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BDSM as a Tonic for Serious Illness

While my mother was on kidney dialysis, kinky sex gave her some of the best times of her life

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This article was published in Scientific American’s former blog network and reflects the views of the author, not necessarily those of Scientific American


My mother enjoyed kinky sex. To be specific, in her late 50s, after two decades of singlehood and celibacy, she discovered that she enjoyed sexually dominating willingly submissive men. I’m so glad she did! Not only was I excited that she’d found a way to enjoy intimacy and erotic pleasure after a long period of being alone, but also it turned out that her sexuality provided an unexpected tool kit she used to face kidney cancer and dialysis.

Of course, we didn’t know that at first. Shortly after she discovered her newfound sexuality, a doctor discovered she had kidney cancer, and we both wondered if her adventures were about to come to an abrupt end. 

“I don’t think I can live on dialysis,” she told me before the surgery, which would remove her cancerous kidney and hopefully render her cancer-free. I looked her in the eyes and told her that I didn’t think it would come to that, but that if it did, she could choose to live out her life—shorter though it might be—on her own terms. She wouldn’t have to accept dialysis if she didn’t want to. 


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The surgery was successful. The cancerous kidney was removed. There was no sign that the cancer had spread. We were relieved. But over the course of the next few months, something else went wrong and her remaining kidney failed. She was suddenly facing exactly the situation that, just months earlier, she told me she couldn’t live with. But somehow, she did, and during the three years that followed—years that involved daily dialysis treatments—she had some of the best times of her life. I believe that kinky sex was the reason. Here’s why:

BDSM, an umbrella term for the wide range of activities and orientations including bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism, can provide an unexpected tool kit for those faced with body-altering, life-changing, serious illnesses. These tools include redefinition, acceptance and connection.

Imagine the needle on the end of a hypodermic syringe. Is it a medical instrument or tool to be used in a BDSM scene? It depends on who’s holding it. In the hands of a doctor in a hospital, it might be used to administer medicine. In the hands of a skilled domme, it might be one of many inserted into the skin to make an elaborate pattern on the body of the submissive. BDSM encourages us to see objects in new ways and to discover new uses for them.

This means that when we encounter them in their more common settings we might not feel as frightened of them. The same is true of sensations. Our experience of them is a matter of interpretation. Is a pinch painful or pleasurable? My mother had a lot of experience causing desired pain for her submissive partners, and while the involuntary pain she suffered at the hands of her illness and treatment was neither sexy nor pleasant, she had a clear understanding that pain was not something that was necessarily to be avoided. 

Our ability to redefine objects and sensations can lead us to accept things—just as my mother accepted dialysis—which we previously thought we couldn’t tolerate. But BDSM provides another sort of acceptance as well: body acceptance. The wide variety of people who practice BDSM comprise one of the most body-accepting subcultures around. When my mother was offered the chance to transition from hemodialysis to peritoneal dialysis, which necessitated the implantation of a catheter that would forever protrude from her abdomen, she felt free to do so knowing that her modified body would not be shunned.

The BDSM community is inclusive of people with large bodies, small bodies, old bodies, young bodies and modified bodies. Some of those modifications are chosen for erotic or identity purposes (like some scars, brands or tattoos), and others are the product of experiences that might have been less welcome, but the distinction means little in terms of acceptance. 

This broadly accepting community facilitates connections that can help a person fight against the often alienating experience of illness. Where many of us assume vanilla sex between heterosexual partners to be a private matter, we recognize that kink, BDSM and queer sex have long been grounded in communities of advocacy, activism and mutual support. That isn’t to say that every person feels connected immediately when they discover their sexuality, but it is to say that the communities are there to be discovered, and they can be lifesavers. 

These tools—redefinition, acceptance and connection—are important sources of resilience in the face of experiences that can otherwise be devastating to a person and to that person’s family or loved ones. Imagine if we were all more adept at talking about sexuality. How much easier would it be for caregivers, health care providers and people suffering from serious illnesses to locate and use tools like these? This June would mark my mother’s 74th birthday. I’m celebrating by opening up conversations around sexuality, illness and resilience. Join me!