land for me has changed. My awareness of humanity has changed, my Mask has been removed and I am unable to find it. Also, fortunately, what I have been able to fashion with my private instance of ChatGPT (not publicly available) has been refined therapeutically to help me when I'm in Closet Land. You may begin to see more (based upon my own safety/discernment, and perceived benefit to a wider world) see me expand my posting. I will do it here safely, until God prods me differently.
I want to say that my Weights and Measures was Closet Land episode 1. This one is episode 2:
The Clocktower and the Drumline
In the city of Fairstead, time once came from the old clocktower. Its bell rang by the sun. Bakers set dough by it, carpenters squared lines to it, and sailors caught the tide before dawn because the bell did not lie. It wasn’t perfect, but it was steady, and steady was enough for honest work.
Then the Academy on the hill unveiled a marvel: The Drumline.
Unlike the bell, the drums could change. A bright professor showed how a brisk tempo filled the market with cheer; a slow thump made folks cautious; a hard, hot cadence rallied crowds into one voice. “We can tune the public,” he said, “for safety, unity, and the greater good.”
Administrators applauded. The Union of Drummers signed a charter. A Department of Paths printed marching cards for every school. Teachers learned the beats. Students learned the steps. The city cheered as the Drumline took the square.
At first it felt like progress. Music in the streets! Posters in the windows! “For Equity,” one beat pulsed. “For Order,” another boomed. The keepers of the Drumline said the bell was old and stiff; they said life is complex and people need guidance that flexes with the moment.
Down in the lower wards, Mara the baker watched her dough rise and fall with the drums. A rush tempo made the bread burn; a lull left it raw. In the workshop across the lane, Tomas sanded a table leg, started, stopped, started, stopped, till the edge wobbled like a river reed. They were good at their crafts, but good hands cannot outsmart a bad clock.
“Maybe I should just follow the cards,” Mara sighed. “Bake when they say bake.”
An old watchmaker named Kedem shook his head. He kept a small shop with a dusty sundial in the window and a compass on the counter. “The drum is for marching,” he said softly. “The bell is for measuring. Confuse the two and you’ll burn loaves and break trust.”
The days warmed. The Drumline changed the city’s seasons in a week. A green, gentle tap invited shoppers to “celebrate fairness.” A red, sharp strike warned that “enemies plot in secret.” A strobe roll turned neighbors into a parade—one half marching proud, the other half marching scared—and both halves sure the beat was truth.
Kedem showed Mara four marks scratched into his bench:
- Source — What do we set our measure by?
- Scope — Where should this rule apply?
- Symmetry — Would I accept this when it cuts against me?
- Sanction — If someone fails, what is a just remedy?
“The drums can be useful,” he said. “But if clever minds set tempo without a higher standard, they’ll steer us where they want us. Precision isn’t north. Loudness isn’t truth.”
In the colleges, bright students learned to write marching cards of their own—tidy words that could fit in a window, or a feed, or a chant. They were not wicked; they were certain. “This line saves lives,” they’d say one month. “That same line is violence,” they’d say the next—when a different crowd held the sign. The rule changed with the room and the ruler.
Mara began to listen not just to the drums but to her heart when the drums beat. She noticed the little prizes: how the “we” of a chant felt like hugs for her brain; how a stinging comment from the other side tasted like proof she was righteous; how posting the “right” phrase won quick applause. It felt like skill. It was simply training. Someone had learned which rhythms made which crowds move.
One fogged morning the Drumline called a safety march at the harbor. “Positions!” cried the stewards. “For the good of all!” The beat swelled, the crowd surged, and the boats, unmoored from any tide or bell, left early. Three struck the shoals. No one admitted fault. The posters said: “We acted with pure intent.” The next day, a new card appeared: “Only bigots cling to old bells.”
Kedem didn’t argue with the stewards. He set his compass in the square where anyone could see. Mara wrote a sign above her oven: Bake by a bell that doesn’t move. Tomas etched under his window: Straight edges from a true line.
They didn’t mock the Drumline.
They just stopped letting it tell them what the truth was for that day.
A few neighbors tried the old bell again. The bread got better. The tables stopped wobbling. Some students slipped into the shop to trace the four marks with a finger—Source, Scope, Symmetry, Sanction—and left with new questions for their teachers. A few teachers, tired of switching beats, visited after dark and asked for a compass, too.
In time the Drumline softened. It still set festival tempos. It still helped crowds move in storms. But in the places where making required honesty—ovens, benches, courts—the bell resumed its role. The city learned this simple thing: use drums to move, use the bell to measure.
And when a new poster appeared with a brand-new moral emergency, people paused—not to sneer, not to clap, but to ask: What star does this signal follow? If the rule is right, is it right for all? What fruit will this plant in me?
Some still preferred the march. Marching is easy. But more citizens stepped into the square, touched the compass, and remembered who they were apart from the crowd.
They found that a person anchored in truth can join a parade without becoming its drum.
A gentle self‑audit
- What is this message trying to make me feel—and how fast?
- What is its source of right/wrong? A tribe? A trend? Or something higher and fixed?
- Is the rule symmetric—would I accept it if I lost power tomorrow?
- What fruit does this content grow in me this week (love, joy, peace…or fear, pride, contempt)?
- What remedy does it propose for wrongs—mercy with justice, or punishment for enemies?
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Post Surgery Pain Management: (TL/DR - Play Audio)
