#'but at least they could have CHECKED to see if i was REJECTING MY TRANSPLANTED LUNGS..... LUZ' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hutchhitched · 4 years ago

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The Marrow of the Story

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 17: Everlark enemies to lovers, a long-standing grudge (could be anything, even simple) but somehow it is discovered that Katniss is a bone marrow match for Peeta. If she doesn’t donate he will die. [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic and the world slowly ground to a halt. This is the eighth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. I wrote most of this a few months ago before getting stuck on some transitions. Since then, the teenage daughter of one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and must undergo a bone marrow transplant this spring. As such, this story became much more personal than a prompt. I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with the medical aspects and ethics of this story. They are intended for story-telling purposes only. K, I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt.

“Ms. Everdeen, I need your signature,” my administrative assistant says briskly as she enters my office.

“What’s this for?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the form.

She takes the manila folder and hands me another, indicating that I need to sign it, too. “Maintenance orders. The library and those lockers in the freshman wing that don’t lock properly.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, and you have a call waiting on line three. I told him you were busy, but…” She shrugs as she walks out of the room, and I sigh and drop down in my desk chair. It’s been a really long day.

“Ms. Everdeen, Panem North. How can I help you?”

A rumbly, entirely masculine voice reverberates through the line, and I wrap the phone cord around my left index finger. Even before he’s spoken three words, I’m already impatient for the call to end.

“Ms. Everdeen. It’s Peeta Mellark. How are you today?”

I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to slam the phone down in the receiver. Mr. Mellark is not my favorite person. He’s the principal at Panem South, my high school’s cross-town rival, and he and I have always clashed. It might be his smug arrogance when he explains his educational philosophy, or it could be the way he surveys me and then turns away in dismissal every time I see him. Whatever it is, I’ve never been able to stand him, and it’s obvious he feels the same if our interactions at every systemwide meeting and educational conference is any indication. My greatest fantasy consists of him being fired in disgrace. A close second is his forced transfer to another school—any school, so long as it’s out of state and I never have to see him again.

“What do you want, Mellark?” I snap. I have so little patience today I’m afraid I might actually use profanity if he doesn’t hang up within ten seconds.

“Doing that well, huh? Always good to hear a friendly voice when I have to contact you.”

“I thought you were on medical leave,” I say with little compassion. It’s not my finest moment, I know that, but I really loathe this man.

“I am,” he admits. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

“Friends?” I laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like you. There’s no way I’d be your friend. Not even if you were dying, and I had the cure.”

Silence stretches across the line, and I cover my face at what I’ve said. The words are rather unforgivable, and I open my mouth to apologize when he says something I don’t expect to hear.

“Well, I guess that answers my question. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“What question? You didn’t ask me anything,” I say, exasperated.

He sighs heavily, and I almost throw the phone across the room. “Katniss—sorry, Ms. Everdeen—I don’t really know how to tell you this, so I’ll just ask you to check your email. I think you’ll find something there from me. It’s from my personal account, so you might have to look in your spam folder. It’ll explain everything. Have a good day.”

And then he hangs up without even bothering to say goodbye. That complete and utter bastard hung up on me. I mean, I wanted him to leave me alone, but he could have at least had the courtesy to say goodbye before cutting off the conversation.

I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t have time to deal with it at the moment. The last bell of the day is about to ring, and I hurry from my office to oversee students loading onto buses and wandering the parking lot as cars zip in and out of traffic. It’s one of the most nerve-wracking parts of my days, and I’ve almost forgotten Mr. Mellark’s phone call by the time I make it back to my office. If I’m lucky, I can finish within the hour and get home before dark. I hate it when the sunlight hours are so short the day quits before I do.

I’m just about to shut down my computer when I remember the aggravating phone call. I consider forgetting about it and walking away, but something tells me to open my junk folder and see what that twit’s request is. And then I see it, and I want to throw up.

Dear Ms. Everdeen,

I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve always admired your ferocity and willingness to give everything you have for your students. Compassion in education isn’t hard to find, but the way you fight for your school, faculty, staff, and students has been inspiring to watch over the past few years.

I mean that. It’s not a ploy to win you over, even though I have a gigantic favor to ask of you.

You might remember that I’ve been on medical leave several times over the past few years. It’s difficult doing my job when I’m ill, so I’ve tried to hide the significance of my condition. The truth is I have a rare bone marrow disease that, without a transplant, is terminal.

Since this is not official business, I’m writing from my personal email, but the favor I’m asking does require your professional approval. With the upcoming blood drive in our district, health clinics have volunteered to be on hand to administer tests for the bone marrow registry. That would streamline the process and allow potentially myself and countless others in need of a transplant a match from someone who might not otherwise volunteer to be tested.

Please consider allowing your school to be part of this. It might save a life.

With admiration, Peeta Mellark

****

Of course I end up giving approval. I’m not a monster, no matter what Mr. Mellark thinks. In good faith, I’m tested as well, and two weeks later, I get a phone call telling me I’m a match for someone in need. By a dramatic, ironic twist of fate, it’s Peeta Mellark who needs my marrow. Thankfully, I’m able to take some time to process, and it’s torture as I weigh the pros and cons.

A few days pass before I work up the courage to call him. I haven’t heard from him since the phone call letting me know about the email. I’m sure his health takes up much of his energy, but I’m oddly saddened by his absence. I’m also angry with him, but that’s not fair. It’s not his fault that the favor he asked of me will result in me giving up a part of my body and DNA.

“Hello?”

“So, what is it you have exactly?” I ask and wince at how detached and unfeeling I sound. I’m anything but that. My squeezing heart is more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. Still, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t let go of the control or I might collapse, and then what?

“Ms. Everdeen?”

“Katniss. If you can ask me to consider donating bone marrow, then you can call me by my first name.”

“Okay, Katniss.” There’s a long pause before he continues. He’s tentative when he finally says, “So, you decided to participate on top of allowing the clinic access to your school?”

“I did, and I’ll repeat. What is it you have exactly?”

The words sound just as cold the second time, and I hold my breath until he finally answers.

“I have something called aplastic anemia. I’ve had it since college. Been treating it with blood transfusions for the past decade or so,” he explains with no trace of self-pity or false bravado. His tone is pragmatic, which is almost heart-breaking considering what he’s facing. “There aren’t too many of us with AB- blood in the world, so, I don’t know. When I saw the option of getting more involvement, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for help. Directly, I mean. Instead of waiting for the system to work. The worst you could say was no, right?”

“I’ve already said no to you several times,” I remind him, and he chuckles in response.

“Yeah. You’ve fought me on every philosophical disagreement we’ve ever had.”

“That’s because you have really stupid ideas about what works sometimes.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-fledged laugh, and it makes my lips twitch. “You reject me with aplomb, too. Thanks for not holding back.”

A grin quirks at the corner of my mouth. He’s funny, I realize. I guess I probably could have figured that out earlier if I’d ever bothered to listen to his words instead of merely hating him.

“Well, you know. I’m not very good at making friends.”

The words catch in my throat as I say them. It’s a true statement, but I hadn’t comprehended how much it bothered me until I heard them out loud. I don’t sound matter-of-fact like he does. Loneliness and sadness echo in my voice. I could take some lessons on self-pity from Peeta Mellark, apparently.

“I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

I blink away tears because my insides have melted into a very unprofessional puddle of goo. It’s a good thing we’re not interacting about anything regarding our jobs.

“You just want my bone marrow,” I mumble, and my heart jumps at his soft chuckle.

“Your bone marrow?”

I inhale shakily and bite my lip. Finally, when I’ve regained a semblance of control, I answer in a quiet admission, “I’m a match.”

“You’re my match?” His disbelief echoes across the line, and it breaks my heart to hear the trepidatious undercurrent in his tone.

“I am.”

“Oh…”

“So, you want my bone marrow.”

Silence stretches between us, and I hear rustling before he responds carefully. “I’ll start with that. We can talk about what else I’d like to have later.”

His voice is warm and soothing, and I feel myself softening. I’ve known that I’m going to be his donor since I knew he needed me, but it feels more personal now. More like he’s my responsibility, my ally, and not my enemy.

“Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks tentatively, “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

There’s almost no sound from his end of the line, just his breath in my ear. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling. It must be a massive amount of relief mixed with a hundred other emotions. Like me, I’m sure he hates asking for help, and to have to request it from me must have been terrible for him. I don’t want him to feel beholden. He doesn’t deserve to have to be grateful for the rest of his life just because he needs something I can willingly give.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

I wonder exactly what it is he’s thanking me for—his life? For being willing to grant him a favor? For not being a complete bitch to him like I have been for the past three years? It’s the least I can do for someone who’s dying. I can’t be responsible for hitting him when he’s down.

“Sure. Yeah, let me know the specifics. Or the hospital can or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

I end the call before he can answer, or maybe he does and I just don’t hear it. I can’t bear to listen to his voice anymore. I don’t know how much I’m going to have to actually see him to complete this process, but I’m suddenly nervous. He’s melted me with just an email and a few phone conversations. If I’m in the same room with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the façade of hating him, and I need to. I can’t afford to care about him.

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of meetings with medical professionals and preparing for the surgery. I don’t see Peeta, and he doesn’t contact me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, or maybe he doesn’t have any interest in actually being my friend, after all. I don’t allow myself to think about why that disappoints me. Instead, I tell myself that he’s likely dealing with his own illness and concentrating on getting as healthy as possible so he can recover quicker following the procedure. Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, but I remind myself that making a friend isn’t why I’m doing this. He doesn’t owe me anything.

Suddenly, it’s the day of the surgery, and I’m terrified. I haven’t ever been on anesthesia before, barely been sick, and never had an IV. Now, I’m about to go under the knife for my mortal enemy. Okay, that’s overdramatic and hyperbolic, but I’m allowed that on the morning of a procedure that will result in me being cut open and part of my hip scraped away. I comfort myself by imagining the simple pleasures I’ll indulge in afterward—an overly sugared hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, some of those cheese buns I never allow myself to buy, highlights from a hairdresser instead of a box. Surely, I deserve those after opening myself up to…

I shut down that mode of thinking and concentrate on getting to the hospital. As nervous as I am, I manage to stop thinking and let the medical professionals do their jobs. Before I can worry about anything else, I’m on a bed and being wheeled to surgery. When I count backwards, all I see are Peeta Mellark’s deep blue eyes shining at me.

****

I blink awake to a concerned gaze. My sister’s next to my bed when I wake up and greets me with a smile.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world.”

“Little Duck,” I slur with a lazy smile. “Hiiiii!”

“How do you feel?”

“Very fuzzy,” I admit after a sporadic inventory of myself. “And my ass hurts.”

“I hear that happens when somebody cuts you open. I could be wrong.”

My bubble of laughter is almost giddy, clearly an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but I still manage to ask the really important question. “When can I go home?”

“A few hours, I think. Outpatient surgery, for the win!”

“I’m already thinking about how long I have to sponge bathe instead of showering. An incision on my rear end is a new one for me.”

“I bet the guy you’re giving your marrow to would be happy to help you. He must be pretty grateful,” Prim said slyly, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m guessing he’s more concerned about not dying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I looked him up, you know. He’s very pretty.”

“He’s also an arrogant ass.”

“Speaking of arrogant asses…”

“Hey! I thought I’d gotten past being maligned by the Everdeen girls.” Gale Hawthorne’s deep bass booms from the hospital room door. “Hey, Catnip.”

“Gale! ’S so good to see you.”

“Well, Prim called. I thought maybe I should cut my business trip short and pay you a visit.”

I reach for him, and he crosses to me quickly. His hand wraps around mine, and the warmth grounds me. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my childhood best friend, and his familiarity makes me feel like I might be able to handle anything. They both keep me occupied until I’m released and then help me get settled at home. Gale and I sit on the couch and catch up while Prim makes a run for takeout.

“I couldn’t believe it when Prim called to tell me you were doing this,” he says. “Especially not for the guy you’ve been bitching to me about for the past few years.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You have, and we both know nobody takes up that much space in your brain unless there’s something there.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I insist and grunt when he nudges my shoulder.

“Then maybe you should figure out if there could be. I mean, you have a vested interest in the man. You have a lot in common professionally. He’s going to live a long life because of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were part of it.”

“He’s in a bubble for a few months. Recovery. No germs. All that.” I’m making excuses, and he knows it. He looks at me with pity, and I want to smack him.

“Katniss, give the guy a chance. From what you’ve told me, he’s into you. On top of the fact that he made arrangements for that massive bouquet of lilies and wildflowers over there.” He motions to the vase we brought home from the hospital. The note provides thanks for saving his life and an apology for flowers being inadequate as repayment.

“He’s not—”

“Give him a chance.”

Gale’s words wash over me, and it’s like all the painful moments and deep bouts of loneliness resurface at once. No matter what’s happened between Peeta and me, I have a connection to him now that’s deeper than our usual snipping and snark. Being forced to think about him as someone with real hopes and dreams and challenges has softened me to him, but I barely know him. Why does everyone assume he wants anything more than he’s already received?

Prim returns with food, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I promise Gale I’ll think about what he’s said as I recover, but that’s only to get him off my back. Yet, as the days pass, I can’t get Peeta Mellark out of my head. Now that I’ve saved his life, he’s got a hold on me.

****

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I expect anything from him. I’m just stopping by to see how he is, and that’s it. No expectations, no nothing. Just an attempt to make sure he’s feeling better after the transplant. I shouldn’t even be able to see him, but I called the hospital, explained the situation, and found out I’ve been approved for visiting for the past couple of weeks. Peeta must have added me to his approved list, which makes me remarkably happy. It’s been a month since the bone marrow transplant, and Peeta’s body seems to be accepting it with no problem.

Besides, no one can fault me for checking in on a sick colleague. It’s practically expected as part of my job. Except, that’s a lie. I’m not checking on anyone else who calls into work sick, but, then again, no one else called in because they had a disease that resulted in some of my own body inserted into them.

Which sounds dirty and definitely not what I should be thinking as I knock on his hospital door and peer into the room.

“Katniss!” he says as his beautiful blue eyes light up. “Please, come in.”

“I, uh… I just thought I’d check on you. Make sure my bone marrow is behaving. Not giving you any trouble.”

Oh, hell. I sound like an idiot.

“Doing beautifully. It’s almost like it knows it’ll be in trouble if it acts up. Must be the principal coming out in us.”

“Behavior issues are the least favorite part of my job.”

“Same,” he chuckles and waves me to the chair. “Sit, if you have a minute. I’d like to thank you—”

“No,” I insist. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Katniss, you saved my life,” he sighs. “The least you can do is let me thank you properly. Let me take you dinner sometime or something. In fact, yes. I need to do that. No expectations, no nothing. Just dinner.”

I feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach as I hear my own thoughts repeated back to me. It’s almost like he can see inside my brain, and that’s terrifying.

“Fine,” I concede. “Dinner, but not until you’re completely recovered. I don’t want to be cause for a setback.”

“I can handle that,” he agrees and then gives me a soft, beautiful smile so incredibly shy that it feels like he’s only ever shown it to me.

I don’t even want to think about why I’m floating as I leave the hospital.

****

It’s another few months before Peeta finally insists he’s well enough and calls and invites me to the dinner I agreed to when he was in the hospital. His recovery has been rapid, and I hear through the grapevine he’s back at work and seemingly cured. I don’t know enough about his disease to know if he’s healing faster than normal or not, but I breathe easier when I hear the news. That is, until the phone rings.

“Katniss Everdeen. My savior,” he says when I answer.

“Oh, please don’t,” I gulp. “I’m no savior.”

He chuckles at my discomfort but it’s clear it’s not with any sort of malice. “Sorry. That might have been hyperbole.”

“You think?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I would like to see when you’re free for dinner. You’ve put me off long enough. I demand satisfaction. I mean, my belly does. In other words, I need food, and now that I feel well enough to consume copious amounts of it, I’d really love some company as I do that. Who better than the woman who made it happen?”

He’s so charming it makes my toes curl, which is not at all what I want. Because how am I supposed to resist that adorable smirk I know is plastered across his face when he’s sitting across the table from me and plying me with delicious food? He’s supposed to be my nemesis, and I’m not strong enough to deny him when he’s not only good and kind but also a survivor of a rare disease. I mean, that’s not even playing fair.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner,” I start, but he interrupts before I can get any farther.

“If I remember correctly, you agreed to this back in the hospital, and I know you always keep your word. I wore you down, and you said you’d go with me. Don’t go backing out on me now,” he chides. His tone remains light-hearted as he speaks, but I detect a hint of hurt below the surface. My willingness to concur seems important to him. Why, I’m not sure, but the last thing I want to do is break the fragile truce that had somehow emerged between us.

“I’ve got some back to school things coming up, so my nights are pretty full,” I protest feebly, but he just waits patiently until I relent. “Fine. Next Thursday. Does that work?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you have meetings, too? You haven’t resigned, and I haven’t heard about it, have you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he laughs. “I’ve just been given stringent orders from Superintendent Crane to take it easy. My assistant principal is covering anything at night until October.”

“Lucky you.”

“I have a good staff,” he deflects. “Next Thursday. I’ll pick you up.”

“No! I can meet—”

But he’s already disconnected the call. I don’t even bother to wonder how he’ll figure out my address. I don’t put anything past him anymore. Other than the life-threatening illness, he seems to have beaten, Peeta Mellark has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever known.

****

“And then I lowered my hand and answered him in the most serious tone possible. I could hardly keep a straight face because I had fake buck teeth in. The poor kid looked at me like I was insane, but he didn’t ever wear the vampire teeth in class again.”

I can’t help myself as I giggle at Peeta’s story. I never giggle. It isn’t like me at all, but Peeta’s so funny and disarming over dinner, regaling me with story after story of strange behavior modifications he’d tried when he was an assistant principal and mostly in charge of discipline issues.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he says ruefully, “I don’t really miss that part of the job now that I’m head principal.”

“No, I can imagine you wouldn’t,” I agree with a smile.

Lifting my wine glass, I look at him over the rim and take a sip of the pinot. I dreaded this dinner all week, but it’s been the highlight of a pretty rough few days. I certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy his company so much, not even after getting to know him a little bit better during his recovery. I thought his charm might wear off at some point, but he just gets more and more disarming the longer we talk. If I didn’t know better, I might think I actually like him, but that’s ridiculous. I’m just glad to have company over dinner. That’s all this is.

My cheeks flush when Peeta grins at me and sits back in his chair. He’s kept up a steady stream of witty repartee throughout the evening, but now he merely surveys me as the soft sounds of the dining room echo around us. It’s almost intimate.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this,” he finally says. “And how grateful I am for what you did for me. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but you… You’re an amazing woman, Katniss Everdeen. I’m in your debt forever.”

I don’t know how to answer him because I can tell he’s completely sincere. He’s not gushing or trying to butter me up. He’s genuine in his words and actions, and I’m stuck feeling guilty for treating him so poorly before his illness threw us together.

“You really don’t have to thank me anymore,” I insist. “It’s not necessary at all. I mean, what kind of an asshole would I be if I hadn’t agreed to help you? Besides, you’re a fellow principal. Administrators unite and all that.”

“Stop deflecting,” he said. “You did something really great, and it’s okay for you to take credit for it.”

Flustered, I fiddle with my napkin because I don’t want to say something stupid. He has a way of making me tongue-tied that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble.

“Thank you.”

I hesitate but finally manage to choke, “You’re welcome.”

“I’d like to do this again. If you’re willing.”

His voice feels like a caress, and I lift my eyes to look at him. He’s studying me, unsmiling but not frowning, and I’m struck by how handsome he is in the dimmed light. He reaches across the table and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I’m willing to reach out and accept it. He gives it a squeeze.

“How about next week? Is that too soon?”

“I— I need to check my calendar.”

“I already did. No school activities.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure,” he insists. “Please.”

I don’t have a good excuse for saying no, so I agree. I’m still in a daze when he pulls the car to a stop in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door. He leans in to kiss my check, but I turn my head at just the wrong time. His lips hover millimeters from my skin, and I struggle to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he tilts his head and brushes his mouth over mine.

The earth skews off its axis. There’s no other way to describe what happens because my entire world rearranges itself in that brief moment. Much too soon, he’s backed down the sidewalk and waves goodbye to me from his car before pulling away.

****

I’m a mess by the next Friday when Peeta picks me up again for our second dinner together. I don’t know whether to call it a date or not, but the kiss the previous week indicates it could be. The night passes much the same as the previous week. He’s charming and funny and wearing the most stunning shade of green that makes his eyes sparkle turquoise. They do things to my insides. He’s a perfect gentleman as he drives me home again, walks me to the door, and kisses me softly. The situation repeats on the third and fourth and fifth time until I’m so wound up, I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t mean to complain, but my body wants more than what he’s offering.

I can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just really bad luck that our schedules don’t align for another few weeks. The days pass slowly without seeing him, although we do talk often. Some of his messages and emails make me smile when I read them, while others make me wonder if he’s flirting with me or simply being his usual friendly self.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what’s happening between us. The conversation I had with Gale after my surgery flits in and out of my conscious thoughts. I don’t want to open myself up. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, but Peeta’s wonderful—smart, compassionate, funny, respectful, and supportive. He’s also got a backbone and knows how to advocate for himself and others around him. In short, he’s exactly what I’ve always desired in a partner. It scares me to death to acknowledge that I want him to be a bigger part of my life. It terrifies me to realize I can also picture him in my bed.

Finally, we both have an evening without a work responsibility, and he asks if he can come over and make dinner when I tell him I’m simply too tired to dress up and go out to a restaurant. By the time he shows up on my doorstep with bags of groceries, my stomach’s in knots. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, it feels like we’re starting all over again.

He looks insanely good after having filled out a little since the transplant. His broad shoulders are strong underneath the soft cotton of his salmon colored sweater, and the jeans he’s wearing hug his thighs and hips like a second skin. When he turns around so I can inadvertently check out his ass, I swoon at the sight. I want my hands on that peach so badly my fingertips tingle.

He leans in to kiss me hello, and time stands still. He pauses once he’s broken the kiss, and we stare at each other for what feels like ages. Something’s changed. We’ve evolved. Our relationship’s grown while we’ve been apart. The air crackles with anticipation, and I’m beyond ready. Finally, he recovers and surveys me, taking in my black leggings, forest green tunic, and braid with a whistle. I flush scarlet at the flattery.

“Good thing I have these bags to occupy my hands,” he teases, but I swallow down disappointment. He doesn’t seem that interested in touching me, and that makes me feel like howling my disapproval.

“Maybe I should help. Give your hands a chance to…uh…stray.”

He whips his head around to stare at me, uncertainty mixing with something I can’t quite decipher. When I don’t drop my gaze, he gulps before heading into the kitchen and tossing the food on the counter. He makes himself busy while I flit around him, unsure what to do. When he finally turns his megawatt smile on me and asks me if I’d be okay cutting vegetables, I nod eagerly. If it puts me closer to him, I’m completely game. He positions me in front of a stack of carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms and turns to his own work.

We keep up a steady stream of chatter that grows increasingly flirtatious as the minutes pass. He brushes against me several times, and I can feel the electricity sparking between us. When he reaches over to take some of the diced potatoes, our hands brush, and we both jump.

“Peeta,” I sigh a second before he’s pressed against me, his chest hard against mine as he cups my jaw and kisses me.

I growl in the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue tangling with mine, and he hauls me tighter against him. He wraps my braid around his hand and tugs my head back so he can lick deeper into me. I’m shaking with desire, frantic for his hands on me. We’ve been circling each other for four years. The months since I agreed to donate my bone marrow have all been foreplay. I’m ready to give into the craving I’ve denied for far too long.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair, and I can’t stop the wanting whimpers that fall from me. He’s just as frantic, his hands caressing everything he can reach, until they both cup my behind and squeeze.

I realize I want to climb him like a tree. There’s no shame in admitting it. His body’s hard under his clothing, and he’s rigid as iron against my hip. When he thrusts his right hand under the waistband of my leggings, I don’t even try to stop him. Instead, I moan when his fingers stroke the patch of hair between my legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Katniss, tell me to stop if this isn’t okay. This is— You’re… You have to stop me now if you’re going to.”

I don’t stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My limbs aren’t working other than to cling to him. My eyes roll back into my head when he breaches me. His mouth works magic while his fingers plunder and stroke. I’m begging him, my voice hoarse and broken. It’s been so very long, and I don’t have the patience to wait anymore.

I’m pressed against the counter, my back bent as he fingers me. I don’t care about dinner or anything else except the feel of his calloused palm cupping me while he dips in and out in an uneven rhythm designed to stop me from falling over the edge too soon. His breaths are ragged, and I wrap my left leg around him to pull him closer. It also gives him better access, which he uses to his advantage.

I’m sopping wet, squelching as he thrusts in and out, his thumb circling my clit and forcing wrecked squeals I’ve never made until experiencing the glory of Peeta Mellark finger fucking me in my own kitchen. My whole body trembles as the tension builds. I just need a release. That’s all I care about in the moment. The entire world could be exploding outside, and I wouldn’t care. He’s driving me crazy, and I don’t want to be sane. I just need him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he groans in my ear. “Wanted to feel you on me, hot and wet and sweet. I’ve dreamed about making you come. Imagined it so many times. Wanted to feel you fall apart because of me. You’re almost there, aren’t you, honey? I can tell you’re trying so hard not to let go. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

I’ve abandoned all sense of propriety. I’m moaning and rutting against him. I don’t know who I am anymore, but then everything makes sense in a rush of euphoria. I come with a scream that Peeta swallows with his kiss. He holds me close, rocking me through the spasms, grounding me, and cheering me on as I quake and shudder.

I blink as I come back to myself, but he’s there. His face comes into focus, and I give him a dopey grin that makes him chuckle. He welcomes me back with a kiss as he frees his hand. My pants are moist, and I wiggle at how uncomfortable it is. Still, I think it’s worth the discomfort. I feel like walking liquid.

“I think we burned dinner.”

“Don’t care,” I tell him through a kiss. “We can order pizza. Not hungry anyway.”

“Well, I am,” he jokes as he proceeds to devour me.

We haven’t talked. I have no idea where we stand, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, Peeta’s here, alive and well, and with me. We make sure the burners are off and then I lead him to the bedroom. I don’t ever want to let go. If I could freeze this moment, I would, but I also want to see about all the others he has left simply because fate threw us together. We’ll get to the deep stuff. For now, I’ll settle for him deep inside me.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 17 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the marrow of the story

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joshslater · 4 years ago

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Foreign Exchange

This is a re-release since the previous version got blocked for unknown reasons. I’m not going to bother to find yet another photo that doesn’t break the content rule, so you’ll have to imagine the lower part of a slim, white guy wearing red trunks with the outline of a massive penis. Or read the original story and more on my Patreon.

It all started in what was supposed to be a one week stay in Cape Town. I don't know what the airline had smoked, but a round trip from Europe sold for almost nothing during a few hours. Probably some clerical error in the pricing department. Whatever the reason, I shuffled some tasks around and manage to arrange myself a one week spring vacation. I had no idea of what to expect. Only thing I knew about South Africa was the Kruger Park, the worlds first heart transplant, excellent red wines, Apartheid and Mandela.

It started out amazing. I found a cheap place in Green Point, close to lots of the tourist places, and started to drink my way through South African wine bottles. It was on the third evening I made the wrong move. No, life altering move.

I was heading back to the hotel after some late evening sea side action. I had emptied a particularly good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, rich with those mineral tones so prevalent in most South African wines. I was slightly sun burned, possibly lost and decidedly round footed when I walked up to two well dressed white men beating the shit out of black kid.

- Hey, stop that!

I said before my brain had fully reengaged. They did stop. One of the men stared right at me, eyes filled with disdain.

- What you say?

I didn't have time to answer him when something hard hit the back of my head with a thud and everything lost focus and disappeared.

When I came to everything was black and my head hurt like hell. I was lying awkwardly, hands bound behind my back, feet tied together, and some sort of bag tied around my head. The sound made me think I was in someones trunk, but I guess it could have been a van or a covered pick up flat bed just as well. In any event, the vehicle was running fast on what I assumed to be a highway. After a bit of struggle I concluded that I was not just bound up, but also tied down and couldn't move much at all. After a boring hour or so still drunk me slipped back into sleep.

Next time I woke up the vehicle was standing still. I was still as tied up as before, but I could hear someone speaking Afrikaan a few steps away. He came close, shuffled some things around, and then I felt a small prick on my arm. I barely had time to realize it was some sort of injection when I lost consciousness again.

Regaining consciousness was quite different third time around. I still couldn't see anything, but I could feel some swim style goggles around my head, probably blacked out. Now I was lying more properly on a firm bed or padded table. I tried to move, but like before I was tightly restrained. This time it felt more professional, like cuffs around arms and legs, and some kind of material pushing against the chest. And I was naked, I think. It was hard to determine, as the temperature was nice and I couldn't move, but I couldn't feel any clothes on my body. I tried to say "hello", but nothing came out.

This quickly became incredibly boring. I couldn't see or feel much. The smell was basically just some generic clean smell of faint detergent. With sounds there were a bit more variation. I could hear some HVAC rumbling once every 5 minutes, or so I guessed. In addition there was a constant low humming in the room. I could hear some faint sounds from outside the room. Perhaps infrequent cars coming and leaving outside the building.

By my estimate I was at least into the third wake hour when suddenly a door opened and I could hear a conversation between the two men who entered the room. They sounded quite far away, so the room was probably large.

"...so many in the database?"

"We use five key measurements combined into one value as sorting key. The circumference and length, both on flaccid and erect, are approximated into two cylinders. Balls are approximated as spheres. Then we just multiply the three volumes together to make the sorting key. First selection priority is of course bio-compatibility, but this size metric allows for fast selection within that set. It only brings candidates though. The final decision is more complex, of course."

"Complex how?"

"Well, let's ask the doctor himself. His coming here."

A third person entered the room.

"You talking about me?"

"Yes, we were just discussing the selection criteria"

"Ah. Well, since this is a demonstration we want to be bold, while being mindful of proportions and aesthetics. In addition to appearance we want to maximize as many of the secondary factors as possible from the paper. For this one we landed in using the Congo supply."

They were standing right next to me now. The "doctor" continued.

"So this is the subject. The first agent is being administered right now, as you can see. Any questions?"

I tried to say something. Anything. But only wheezing air came out.

"Is he trying to speak?", asked the first voice.

"No, he isn't. Come, let's look at the model", replied the doctor, and they left the room as quickly as they entered it.

6-8 HVAC cycles later I heard the door open again and several people walking into the room. I heard a women's voice close to me saying "Everything is green. Go ahead." and I again lost consciousness.

The room was barely furnished, completely white and bathed in light when I opened my eyes.

"Oh, how good. You are awake."

I heard a female voice in a strong South African accent. I turned my head and saw a fat, black South African lady smiling at me. I was super confused. I was in a hospital bed, but this didn't really look like a hospital, and she didn't look like a nurse.

"Wheh...", was as far as I managed on "Where am I" before my voice gave out.

"You need to drink a lot. Here, let me help", said the lady and gave me something that looked like a hospital version of a gym bottle. As I drank she continued.

"You had a traffic accident. Nothing serious. Just a concussion, so you were dismissed from the hospital to make room. This is a recovery home."

I was gulping water. Man, was I was thirsty. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Just outside the city, so still close to Johannesburg."

That's like at least 10 hours away from Cape Town. What the fuck had happened?

"What day is it?"

"It's Thursday today, dear. I'll go and get something for you to eat", the fat lady answered, and started to move towards the door.

Something just didn't feel right. It was Wednesday evening when I was kidnapped. "No, what date?"

"Thursday the 28th", she said from the door.

A whole fucking week.

I felt a sucking black hole in my gut. The lady seemed nice, but there was no way I would trust her right now. Perhaps she believed everything she had just told me, but clearly some things were not true. My head felt fine, as opposed to the last time I was conscious, but what about the rest? I didn't feel any restraints, just my body in a hospital gown, under some white sheets. In fact, nothing hurt anywhere. Just thirsty, still, hungry and a need to piss.

I could see a different door in another wall than the nurse had just left through. Presumably a private toilet for this small recovery room. A pair of slippers stood next to the bed, so I threw off the blankets began to sit up and swing out my legs. That's when I first felt it. It was weird feeling, familiar, but yet very different.

I quickly kicked my feet into the slippers and carefully, still a bit woozy, shuffled into the bath room. It was surprisingly roomy. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, given the number of people with casts, wheelchairs and whatnot passing through. But it had plenty of room around the toilet seat and sink, and a full length mirror next to the sink, presumably for wheel chair bound people.

I raised the gown from my knees to expose my front, and just stared for a several seconds to fully understand what I saw. My dick and balls were gone. In its place was the largest, most aggressively male genitalia I had ever seen, even in pictures. The massive dick went almost down to my knees, and thick as a can of red bull. And even though it was completely flaccid it was veiny as cabbage and the outlines of a massive head was clearly visible through the uncut foreskin.

Behind the dick were two softball sized testicles hanging low, but unevenly so. It was all topped off with a large bush of coarse hair. And all of it, the hair, the balls and the dong, where dark chocolate black.

I just stared in disbelief. Then tentatively I touched the penis. Yep, it was real and it was now apparently mine. Standing straight my hands couldn't even reach halfway down to the tip. My mind caught up with reality and was filling with questions. Who did this? Why did they do this? How did they do this? Isn't there organ rejection? Aren't you supposed to eat some sort of pills forever after receiving a transplant? Are there even any pants I can wear anymore? Did baller shorts just become underwear?

I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder. It worked fine. Better than fine even, as aiming just became a lot easier with such a hose, although using paper involved lifting. Lifting! I could feel that it was much more sensitive than what I was used to, and felt it starting to come alive. I quickly dropped it and went back to bed. Just as I did lunch arrived.

Once fed, and having checked with the care taker, Amahle, that she wouldn't be back for two hours, I decided to try out my new dong. Tissues were already on the side table. I sat up in bed, kicked off the sheet and had another look under the gown. I was again taken aback with the sight. It wan't just massive, but somehow everything, length, girth, balls, looked to be in proportion. I must admit that I haven't spent much time thinking about, looking at or describing cocks, but the first words that came to mind were aggressive, intimidating and virile. The black skin made it even more so, as the light from the window created contrasting highlights on the veins.

Carefully I looked at the border, where the black skin met my pasty, white body. Rather than a sharp line, as I had expected, there was a narrow gradient where one color blended over to the other. How on earth was this done? It looked like perhaps a decades old surgery where the scar had long since gone soft.

I resumed where we left off in the bathroom, slowly stroking it. It reacted right away, and apparently was a grower as well as a shower. Holy fuck was it massive. I just lied in bed and over perhaps 20 minutes had the best wank in my life. I have no idea whose dick I was giving a handjob, but this was clearly his loss and my gain. It was filled to the brim with nerve endings, making every stroke amazing. Or perhaps it was designed and grown in a lab somewhere? In that case, props to the cocksmith.

The head was leaking precum like crazy, sending small droplets of man lube for every noisy slosh of foreskin riding up and down the head. I was probably suffering from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation with so much blood displaced, but I managed to be amazed over how long I lasted, in the fog of pleasure.

When I finally couldn't keep it contained anymore, I erupted in rope after rope of cum going everywhere. On my chest, in my face, and some overshooting me all together. As I was catching my breath, sweaty and sticky, I was thinking about what to tell Amahle. Or if I should get up and do some attempts to clean up the mess first. I realized I had plenty of problems ahead of me. Cleaning up, getting home, ever wearing pants again, figuring out how to use toilets. But at least there and then I could not care less.

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larry-lutsky · 3 years ago

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Burying the Past

George Martin finished his miserable shift at the usual time and took the same bus that made 23 excruciating stops until it reached his station in the Gravesend section of Brooklyn. Then there was the 14-block walk in the blistering July heat until he reached the humble, bungalow style house he had inherited from his mother a few years before. The house was aging and crumbling much the way he was at 57-years old. He looked and felt a lot older than his years. Forty years of manual labor will do that to a man, as his craggy, weather-beaten face will attest to. After forty years, he didn't have much to show for it, staying as the same job he started as a teenager. The kind of job usually done by immigrants from Latin America and the Caribbean who were generally, much younger, faster and stronger than him. It was only a short matter of time when he couldn't do it anymore. Then he would have really nothing left, no family, friends, or money to live his few remaining years in dignity. “I may as well just end it now,” he thought to himself as he started the long trek from the bus station to his home. He already had the plan in place after he bought the gun on the street a week ago. This was going to be his last day on earth.

After entering his house, he turned on the light, closed the blinds, and took the revolver out of the top drawer of the credenza. He opened the chamber and checked to make sure he had a full complement of bullets. After all, he figured, the first bullet may misfire or he might flinch and miss his head even at point blank range. Better to have spare bullets so he wouldn’t have to get up and reload and maybe lose his nerve. He placed the revolver on the table next to the chair and sat down. Then he picked it up and pointed it at the side of his forehead, closed his eyes, and slowly squeezed the trigger. Buzzzzz! The door buzzer was always way too loud, and the unexpected noise jolted him out of the chair. His mother had made the buzzer extra loud as she was hard of hearing, and he never bothered figuring out how to lower the volume. After all, almost no one ever buzzed his door. Who the hell would be buzzing it now at 7 pm? George walked over to the window beside the door and peered out. There was a well-dressed young man standing in front of the door; it was not someone he recognized. George tapped on the window and gestured to the young stranger, but he could not hear what George was saying through the window. The young man pointed to the door and seemed to mouth “please.” George went back to the table and put the revolver back into the drawer. Then he walked back, reluctantly opened the front door, and said, “Yes?” “I’m so sorry to disturb you,” said the young man. “Are you George Martin?” George looked him up and down and replied. “Yes, I am. What do you want?” “I would like to talk with you for a few moments in private,” the man replied. “Talk with me about what?” George asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I can’t talk out here,” the main replied, nodding in the direction of his next-door neighbor who was sitting on his porch within earshot. “It’s something important, and I promise not to take up much of your time. Can I please come inside?” George shrugged, stood to the side, and stretched his arm out, pointing the way inside. “Fine. Suit yourself.” The young man sat on the couch while George sat on the chair. “I’ll get right to the point,” the young man said. “My name is Ralph Mercado and I have reason to believe that you are my father.” George sat in stunned silence for a while, studying Ralphs’ face. Indeed, the shape of his face was very similar to his own, and he had the slightly hooked nose and the same kind of wavy, brown hair. In fact, Ralph was the spitting image of how George looked when he was in his early 20’s. George did briefly have a girlfriend named Veronica Mercado about 23 years ago, a Dominican beauty, with long flowing hair, and a model’s figure. She had a volatile temper and mood swings that made it impossible to maintain the relationship. George finally broke the awkward silence. “Is your mother Veronica? When Ralph nodded, George continued. “She never told me she was pregnant. I never knew she had a kid.” “My mother always told me that my father died so I never tried to find you,” Ralph said. “She didn’t want me to know you. Then after she passed away eight years ago, I Ivied with my aunt for a while, and she didn’t tell me anything about you. More recently I found evidence that you are alive, and from information I managed to piece together from other relatives I traced you to this address.” “I’m sorry to hear that your mom passed away, but what do you want from me?” George replied. “If you want money, I don’t have any.” “No, no, no,” Ralph practically shouted back. “I don’t want money. I just wanted to meet you and maybe have some sort of relationship. I’ll tell you what. I’ll write my name and phone number on a slip of paper, and if you want, you can call me sometime and we can talk or maybe meet somewhere. If you are not interested, that’s OK. You will never see or hear from me again. It’s entirely up to you.” Ralph wrote his number of a slip of paper, handed it to George, and started walking towards the door. He briefly stopped, turned around, and said, “It was nice meeting you. Perhaps we will talk again. Good night.” After Ralph left, George walked over to the drawer, looked at the revolver, and thought, “Can’t do it now. So much to think about. Maybe another day.”

George met Ralph at their preassigned location in a bar on Surf Avenue near where Ralph lived in Coney Island. It was a warm, humid day, but the gentle sea breeze provided some relief. George found Ralph sitting at a barstool in the back, sidled down next to him, and ordered two Heinekens. Ralph seemed glad that George showed up. George sounded so hesitant on the phone when he called that Sunday morning to arrange the meeting that that Ralph had his doubts. After making some small talk, George had a contrite expression on his face when he admitted he had a confession to make. “I lied when I said I didn’t know that Veronica was pregnant. She did tell me. I didn’t want a kid and I paid her to have an abortion. Obviously, she did not go through with it. I wonder what she did with my money.” Ralph had a disturbed look on his face. “Did my mother not want to have me?” he stammered. She showed me so much love and she was a religious Catholic who would not approve of abortion. She never missed a Sunday mass.” “She went back and forth on it,” George replied. One week she wanted to have the baby; the next week she did not. Back and forth, back and forth. I don’t know if you know this about your mom. I went with her to the psychiatrist because of her crazy mood swings – this was early in the relationship - and he diagnosed her as bipolar. She took her medication at first, but then she stopped because she said it made her sluggish. Later she had the delusion that there was nothing wrong with her, and maybe her moods were due to devil possession. She thought she could deal with it by praying and lighting candles in church. She even went to a woman who claimed she could cure her with an exorcism. Needless to say, none of this worked.” Ralph sat silently taking this all in. “Well,” he said, “she was certainly very moody, but she never told me about the diagnosis. Her religious views were kind of nutty, though I didn’t think she would go as far as seeing an exorcist. I’m glad you told me. Now I have to make a confession too. It’s not true that I don’t want anything from you. The truth is that I’m dying and I’m hoping you can save my life.” George looked shocked. Ralph looked like the picture of health. He was tall, muscular, and energetic; he seemed to exude good health. “What’s wrong?” George asked. “I have a congenital condition,” Ralph continued. “The result of this condition is that my kidneys are totally shot. If I don’t find a donor soon, I’ll be dead in 6 months. I can’t find a donor with a match and the waiting list is too long for me. I’m hoping you as my dad will be a match.” “But can’t you be kept alive with dialysis?” George replied. “Yes,” Ralph said, “but I refuse to live that way. If I don’t get a donor in 6 months, I’m refusing the dialysis. I won’t be hooked up to tubes for 3-4 times a week for years and years. I would rather die than live like that.” George put his arm around Ralph's neck and said, “Don’t worry son. I’ll go for the test, and if we are a match, I will donate my kidney. It’s the least I can do. You’re too young to die.” George woke up in the recovery room still groggy from the anesthesia. The transplant surgery was scheduled just two weeks after finding out he was a suitable match to become a donor so there was little time to think about the operation beforehand. He was glad for that because he had made up his mind to be a donor and didn’t want to think of the consequences or what may go wrong. Now there was just the long wait to find out how the operation went. Finally, the surgeon walked in, looked down at the chart, and then at George's eyes. “Hello, Mr. Martin, how are you feeling?” the doctor said with a faint smile. George grimaced and said, “Very tired and a lot of pain on the lower right side of my back.” That’s normal,” answered the doctor. “The operation went very well. I expect that you will be up and out of here in three days.” “That’s great,” replied George. “How is Ralph doing?” He could see by the doctor's expression that something was wrong. The doctor’s smile faded and he hesitated before replying, as if to collect his thoughts before proceeding. “Ralph has some complications,” he started and paused again. His congenital condition has caused more problems than just with his kidneys so this is more difficult than the usual transplant. In addition, for some reason his body is rejecting the implant. We are doing the best we can with immunosuppressant drugs and we have to run some more tests to see what can be done. Right now, I just want you to rest as much as possible and we will give you updates as his condition changes.” After George was released from the hospital, he would get daily updates from the hospital on Relph’s condition. His condition was touch and go; sometimes there were hopeful hints that there was improvement, and even when an infection set in, he seemed to respond well to antibiotics. But now it was a week later and the caller ID indicated the doctor was calling at an unusually early time, 7 AM. George had a lump in his throat as he picked up the phone. This couldn’t be good news. Indeed, it was not. Ralph, his only child, who only recently came into his life, had succumbed to an infection that had rapidly become septic. His aunt told him that Ralph requested cremation and that there was be a memorial service as soon as it could be arranged. Later he would learn that Ralph changed the beneficiary on his life insurance policy at work and that a check for one-hundred thousand dollars was on its way. That would be enough money for him to quit his job and finally retire with a modicum of dignity. “It’s strange,” Ralph thought to himself. “I couldn’t save my son’s life, but somehow in trying to save him I ended up saving myself instead.” He could feel the dread that plagued him for so many years lift from his shoulders. He slowly walked to the drawer where he kept his revolver, pulled out the gun, opened the chamber, took out the bullets, and dumped them in the trash can. Then he took it to his small backyard with a trowel and started digging a hole. When the hole was deep enough, he dropped the gun into it and covered it up. It felt like he was not just burying the gun, but burying the past as well. George got up from his crouch and slowly walked back to the house while wiping his hands from the dirt. There were many more miles to travel and a memorial to plan.

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rjzimmerman · 5 years ago

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This is where our son has been since January 13, 2020, Rush Medical Center in Chicago. If you read my posts, you know that his first liver transplant from December 10, 2019, failed, and he had a second liver transplant. The second procedure was tough; he almost died in the OR from uncontrolled bleeding. But he didn’t, and he’s been progressing slowly but certainly. We were so happy when on Monday of this week he was transferred from the ICU, finally, to a general medical-surgical floor. There, he will continue some of his treatments (such as dialysis to address the continuing edema), and monitoring, although less intense, of infections, breathing, liver health, kidney health and so on. He is finally eating solid food, and will now receive physical and occupational therapy so he can once again walk, go to the bathroom, sit up in a chair, and do other things we take for granted.

The latest wrinkle in his stay and care is a giant global wrinkle we all face: the coronavirus pandemic. He is severely immuno-compromised right now because he’s on a regimen of anti-rejection drugs, and so he is a target for bacteria, fungi and viruses, including the Covid-19 virus, any of which could kill him. Rush has implemented new rules for visitation generally that are intended to protect its patients and staff, including our son. Today, when one checks in to visit, one is barraged with a series of questions about one’s health, coughing, fever, recent travels, etc., all very much necessary. For us, when we visit his room, we have to wear face masks. I question their utility, because they are not N95 respirator masks, so I think those masks are providing our son with a false sense of security. But reduction of anxiety is important, so we wear the masks (and because we have to do so).

Right now, in these days, being in a hospital, including a major academic teaching facility such as Rush, provides daily reminders that public health is based upon systems designed over many years by smart, creative and sincere people in whom we have to trust. I remind myself of this whenever I think of our bungling leaders in DC who look at this pandemic as a numbers game or something to be “spun” to deflect and obfuscate, or some of the bureaucrats at the FDA or CDC who insist upon adherence to dumb ass rules that impede research and progress, such as the requirement to send lab results via snail mail rather than e-mail. (Yep, that happens.) I can ignore the politicians and the stubborn, obstinate bureaucrats when I see what the troops on the ground, in the hospitals, are doing to take care of us, or at least trying.

#coronavirus

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cannibalisticskittles · 6 years ago

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i’ve been struggling with the idea of this post for days now, unsure how much to say and how much to not say. there’s so much that just isn’t mine to talk about, so much of someone else’s life, and it is not at all my place to aim a spotlight and make a spectacle out of someone else’s life, but... it also feels deeply unsettling to say nothing and gloss over the fact that she existed, so... i’m gonna be brief (in theory) but i am gonna talk about it. the gist of it is —

my cousin died last friday. there were issues beyond just the one, and several contributing factors, but ultimately it was her heart that did it. dani had been struggling with heart problems for around two years now.

the last time this happened — the first time she was rushed to the hospital and we were told that there were problems with her heart — it was all a big mystery. i look back at the things i was writing two years ago and it’s all things like ‘we don’t know what’s happening, we don’t know if she’s going to be okay, they’re still trying to figure it all out but they know that even in the best case scenario, her heart will be affected for the rest of her life, and we don’t know, we don’t know, we don’t know.’

it all seemed very dire stuff for a sixteen-year-old to deal with, and it was. but things went both very wrong but surprisingly right. total heart failure, not one but TWO transplants, including the world’s smallest artificial heart, long stretches of time in the hospital followed by long stretches out, until she was only going back for brief check-ins. after that, i really thought she was going to be okay. she’d always have to keep both her heart and her diabetes in mind, keep track of her physical restrictions, her dietary restrictions (even though she disregarded that sometimes — god she fucking loved hot cheetos, i don’t know how she managed to get them in the hospital so often, her nurses joked about it too, but could really only hope to curb her enthusiasm, not stop it entirely) but okay. alive. and having a life outside the hospital.

this time... everything new i heard just sounded worse. ketoacidosis triggering her body to reject her donor heart, which caused a cascade of problems that left her on life support with all her organs non-functioning. the odds were... not good — and yet it was hard to imagine that she wouldn’t somehow survive this. i know it’s common to say that so-and-so was a fighter, but god, dani really was. she was dealt a shit hand again and again, and every time, she clawed her way past it.

once when i visited her in the hospital, around the time of her first transplant, she asked if i wanted to see her heart, and she laughed as she showed me the video of her chest opened up to expose, yes, her (still-beating, i guess, i don’t remember very well, i told her i wasn’t too squeamish but i still couldn’t look for as long as she could) heart. she was so involved in everything that went on around her. shebwas ever-curious, and she was a fast learner. she got to the point where she could — and did, sometimes — correct a new nurse assigned to her if they struggled to remember her dosages or her limits. if it pertained to her and her heart, she knew it, no question about it.

and... this time, for a little while, it seemed like maybe it would all be okay again, somehow. she woke up. she had more and more moments of awareness. she talked to people as much as she could while intubated. in all the times i went to see her, i only got to see her awake once, but we held hands and mimed part of a conversation about books, and i read some pages of ‘coraline’ to her.

that was the last time i saw her, three days before she died.

she was only 18, and she deserved so much more than this. she fucking loved spongebob, and she loved her hot cheetos. she loved learning from the nurses that checked on her. she was passionate, and she had a way of drawing you into whatever she was talking about. she was bright and radiant in every way a person could be, even when the strain of everything wore her down.

this post might end up bookended by goofy posts, i dunno, i haven’t checked to see what’s in my queue or when it’s next going to post. and things are going to be largely business as usual here at cannibalisticskittles-dot-tumblr-dot-com, because i have the rest of my life to mourn, and she had little patience for just sitting around and i don’t think she’d accept that from me, either. but i can’t go without at least a mention of her. she deserves more than that.

#i know there’s no right thing to respond to all of this #if you read this don’t like... feel obligated to respond #i’m okay. relatively speaking.#it just needs to be said.#and uh #death tw #i guess

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prophetandprincess · 6 years ago

Text

X X X X X X X

Two updates in less than a month? Madness. Hope you enjoy

“Today is an exciting day,” Dr. Banner said with a smile as he paced between the lab tables. “You all have gotten through the boring orientation stuff and into what we’re going to be focused on this year. How much do all of you know about organ transplants?”

There was a murmur about the lab, but no one said anything right away. Alex didn’t know much, but she did know that there were medical researchers in the room who could answer the question. She also wasn’t exactly working on a full night’s sleep and she hadn’t been able to talk to Peter that morning about the whole Spiderman business, so she had some things on her mind. Warren was watching them like a hawk, lab was cancelled, and Peter disappeared before Alex could even take a breath. Concentrating was not easy for her today, but then again, that wasn’t exactly new.

“Alright, that is a very broad question, let me change it. What is the biggest risk in organ transplants after the surgery is done?” Dr. Banner reached into his desk drawer and started to pull out piles of folders

This was an easy question, but Alex looked around at the other interns instead of making eye contact. She didn’t want to be a teacher’s pet, especially after already being singled out by Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner that first day of orientation. It would be nice to make friends with at least one of the other interns, or at least have them want to talk to her during work. Then again, with how her luck was going, whoever spoke to her would probably end up having some sort of superhuman abilities, so maybe she should appreciate that no one noticed her.

“Organ rejection,” Zachary finally spoke up. He was a Ph.D student from Atlanta that loved to sing along with his iPod softly as he worked. Alex would sometimes walk by his desk just to listen to him sing as his finger flew across the keyboard. He had a beautiful tenor voice.

“Exactly,” Dr. Banner smiled as he walked between stations, laying folders on the corner of each. “People wait for years for a matching organ to become available, survive the surgery, and then their own body betrays them because it thinks that the foreign body is well…a foreign body. This is devastating to both patients and the family and leads to people having to be added to the list and wait for another miracle.”

“It also sounds like a problem that a multidisciplinary team like this one, without any pressure from the people who make immunosuppressant drugs, can work to correct. We have some of the brightest minds in medicine, biochemistry, biology, and other areas that I am forgetting right now. I have the base of a serum that will keep the white blood cells from attacking the new organ and allow the patient to stay healthy for years to follow. I need your help to perfect it and get it ready for human trials. Everyone ready to start?”

There was a general murmur of agreement as Dr. Banner finished placing the folders and made his way back to the desk at the front. Alex’s fingers itched to open the folder and see what was inside, but no one else had touched theirs, so she sat on her hands instead. Patience might not be one of Alex’s virtues, but in the last twenty-three years of her life she had learned a very small bit of restraint when the occasion called for it.

“Inside the folders will be the names of your team members, these are the small groups that you will be working with before we come together as a larger task force. The lab assistants will head each group and be my eyes and ears,” Dr. Banner waved his hand to the four people who walked into the lab, all smiling. “There is also a list of studies that I want you all to read. It is important to know what has come before our research to make our serum as successful as possible. Today will be introducing yourselves to your groups and then I want you looking at those studies.”

Everyone flipped their folders open as if it was the first day at summer camp. Alex smiled when she saw that Zachary was part of her pod, along with someone named Zaria, Kyle, and Isabella with Liam as their assistant. Everyone looked up after reading their list, as if attempting to figure out who was who. Zachary met Alex’s eye and smiled.

“Alright, five minutes to introduce yourselves and then get to reading,” Dr. Banner looked toward the door, blushed, and then waved his hands that the group should get on with it.

Alex looked over her shoulder to see Natasha leaning by the door, smiling as Dr. Banner walked over to her. While there were very few people, man, woman, or something else, that wouldn’t be flustered by Natasha smiling at them from the door, but there was something extra cute about it being Dr. Banner. Here was a man with seven Ph.D’s acting like a high schooler with a crush.

“Miss Harper, is it?” Liam asked as she moved over to her pod, a soft Irish accent caught Alex by surprise. “Well, the pods all here. I expect you all to keep up with the reading and pull your weight. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t have a wee bit of fun kicking the other pods asses as well.”

“I thought we were all a team,” Zachary said with a wide smile.

“Oh, we are, but we’re just going to be the best part of that team,” Liam winked. “Now let’s all share numbers and then you best get reading.”

It only took a few minutes to set up the group text message before they dispersed back to their desks. Alex looked through the list of five studies that they were supposed to read through before flipping open a page in her notebook to take notes. It wasn’t lost on Alex that she was now being paid to do what she was doing during her insomnia fueled nights, only a different topic.

“Miss Harper, Jarvis tells me that you haven’t finished all the orientation modules yet. Is something wrong?” Banner asked softly as he walked over to her table after finishing his conversation with Natasha.

“I’m just having some problems with learning the computer programs is all, tech isn’t my thing.” Alex looked around and was glad to see that no one else was paying attention to the conversation. “I just need more time figuring out the programming since I have no experience.”

“I could help you if you want, or-”

“No,” Alex cut him off, then winced at how ungrateful she sounded. “No, thank you. I’ll get it, I just need some time with it.”

“Alright, well, if you need something just let Liam know. He’s well versed in the programs and it’s kind of his job.” Dr. Banner gave her a small smile before moving through the rest of the lab, making sure everyone was hard at work.

Alex knew that she was being stubborn, but she was telling herself it was because she didn’t want to be singled out any more than she already had been. The rest of her shift was spent reading through the studies and trying to move through another one of the modules. By the time everyone started heading out, there was one study left and three modules. As she moved to close the research study, the search bar caught her eye.

There was a good chance that Stark Industries had access to far more journals than her college library. Technically, she was off the clock, so there would be no harm in seeing what would pop up if she typed in something, like, say, PTSD. Thousands of results popped up on the screen, some titles she hadn’t seen before.

“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Harper?” Jarvis asked, making Alex almost fall out of her chair. The few interns that were still in the lab looked in her direction as they left.

“Not scaring me to death would be a good start, Jarvis,” Alex sighed as she closed out of the search window and started to pack up for the day.

“PTSD is not in the scope of the project that you are assigned,” Jarvis pointed out as Alex logged out of her terminal and went to hang up her lab coat. “Is there is something else you are researching, I would be happy to help narrow down the search, after clearing it with Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark.”

“What you mean is that I shouldn’t go poking around the Stark Industry databases without a chaperone,” Alex laughed as she slipped on her flip-flops and headed out of the door. “I promise you that there is no way in hell I could stumble onto something classified.”

“That was not my concern, I have been tracking your progress through the orientation modules after all.” Jarvis’s voice had a lot of personality for something that was supposed to be monotone and automated, snarky bastard. “I was just offering my assistance for any other projects so that it would go quicker.”

“As if my self-esteem couldn’t get any lower, you swooped in to kick me while I’m down. Thank you for that Jarvis,” Alex shook her head as she headed for the elevator, but then sighed. “Can you ask Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark if I’m allowed to go outside research, off the clock, and get back to me?”

“Of course, Miss Harper.” Jarvis almost sounded amused. “Have a nice evening.”

“You too, Jarvis.” Alex realized as she stepped into the elevator that she was thanking an inanimate object. At least this object talked back.

Instead of a straight descent to the lobby, the elevator stopped. It was past five, so she wondered if someone was working late or if it was environmental services employees making the whole Tower sparkle. Alex had never seen a handprint on any of the bits of glass or metal in the place, even with all the people in and out. The doors slid open and Alex couldn’t help but smile. She should have known.

“Well,” Steve smiled as he stepped in and stood beside her, “how about we cash in that rain check?”

“So, did Jarvis tell you that I was leaving or have you been stalking me all by yourself?” Alex laughed as the elevator continued it’s descent.

“Neither, it was a happy coincidence.” Steve laughed when Alex gave him a look. “I was alerted to a news report about a woman being accosted in an alley and saved by Spiderman that I wanted to talk to you about, but mostly it was just dinner.”

“Right,” Alex rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. “You’re in luck though, as I am avoiding my Russian homework and am a sucker for free food, but you’re on thin ice Rogers.”

“I guess I’ll have to throw in dessert as well then.” Steve waved a hand to show that she should exit the elevator first. “Though I am going to warn you, Jarvis has probably already told Tony that we’re going to dinner together. It will start the rumors again.”

“I can tell that you’re devastated about that.” Alex couldn’t really bring herself to care all that much about it. All the other interns were gone so it wasn’t like any of them would see her with Steve. It wasn’t like he was a movie star and she had to worry about the paparazzi following him around. So the Avengers would think they’re dating, she could deal with that.

“Hey, if they think I’m interested in you, they’ll stop trying to set me up with Roberta in accounting. Humor me.” Steve directed her over to his motorcycle that was parked right in front of the Tower and held out the helmet to her. “At least you’re dressed for a ride today.”

“Is that an innuendo Mr. Rogers?” Alex took the helmet and slipped onto the back of the bike, ignoring how comfortable it was to lock her arms around his waist and press against his back. How many women would kill to be in the exact same place?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Harper,” Steve laughed before the motorcycle reeved to life underneath them.

There was something very comforting about being on the back of a motorcycle for Alex. Even if it wasn’t the open road, just being in the flow of traffic and not having to think about anything was a nice respite from the normal chaos of her life. Just resting against Steve, the motorcycle rumbling, and knowing she was about to good food was the lightest she had felt in about a year.

Steve stopped the bike and kicked down the stand in front of a small store that read Eisenberg’s Sandwiches, proclaiming that it had been around since 1929. This was the type of place that Alex loved to go to in New York City, not the Michelin star eating, but the little holes in the wall that were tucked away from the tourists. These tiny pearls waiting for someone with five bucks and an empty stomach.

“This is one of the only places in the city that is still here from when I was a child,” Steve explained as he helped her off the bike. “Luckily, the sandwiches are still amazing and you look like you need some food.”

It was a tiny store, there was barely enough room to walk between the two person tables and the counter with red stool seats. Some of the equipment being used didn’t look like it had been updated since 1929, but it also added a bit of charm. Alex really couldn’t see much else as there was a bustling dinner crowd, but Steve managed not only to move through the store, but find a table for two.

“Did you come here a lot when you were a kid?” Alex asked as she looked over the menu, which had an impressive selection for being so small.

“A poor kid from Brooklyn? Nah, but Buck did take me here if either of us got some money from something, which wasn’t often. He took me here the day he told me that he got drafted and was leaving soon.” Steve had a soft smile on his face, but his eyes were sad. It killed Alex that she was so wrapped up in her loss of James that she hadn’t checked in with Steve about how he was feeling. Then again, even when she did, he rarely talked about what was going on with him. She wished he would, it would be nice to talk to someone else who loved James.

“You know, I forget that he was in the military all the time, isn’t that weird?” Alex said, trying to start the conversation in the most awkward way possible, but deciding to push ahead. “I mean, like, I know that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was in the military, obviously, but I forget that the guy I read about in history books is the same guy that lived in my apartment for a week. I mean, it happens with you too, but not to the same extent.”

“That’s just because I’m pretty disappointing in real life,” Steve laughed as he leaned back in his chair.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Alex folded up her menu and smacked his arm with it. “It’s just, you seemed so…proper in the history books, not someone I could have dinner with in a tiny sandwich shop in Manhattan. The couple decades age different notwithstanding, of course.”

“Speaking of dinner, what do you want?” Steve gave her a real, open, and bright smile. While he usually had a smile for her, it had been a while since she had seen one this relaxed. It lifted her heart a little bit. Steve deserved some happiness.

Alex ended up getting a chicken salad sandwich with bacon along with a strawberry milkshake and an order of onion rings. Steve got a tuna melt, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. All that was missing was a poodle skirt, since Steve was already in a brown bomber jacket and white T-shirt, and they could have been on a date back in the fifties. While Alex didn’t want everyone in the tower thinking that she and Steve were an item, it wasn’t an unpleasant thought that these random strangers could wonder if the two of them might be dating.

“So,” Alex crunched into one of her onion rings, “I know that you didn’t ask me here just to show me a restaurant from your childhood. Let’s get to the nitty gritty of it all? Everything alright?”

“Define alright,” Steve gave her a small smile, but it slipped off his face when Alex gave him a look over his sandwich. “I just…after that call I wanted to make sure that you were going okay, honestly doing okay. And then Hill told me that there was another Spiderman incident and while the female victim was kept anonymous, I thought it might be you.”

“Hill has a big fucking mouth,” Alex muttered into her milkshake, ignoring Steve’s gaze as she attempted to come up with a diplomatic answer. After a couple seconds, she decided that the truth was the best way, especially with Steve. “I was attacked yesterday, but it wasn’t anything too serious, and I was saved by Spiderman. The police are handling it and other than being tired, I’m doing fine.”

“Really, because you don’t look fine. No offense,” Steve added quickly. “You are very pretty, but an exhausted pretty. Are the nightmares worse now that you’ve been in a dangerous situation again? Do you need help? Also, who is this Spiderman guy? Can you trust a vigilante who wears head to toe spandex?”

“Steve, technically you are a guy in a spandex suit too, remember?” Alex was attempting to lighten the mood, but it was Steve’s turn to give her a look. “It was the same assholes from the Marquee club, they weren’t that happy that someone was witness to their assault and wanted to make me not remember much. Spiderman had been following them and stepped in. I think Spiderman just wants to help, being somewhere the police can’t and the Avengers are too busy to handle, ya know?”

“I appreciate what this guy is trying to do, but he’s going to get himself or someone else hurt.” Steve shook his head but then he gave her a hint of a smirk. “What is it with you and dangerous alleyways anyway?”

“What can I say, I like a bit of danger,” Alex returned his smirk.

“I know, you’re causing me to have grey hairs, which is impressive with the super soldier serum and all.” Steve grabbed a napkin to wipe something off his cheek. “I know that I’ve been busy recently, but I want you to call me if you need help, or Sam, alright? What’s the purpose of being friends with superheroes if you don’t let them help?”

“Getting them to buy me dinner now and again?” Alex said, which got Steve to laugh. After that, the discussion turned to her school work and working with Doctor Banner.

“I have to admit, a lot of this is going over my head. Buck was the science geek, I was more of an art kid. When Bruce and Tony start talking, it’s a different language and I don’t understand it. I’m just a simple boy from Brooklyn and the best I could manage was memorizing the periodic table,” Steve laughed as he finished off his sandwich.

“If it makes you feel any better, I am two semesters away from having my degree in Biochemistry and I don’t know what Dr. Banner is saying sometimes,” Alex waved an onion ring about as if that didn’t matter. “I don’t even think if I get my Ph.D, and I have to graduate first, I’ll be a fraction of as smart as he is.”

Alex pushed away the bubble of anxiety that came when she thought about graduation and focused on Steve instead. She never really thought about how Steve would feel out matching intellectually at the Tower with Banner and Tony. True, Steve was technically genius and a photographic memory, but it took more to be as innovative as Tony and Bruce. It had to be annoying to feel inferior all the time.

“Hey,” Steve nudged her leg with his knee under the table, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it. You’ll develop wrinkles.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Alex slurped up the rest of her milkshake and pushed it away. “I was just thinking about annoying if must be to live with people who don’t talk about the same interests that you have, nothing serious.”

“Which is why I asked you out to dinner,” Steve winked.

Alex felt herself blush a little and focused on finishing off her onion rings. She knew that Steve wasn’t flirting with her seriously, just being charming, and it was annoying that it was working. It didn’t help that Steve was also extremely attractive while also being kind and caring. Why wasn’t he dating someone?

“Any news about our favorite world traveler that I should know about?” Alex didn’t look up from her food, both to help hide the fading blush and also so that Steve’s expression wouldn’t betray him before he answered. “Did that phone call get you guys anywhere?”

“We traced the call to Europe, but that’s about as far as we got before it was lost. Sam’s gone over there to see if he can pick up the trail, but he hasn’t found much,” Steve sighed as he polished off the last of his food. “I feel selfish sending him out on these wild goose chases, but it’s not like I have the time to go with…everything.”

“Do me a favor? Whenever Sam gets back, don’t tell him about the Spiderman thing? I’d rather not get lectured again.” Alex missed Sam and the clarity that he brought to her life, but she could do without the judgement of her life choices. If she wanted that, she would call her brother, who she needed to call and finalize plans for when he was coming to visit her. Another thing to add to her ever growing list.

“Maybe you shouldn’t keep getting into trouble and you wouldn’t get lectured,” Steve said with a giant smile.

“It took us weeks to even get together for dinner. If I didn’t get into trouble I would never see you,” Alex pointed out with a laugh.

“You also wouldn’t see that police officer that you keep mentioning. Michael was it?” Steve had a sly smile on his face as he sat back with a sigh. “First name basis with the law, it must be serious.”

“He had the misfortune of being one of the officers that helped me with the Marcus incident last year and then happened to be promoted to the vigilante task force, as apparently they are starting to become a problem in New York. Nothing serious about it at all.” Michael Sousa was a good man, one of the few that Alex knew, which meant that she would never date him. While he was a police officer, he really didn’t deserve any of the mess that seemed to find it’s way into her life.

“A police officer would be a step up from your previous boyfriends,” Steve pulled out his wallet and slid out a couple bills. “Why not give the poor boy a chance?”

“Why don’t you give one of the poor girls that Natasha throws at you a chance?” Alex countered with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure one of them is interesting enough to take out to dinner, especially if you’re slumming it with me.”

“Why do you do that?” Steve’s voice had an edge to it.

“Do what?” Alex was startled by the sudden frustration in Steve’s voice.

“Act like you’re not good enough to be with me, as if it is some hardship for me to spend time with you?” Steve leaned forward so that she had to look him in the eyes.

“It’s just…” Alex had to look away, fingers coming up to play with her earrings as she attempted to come up with a good answer.

“You could be, like, having dinner with dignitaries or the president or Tony Stark and Bruce Banner or being briefed on national security matters. People who are way more important and interesting than me.” Alex shrugged at her very inelegant explanation. “Do you think if anyone in the restaurant knew who you were and who I was, they wouldn’t wonder why you were out with me?”

“Alexandra, if there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people’s opinions are far less important than your opinion of yourself.” Steve reached out and grabbed her hand so that she had to look at him. “No one has ever made me do something I didn’t want to do, including coming out and having dinner with you. If I’m here, I want to be here.”

“Is this the part where you confess your undying love for me, right?” Alex leaned forward with a dramatic flutter of her eyelashes, the conversation becoming too serious for her to handle with no sleep. “And don’t call me Alexandra.”

“You’re hopeless,” Steve threw his napkin at her before getting to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you home so you can get some sleep.”

The night air was colder now that the sun had set, making the ride back to the apartment extremely enjoyable. She had forgotten how much she loved being on a motorcycle. Raphael, her first serious boyfriend, had given her one of the ones from his garage to use, but obviously that had been taken back when he went to jail. Then there was that one time that she snuck out at sixteen and was gone for three days because she almost joined a motorcycle gang she met at the bar. When she finally came home, Grace Harper didn’t even looking up from chopping potatoes, and told Alex that the trash needed to be taken out and her laundry was on her bed. Somehow, the fact that she never even rose her voice stung more than if she had screamed at Alex.

“Do you need me to walk you up to your place?” Steve asked when he parked out in front of her building, turning off the engine, and looking over his shoulder as Alex undid the helmet.

“I’m pretty sure I can get up to my apartment without being shot, stabbed, or assaulted in some fashion, but thanks for the offer,” Alex laughed as she swung off her bike as her phone started to ring. “Unless there is a Hydra threat that you didn’t tell me about.”

“That’s not funny,” Steve said. “You should get that.”

Alex rolled her eyes as she picked up the phone, not even looking at the screen, and said hello. There was nothing but static on the other end and Alex was about to hang up, figuring it was a telemarketer, when she heard an intake of breath.

“Alex, is that you?” James’s voice sounded far away, but the way her heart went into her throat, she knew it had to be him.

“Yes, yes it’s me. Where are you?” Alex spoke rapidly, looking up at Steve. It had to be something in her voice because Steve was off his motorcycle in a moment and beside her, leaning down to attempt to hear the conversation.

“I think…I think I might have called you before. I can’t really remember,” there was a sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry about that. I know you didn’t want to hear from me again.”

“No, no, James, that’s not…that’s not true,” Alex closed her eyes, her thoughts in chaos. “Where are you, are you okay?”

“I will attempt not to bother you again, but…it is nice to hear your voice,” James admitted slowly. “I’m just trying to stay away from those who would use me or imprison me. Don’t come looking for me, please.”

“James wait!” But the other end of the call has already gone dead.

“I’ll get Tony to trace the call, maybe this time-” Steve is already pulling his own cell phone out and putting it to his ear.

Alex just stood there, not hearing Steve’s conversation, trying to not start sobbing in the middle of the sidewalk. James thought she hated him, that she never wanted to talk to him again, because of how they left things last year. Sure, that the time she stated that it was better if they goodbye, but that was before she realized just how deeply he had gotten under her skin in just a week. It wasn’t because she hated him that she told him to leave, it was because she was in love with him, and that scared her as much as the threat of death.

“Hey,” Steve put a hand on her shoulder, seeing the tears in her eyes, “we’re going to find him. He’s alright and lucid, that’s a good sign. Try not to worry about it.”

“Yeah, right,” Alex gave a shaky smile as she hastily brushed away some tears. “Not worrying about a super soldier assassin with a spotty memory out in the world all by himself. Why would I worry about that?”

“Come here,” Steve pulled her into a tight hug. “Buck can take care of himself, always has been able to, even before the metal arm. I’m going to find him and bring him home, but he’ll be fine until then.”

“He asked that we don’t come looking for him,” Alex said against his chest, finding comfort in his arms.

“Yeah, well, remember when I said that no one has ever made me do something I didn’t want to do,” Steve pulled Alex away a little so that she looked up at him, gently wiping away a tear. “I’ll find him. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Steve was probably the only person she trusted implicitly.

“Alright, now get upstairs and get some sleep. I’ll call you when I know something.” Steve gave her another tight hug, resting his cheek against the top of her head, before letting her go.

“Just…be careful out there, alright?” Alex let go of him and wrapped her arms around herself.

“You too,” Steve gave her another smile.

Alex gave him a little finger wave before heading into the apartment building, Henry opening the door for her. She looked over her shoulder to see that Steve waited until she was inside to get onto his bike and roaring off. Always the gentlemen. She was surprised he didn’t walk her up to her apartment even against her protest.

While it was cooler outside, the apartment was stuffy from the windows being closed since she left that morning. Steve was right, she should sleep, but there was so much nervous energy in her body that she could barely sit. After pacing the apartment for a few minutes, she pulled out her cell phone and hit Jake’s contact picture. It took him three rings to pick up.

“Lexie, everything okay? I’m about to go to work,” Jake sounded a little breathless, as if he had to run and grab his phone.

“Right, night shift, sorry about that.” Alex moved through the apartment, opening windows, needing to do something.

“No worries, it’s better than me having to send out a search party to get you to return my text. What have you been up to?” Jake was speaking as if he was doing something, like putting on his work boots, while talking to her.

“Oh, you know…” Alex trailed off, figuring telling him about the super soldiers and the fact that she was assaulted last night was not a good idea. “Just my internship and class, trying to be social when I can. I’m starting an extra credit assignment on Saturday. Nothing too exciting.”

“Nothing exciting? When do you sleep, Lex?” Jake’s voice had a joking tone to it, but after this summer she knew he was worried.

“I’m a big girl, Jake. I can take care of myself. How are things in the sunshine state?” Alex felt a little calmer talking with Jake, enough that she could flop onto her bed. There were articles that needed to be read, papers that needed to be written, and about a million other things she should be doing, but there was no way she’d be in the mental space to do them tonight.

Jake filled her in about the waves he tried to catch that morning and Felix, the stray cat that decided to live around his condo. It was also so nice to hear a smile in Jake’s voice and hear about normal problems. It had always been a carefree soul and the beach bum lifestyle seemed to really suit him.

“I’m gonna have to go in a minute, so we’re on for around midterms right? Before the weather gets bad?” Jake asked. “You work way too much and need someone to take you out onto the town.”

“That sounds great Jake,” Alex said and actually meant it. It was weird to think about her family in the city, they were such separate entities, but she did miss her brother. Besides, it wasn’t as if Alex would ever get to show her parents the city as her mother refused to step foot in New York.

“Great, I’ll book the flight and then give you the details,” Jake sounded relieved, as if he expected push back. “Now I really have to go, Lexie. Talk to you later, be good.”

“I’m always good. Stay out of trouble Jake,”

Alex knew that she should get out of bed, but her whole body was heavy. Hadn’t Steve told her to get some sleep? Maybe, for the first time ever, she should take his advice. Besides, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t be woken up at three in the morning with heart pounding nightmares. Might as well take the rest while she could.

#marvel #Steve Rogers #fanfic #My writing #A Spider Sat Down Beside Her #Update 10 #spiderman #bruce banner

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letterfromtrenwith · 6 years ago

Text

Prescription Passion - Ch. 3

Carolight Hospital AU

Ch 3: Dwight tries to get some rest - he doesn't quite manage, but he does get an unexpected invitation...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“So…do you have a car?”

Dwight groaned at the ceiling of the on-call room, remembering his truly awful attempt at making conversation with Caroline outside the pub a few nights earlier. He was far too old to be acting like a stuttering teenager around women – even women as beautiful as Caroline Penvenen. He’d been utterly dumbstruck at the first sight of her in the hospital canteen. She was one of the few doctors at the hospital who still wore a white coat – the dermatology clinic’s private patients liked the uniform – and with her blonde hair and incredible blue eyes he’d thought she looked like an angel.

“Pleased to meet you, Dr Enys.” The little quick of her lips and raise of her eyebrow as she’d spoken had just about done for him. He’d bungled his way through the following conversation then, as well. Judging by her attitude at the pub, she obviously thought he was a complete idiot. Just some A & E hack compared to her skilled specialist. Dermatology was a rarefied field, a cut above the ordinary, not populated by stuttering fools like him.

With a huff, he turned over on the uncomfortable mattress, hitting the overstuffed pillow. Something that hadn’t changed in the years he’d been away from the NHS – considering the purpose of on-call rooms was to allow medical staff to get necessary rest, they seemed designed expressly to prevent them. He’d slept in much worse conditions, of course, conditions that some people had to endure every day of their lives.

He hadn’t intended to spend the day in the hospital, but his new neighbours had decided that this was a good day to have their kitchen renovated. The drilling and hammering, the workmen’s loud chatter and radio turned up to too high, all combined to make it impossible for him to either concentrate on getting anything done, or catching up on some sleep, so here he was.

Except he wasn’t getting any sleep here, either. Not that he’d ever found hospitals especially restful – and having his thoughts consumed by a certain blonde, blue-eyed skin doctor was not helping at all. With a sigh, he decided to make a trip to the coffee machine; not for caffeine, of course, that was the last thing he needed, but he wondered if a hot chocolate might help. Or rather, the vaguely cocoa-flavoured warm water that passed for hot chocolate out of that machine. He couldn’t be bothered to trail all the way down to the canteen or the coffee shop in the reception, however, so it would have to do.

“Ugh, for God’s sake.” The machine had just rejected his 20p piece for the third time and Dwight could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“There’s a trick to it – you have to sort of shove it upwards.” He turned to find the woman he had been both secretly hoping and secretly dreading running into for the last few days. Caroline wasn’t wearing her white coat today, and her dark red top was incredibly flattering, although Dwight couldn’t imagine that anything would look bad on her.

“Oh, er, thanks…” The coin clattered into the exit tray yet again, and he closed his eyes, wishing the ground would just swallow him up.

“Here, let me.” Caroline’s shoulder brushed against his as she bent to retrieve the coin and he suddenly became uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since he’d been in close proximity to a woman who wasn’t a patient. With a little sort of flick of her wrist, she popped the 20p into the slot and the machine made a satisfying click as it dropped into the coin collector. She held out her hand to him, and it took him a stupid minute to realise she wanted the rest of his change –after she’d entered that, she turned to him with a raised eyebrow. He thankfully managed to get it together enough to tell her what he wanted. Dwight wasn’t sure he’d ever considered pressing the button on a vending machine to be a particularly attractive activity, but it certainly was when Caroline did it.

She handed him the little plastic cup, holding the rim delicately, although the liquid wasn’t really warm enough for that to be necessary. Dwight took a watery sip and grimaced – as she turned back to the machine, he saw Caroline’s soft lips quirk in amusement. She opened the stylish-looking leather purse she’d had tucked under her arm and fished for some coins. He stood for a moment, feeling awkward, and was about to just leave when she spoke again.

“Busy day?”

“Er, no, actually. I’m on call, but my neighbours are renovating so I thought here might be a bit more…restful.” She didn’t really need to know that, but he’d blabbed it out anyway, like the awkward idiot he was.

“Really? This place? Restful?” She had a very musical laugh, tilting her head attractively as she looked back at him.

“Compared to Drillsville, at least.” He paused, trying to think of something else to say, but she beat him to it.

“Are you going to watch the surgery?”

“The surgery?” He frowned.

“Oh, didn’t you know? Francis is performing the last stage of an OOKP. The patient’s agreed the surgery can be public – for the students mainly, but there’s a few others going to observe. It was a chemical burn which caused the injury – I treated him for some of the facial scarring, and I’ve been helping with the cheek implant.” Dwight was impressed. It had taken him a moment to dredge up whatever book he’d read about OOKP in back in his student days. It was an extremely rare and complex procedure involving the implantation of specially cultivated dental tissue into a patient’s eye to restore lost vision. Like a lot of grafts, it was developed by temporary implantation into the patient’s body – the cheek, as Caroline had said.

“Wow.” He had no idea Caroline was involved with such work. Slightly unfairly, upon reflection, he’d assumed she performed primarily aesthetic procedures. “When?”

“In about half an hour.” Caroline bit her lip thoughtfully. “Would you like to come?”

“Good afternoon, everybody. My name is Francis Poldark, and I’m the consulting ophthalmic surgeon here at St. Neot’s. This is Mr Frank Worthing.” Francis – his voice muffled slightly by his surgical mask, and rendered crackly by the intercom system between the theatre and the observation room - indicated the unconscious patient on the operating table. “Mr Worthing has kindly agreed to allow you all to gawp at his surgery today for the purposes of enriching your medical education. He suffered a chemical burn to the upper left side of his face in an industrial accident, the resulting damage from which rendered him unsuitable for ordinary corneal transplant. Therefore, we will today perform the final stage of an osteo-odonto-keratoprosthesis procedure, more easily called an OOKP. Approximately four months ago, the first stages of the procedure were performed – the harvest and preparation of the complex. Scans show that it has successfully grown a new blood supply, so today we will be removing the complex from Mr Worthing’s cheek and inserting it into the eye.”

“Ew.” Dwight heard one of the students mutter. Clearly not one destined for ophthalmic surgery – or possibly any medical career at all if that was their attitude. There were many things more “ew”-worthy than sticking an implant into an eye, Dwight could tell them that for a fact.

“While we’re making sure everything is ready, I will introduce the rest of the surgical team, to give you some idea of what is involved in a procedure like this. First of all, assisting me is Mr Harry Blewitt, plastic surgeon, who will remove the complex from the cheek.” Another man amongst the virtually indistinguishable masked and gowned group nodded. “Also assisting – Ms Gloyne, ophthalmology registrar, surgical nurses Mrs Carter, Ms Edwards and Mr Daniel. And last, but very much not least, our anaesthetist, Dr George Warleggan. George, while we prep Mr Worthing, perhaps you could take our audience through your pre-operative checks, and what you’ll be monitoring as we proceed?”

“Of course…” George took over the narration, as smooth and confident as Francis – clearly, this was not the first time either of them had undertaken an educational exercise like this. Frankly, the thought terrified Dwight – he’d performed medical procedures under extremely stressful conditions, but having an audience like this…He admired their nerve; but surgeons were a different breed, far beyond even what he’d been trained to do in emergency medicine.

The surgery began, Mr Blewitt first carefully incising the patient’s cheek before removing the complex. Francis – with occasional contributions from the others – narrated the procedure in clear, simple terms, understandable to even the most befuddled medical student. Most of them were eagerly scribbling notes – Dwight was almost tempted to do so himself. There were a few other non-students in the room, aside from himself and Caroline, mostly distinguishable by their looks of interest rather than wide-eyed awe. He recognised one of them as a heart surgeon he’d been introduced to a week or so earlier, Malcolm Mc-something. The others – a younger man with fair hair, and a pretty, dark haired woman – he didn’t know.

After Francis had begun to remove the required parts of Mr Worthing’s eye – a couple of the students shifted uncomfortably – Ms Gloyne took over the narration, allowing her supervisor to concentrate. She wasn’t quite as confident as Francis, but her strong Cornish accent was engaging to listen to, and she clearly knew what she was talking about. The door to the observation room clicked open and he turned to see Elizabeth Warleggan slip in, taking a seat on the back most of the tiered benches. Catching his eye, she gave him a small smile before turning to watch the procedure, although he saw her gaze flick to her husband at his position by the monitoring equipment. George was bent over his clipboard, making the meticulous perioperative record of all anaesthetists.

As fascinating as Dwight was finding this, he still could not quite concentrate. To his surprise, Caroline had sat down right next to him on the bench, and a rather significant part of his brain was given over to the scent of her perfume, and the places where her arm and her knee touched his. Every time he glanced at her, however, she was staring into the theatre, rapt. It was only natural, Mr Worthing was her patient too. Dwight tried not to stare at her for too long, despite the way the bright surgical lights shining through the glass partition lit up her face and her golden hair.

“And that…is that. Of course, as with all grafts, we shall have to monitor Mr Worthing carefully before we can know if the procedure was a success, but we have completed today’s elements without complication and we can now begin transferring Mr Worthing into recovery. Thank you all for attending today.” A few of the students applauded, and Francis chuckled. Some of them lingered to watch the final parts of the procedure, but most began to file out, standing and stretching. The doctors all made for the door, as well, and Dwight stood to follow Caroline.

“Well, what did you think?” He almost started as she spoke to him when they got out into the corridor.

“Oh, er, very impressive. I’ve never seen an OOKP before, haven’t even read about one since medical school.”

“Me neither, but Francis is a bit of a specialist – this is his sixth, I believe.”

“Wow.” Dwight knew Francis was of some repute in his field, even at his relatively young age for a consultant, but he’d had no idea about that. Francis had practiced with a noted Professor of Opthalmology in Edinburgh for some years before returning to Cornwall, presumably he’d worked on the procedure there. Dwight made a mental note to ask him about it.

“Well, I er, I’d best be getting home. Horace is well past his walk, he’ll be driving Uncle Ray mad.” Caroline glanced at her watch. Dwight did likewise and was shocked to realise the time – they’d been in there for almost six hours! He’d been so fascinated – both by the surgery and by Caroline’s nearness – that he hadn’t noticed at all. Well, at least all the racket at home should be over by now. At least, he hoped so, since he had a proper shift in just over fourteen hours, and his sleep schedule was completely out of whack.

“How is Horace?” It was a monumentally stupid question, but for some reason he’d asked it anyway. To his surprise, Caroline smiled.

“Do you like dogs, Dr Enys?” From anyone else, the use of his proper title and surname might have seemed dismissive or overly formal, but in Caroline’s gentle tones it sounded almost enticing.

“A bit. My aunt had one, a Pomeranian named Fifi. She used to take fits whenever Aunt Mary played the piano. I don’t know if she was musically inclined or the opposite.” Caroline gave that wonderful laugh again, and a proper, wide smile which just about floored him.

“I really should go. See you around, maybe.”

“Yeah, see you.” With another quick smile, she was gone, heading back towards her own department. He watched her until she disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor.

#poldark #dwight enys #caroline penvenen #francis poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #dwight x caroline #carolight #prescription passion #fic #f: au #m: fic

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sariasprincy-writes · 7 years ago

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Where it Happened - 017

Part i Part ii Part iii Part iv Part v Part vi Part vii Part viii Part ix Part x Part xi Part xii Part xiii Part xiv Part xv Part xvi Part xvii (here) Part xviii

Where it Happened part xvii

Kankuro was leaving the hospital. Finally. After waiting years, his heart transplant finally happened. It had been successful. Completely flawless. He was healing and stable. Which meant there was no medical reason to keep him here any longer.

Sakura tried to tell herself it was this reason only that made her happy to see Kankuro go. And as she watched him through the glass doors of his hospital room, she nearly believed it herself.

Temari was with Kankuro now, a real grin on his face as he teased his sister. A feat he used to never get away with before he had fallen ill. The fierce blonde woman was sitting beside him in the wide hospital bed, the pair viewing something on her phone together.

It was all very endearing watching them interact. Sakura couldn’t hear their conversation, but she could just as well feel the affection the siblings had for one another. Kankuro cracked some joke and poked his sister in the side, causing Temari to laugh and swat his hand away.

Without a doubt, Sakura knew Kankuro would have all the support he would need after leaving the hospital. She hoped this would be his last long-term stay. For all their sake’s.

“How is he?”

Sakura sensed Gaara before he spoke. It was a strange feeling. To be so intuned with someone, she could feel them before they made their presence known. It was like a sickness one was trying to avoid, aware of everything they touched, everything they breathed.

“He’s doing well. Really well,” Sakura said, looking back down at Kankuro’s chart. “His platelet count is good. His coags are normal. I was going to release him today.”

“Today?” Gaara repeated. “Isn’t it too soon?”

“We’ve kept him under careful observation since the surgery. He isn’t showing any signs of rejection. There’s no reason to keep him here,” Sakura told him finally chancing a glance in his direction. She was surprised to find honest concern on his face. Her cool tone warmed. If only a little. “This is a good thing.”

Gaara said nothing as he eyed his siblings through the glass door. His face now utterly unreadable. The longer he stood quietly, the more uneasy Sakura grew. Eventually he glanced back to her. “Thank you for everything you have done.”

“I was just doing my job.”

“It was more than that,” he said, turning to face her fully. “You have always done more than what is expected in our line of work. So I thank you. Sincerely.”

Sakura didn’t reply as she fought back the swell of emotion that filled her chest. When he looked at her like that, it transported her back to that time when they were together. Happy and still believing they could conquer the world together. Back then, that look had made warm with butterflies. Now it only made her want to crawl into a hole and hide.

Without a word, Sakura turned back to her to the chart. She had every intention on ending their conversation there but Gaara reached for her then, his hand falling over the back of hers. His touch was gentle but Sakura jerked away as if he had burned her.

The smallest of frowns crossed his face. “Sakura, can we just talk?” he asked quietly. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I know you were hurt and for that I am sorry. I just want to see that you are truly alright.”

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly.

He didn’t look so convinced and tried a different direction. “You have done so much for Kankuro. I only wish there was something I could do in return.”

“He was a patient,” she told him flatly. “You owe me nothing.”

The disappointment was only too obvious on his face. He stared at her, as if hoping she might say something else, but she merely turned away to continue her work.

Gaara sighed quietly. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

It was only once she heard Kankuro’s hospital door slide open and closed that she dared look up again. Kankuro waved Gaara over to show him what he and Temari were viewing on her phone. Together, the three of them looked like one happy family. Even when Sakura and Gaara were dating, it had been rare to see such a relaxed look on his face.

A sliver of guilt embedded in her chest. Perhaps he was being sincere. Maybe she was being too hard on him…

Stealing herself, Sakura banished that thought from her mind. No, she wasn’t. She would never forget their past. And she certainly wasn’t going to forgive him for it.

Grabbing the discharge papers from the nurse, Sakura signed off her name. She gave that hospital room one last look before she turned her back and walked away.

Two surgeries back-to-back was exactly the kind of thing Sakura needed. It cleared her mind of all worries and stress. The perfect distraction. For when a patient was on her table, all that mattered was them.

By the time Sakura had wrapped up the latter procedure, she was already feeling lighter. Like the operating room had given her some perspective. These people were the ones with real problems. It’s not like she require open-heart surgery to fix her issues.

In the cafeteria, Sakura sat alone with a yogurt to refuel herself and a window seat to give her something to look at. The day was still mostly overcast but sunshine peeked behind the clouds every now and then. On a nearby tree, a bird jumped from branch to branch. Her eyes followed it absently, just enjoying the simplicity of it all.

At least until Ino slid into the seat across from her. Sakura glanced at her to find there was a deep furrow on the blonde’s face.

“What?” Sakura asked.

“Are you doing alright?”

She cocked a curious brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ino shot her a look that clearly told her to stop playing dumb. “Because Gaara is here.”

Sakura’s mood dropped in an instant. Her gaze fell to her yogurt as she absently scrapped the little bit left at the bottom of the container, not really sure what to say.

A soft sigh sounded across the table. “Look, I know I teased you about him and I know that was probably insensitive of me, but I know he hurt you. Enough that you won’t even tell me the whole story. And I’m not trying to pry. I just want to know that you’re okay.”

‘I know he hurt you.’ That single comment rang in Sakura’s mind. Gaara had said something similar that morning. Only different. ‘I know you were hurt,’ he had said. A subtle way to take the blame off himself. He was still a master manipulator. Nothing had changed.

“Kankuro is being discharged today,” Sakura said. “I’ll be fine after that.”

That information seemed to relieve Ino for the furrow between her brows relaxed. “You look like you could use a drink. Wanna get together after work?”

Pushing her empty yogurt aside, Sakura rested her cheek on her fist. It did sound nice. Maybe she would leave a little early today, wash the smell of hospital that was sure to be lingering in her pores, and meet Ino at the usual spot.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Sakura said.

Ino glanced at her watch. “Eight sound good?”

After Sakura confirmed the time, the blonde left the cafeteria. Sakura didn’t linger much longer either. She collected her yogurt and tossed it in the trash before wandering down to the ER. She had every intention of keeping as far away from the Cardiac Ward as possible, barring any emergencies.

For awhile, it seemed her plan was going to work. The emergency room kept her busy. She helped with the incoming traumas, diagnosing injuries, and ordering labs and exams. It was good. The hustle kept her distracted and made the long hours pass quickly.

By the time evening set in, the everyday rush had slowed. Kakashi had everything under control. Sakura glanced at her watch again, debating if it was too early for her to skip out of the hospital now. She would just need to check in on Itachi to see if he needed any help. Which she doubted. He hardly ever called upon her. Not that it was a bad reflection upon her. He just knew how to manage his workload.

“Dr. Haruno,” a meek voice called.

Pulling herself out of her thought, Sakura glanced over to find Kazamatsuri Moegi beside her. The second-year resident looked nervous, as if she was unsure she wanted to say what was on her mind.

Sakura eyed her curiously. “What can I do for you, Moegi?”

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. There was a large envelope pressed to her chest but she released her tight grip on it slowly to pass it towards Sakura. “This patient came in this afternoon with a GSW to the back of the head. Doctor Hyuuga ruled him inoperable and comatose. The Neuro fellow is getting ready to call brain death before the harvest team takes his organs.”

Sakura accepted the scans but continued to gaze at the young resident curiously. “If he’s almost brain dead, why are you giving me these?”

Meogi didn’t quite meet her eyes. Without something to hold, she began to fidget with her hands. “Because I think his brain death is preventable,” she finally said.

Well that was interesting. “You do?” Sakura repeated, her disbelief evident in her tone.

It was unusual for a resident - especially one so young - to disagree with a senior resident and an attending. Especially one as experienced at Neji. Sakura eyed Meogi a moment longer but her curiosity got the best of her and she couldn’t help but peek at the scans.

Sure enough, there was a bullet lodged in the back of the man’s skull. It was intruding on the medulla, the part of the brain that regulated respiration and circulation functions. Any trauma in this area could certainly turn a patient comatose and cause brain death.

“What are his stats?” Sakura asked, briefly glancing at the young doctor beside her.

“He’s apneic,” Meogi told her. There was no movement in any of the muscles used to inhale. “But he wasn’t when he was initially brought in.”

Tha caught Sakura’s notice. “He wasn’t?”

When Meogi shook her head, Sakura studied that exams again, this time with a more careful eye. The more she thought about it, the more this case seemed to bother her. It was unusual to see such a slow onset with this type of trauma. Perhaps this patient did deserve a second look.

Replacing the scans back into the sleeve, Sakura turned to the young resident. “Tell the harvest team to wait. I want another review of this case.”

“And if the harvest team doesn’t listen?” she asked.

Sakura shot her a stern look. “Then make them listen.”

The pair went their separate ways after that. Meogi back up to the ICU and Sakura down to the surgical floor. She found Neji in OR 3, scalpel-deep in a patient’s brain. He paused and glanced up upon her entrance.

“Dr. Haruno, it’s been a while since I last shared the OR with you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You had a patient come into the ER today,” she told him, mask pressed over her nose and mouth. “A GSW to the back of the head.”

Neji cocked a quizzical brow before he returned to his surgery. “So I did. His vitals were unstable, making him unsuitable for surgery. I was hoping his stats would stabilize but he slipped into a coma. What interest is he to you?”

“One of the residents on the case just brought his scans to me. The bullet is perfectly placed. So perfect his breathing didn’t turn apneic until after he was brought to the hospital,” Sakura emphasized.

Stilling, Neji glanced at Sakura again, silently considering that new piece of information. They reached the same conclusion almost at the same exact time.

“Bullets are encased in a lead jacket,” Neji said slowly. “A metal toxic to the human body.”

“And it’s poisoning his cerebral spinal fluid.”

“Causing his central nervous system to shut down,” he finished for her. “That bullet needs to be removed immediately if the patient has any hope of surviving.”

“Then let’s book an OR,” Sakura said, her shoulders straightening with purpose.

He just looked at her. “I’m in the middle of a patient’s brain, Haruno. I can’t just step away.”

With a frown, Sakura weighed their options. The longer they waited, the more likely the patient was unable to recover. “That patient still has a chance at survival. We can’t afford to wait.”

“So page the Neuro fellow. I will be there as soon as I am done here.”

There was a note of finality in his voice. One that Sakura didn’t argue with. For he was in fact in the middle of brain surgery. Without another word, she slipped back out of the operating room, but she made no move to find the Neuro fellow. She didn’t trust him. Not after the work she had already witnessed on this case.

Closing her eyes, Sakura raked a rough hand through her hair as she prepared herself for what she was about to do. Unease of the consequences already settling heavily in the pit of her stomach.

Then she pulled herself together and ran.

She hit the Cardiac Ward first, relieved to find Gaara in Kankuro’s room with his siblings. They all looked up when she slid the door open. “I need a word with you,” she told Gaara.

He peered at her curiously, as did Kankuro and Temari, before he told his siblings, “I will be back.”

Sakura retreated back to the nurses’ station and waited silently for Gaara to exit his brother’s hospital room. When he approached her, she handed the scans to him without a word. And to her surprise, he took them.

Adrenaline flooded Sakura’s veins and filled her body in icy hot waves as she stood there. She chewed the inside of her lip anxiously, waiting with nervous tension as Gaara examined the images. It was a long minute before he spoke. “This bullet needs to be removed. Immediately.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“You can see the terectory of the bullet here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the scan. “It can be extracted but it will need to be done precisely. You should page your Head of Neuro.”

“He’s in the middle of a craniotomy.”

Gaara looked at her then. Suddenly aware of what she was asking. “I do not have any authority here.”

“I know,” Sakura said slowly. She hesitated then, like the next words out of her mouth would change everything. “I’m granting you privileges.”

Their eyes locked, stuck in a single instant in time. A stone cast into a still pond, sending ripples that would grow fast in a short period of time.

Gaara was the first to speak. “Then let’s go. I will meet you in the OR. You go get the patient.”

Without another word, they both sprinted off the floor in opposite directions. Sakura rushed to the ICU and entered the patient's room in time to see Moegi facing off against the harvest team. They turned to her upon her entrance.

“Dr. Haruno, what is the meaning of this?” Ao asked. “We have orders to take this patient down for organ harvest.”

Sakura didn't even glance at the older surgeon. Just accepted the patient’s chart from Meogi. “Not anymore. I am taking over their care.”

“This patient is brain dead.”

“Almost brain dead,” she corrected.

Ao just looked at her, obviously affronted. “I'm sorry, doctor,” he said, not at all apologetic, “but you don't have any authority-”

“I outrank you,” Sakura said, snapping the patient chart closed. She met his gaze evenly, refusing to back down. “I have full authority.”

No one spoke against the sharp edge in her tone. Ao looked disgruntled by her pull of rank but he stepped back nonetheless as the nurses made the patient ready for transport.

OR 1 was waiting for them when they arrived. The surgical nurses took the patient into the theatre to prep him for surgery while Sakura slipped into the scrub room. Gaara was already inside, his street clothes gone and replaced with dark blue scrubs.

He glanced up at her entry. “They’re prepping him for a suboccipital craniotomy. I can remove the bullet myself but I will need another set of hands to assist.”

Sakura nodded. “I will page the Neuro fellow-”

“No. I need you in there.”

Unsure how to immediately react, she remained silent. The rushing water from the sink filling the space between them. Eventually she shook her head. “I’m a Cardiologist.”

“And yet you assisted me in craniotomies when you were a resident. I need the best in there and you have the steadiest hands I know,” he told her.

He shut off the water and turned to face her. His gaze met hers evenly. Still Sakura hesitated, listening for that placating tone, that voice he used when he was trying to manipulate her into something. Only to find honesty, straight and simple, lingering in his words.

“Scrub in with me.” Not a request, and yet not a demand.

Her adrenaline was still surging through her veins like lightning. Her heart hammered in her chest. There were a million reasons she could think of on why this was a terrible, terrible idea. But none of those mattered right now. Only the patient did.

Taking a deep breath, Sakura stepped inside the scrub room.

The minutes ticked by like hours. Sakura had to resist glancing at the clock every two seconds and focus on the task at hand. Literally.

Gaara operated flawlessly, his motions steady and precise. During the first half of the surgery, Sakura had been convinced he had trapped her in the OR to finally get her to talk to him. But he never said a word. Only concentrated on his work. His only comments to her to ask for more visibility or suction.

Sakura was beginning to feel comfortable. Which was good because they were approaching the step where Gaara would be pulling the bullet out of a very, very sensitive portion of the brain.

Glancing up at the scans beside them, Sakura studied the live image of their patient’s brain. The bullet fortunately hadn’t moved but it was still in danger of causing permanent damage and even death.

“The cranial nerves are still intact,” Gaara said, his tone calm and even. The voice he reserved solely for surgery.

Sakura peered at the digital display tracking the electrical output in the patient’s brain. Sure enough, everything seemed to be functioning properly. Surprising considering there was still in fact a foreign object embedded in the lower part of the man’s brain stem.

“I just need a little more visibility and I can move forward with extraction.”

Automatically, Sakura adjusted her grip on her retractor, careful of the fragile nerves and tissue. She couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. After all, it wasn’t often that she got to assist in brain surgery. It was a specialty she had once seriously considered during her residency years. The brain, so powerful and complicated, and yet so delicate and sensitive.

But it was the heart that she found herself always coming back to. There was something comforting about operating on an organ that was so constant. It would only ever beat one way. Sure and steady and strong. Mending hearts were the surgeries she lived for.

The sound of OR doors nearly slamming open abruptly paused the surgery. Sakura peered towards the doors, as did every other person in the operating room. All except Gaara. Tsunade glared over her mask. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sunano?”

Gaara didn’t look up, merely continued his work. His hands calm and steady. “I am saving a patient from brain death.”

Tsunade’s glare deepened. “Who gave you permission?”

“I did,” Sakura said.

She glanced at the Chief then, meeting her gaze. Behind her surgical mask, a look of surprise crossed Tsunade’s face before she frowned. Sakura didn’t have to ask to know her adopted mother was irked she had gone behind her back.

Tsunade’s eyes flickered to the patient before returning to Sakura. “Find me when you are done here,” the Chief said, her voice steely. “I want a full report.”

Sakura nodded respectfully. “Of course, Chief.”

The doors swung shut behind Tsunade as she exited. The moment she was gone, Sakura returned her attention to the surgery. During the entire conversation, Gaara had continued to operate but he paused briefly to glance at her. “Thank you,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

Sakura ignored him, relieved when he returned to his work. For the next step was the hard part.

The entire OR held their breath as Gaara finally made the plunge for the bullet. He extracted it carefully. Slowly. And with the hands of a complete master. It was the shortest part of the procedure. And yet the longest.

It was like a bubble burst when he finally dropped the bullet into the metal, waste basin. A release of tension so thick, Sakura felt the entire room breath in one, big collected sigh.

“He’s holding strong,” the OR nurse said.

Sakura almost laughed in relief and glanced at Gaara to find he was already watching her. Her excitement burnt out like a candle in the breeze, smoke dissipation in the air. She looked away. “Can you close up by yourself? I need to report to the Chief.”

Upon Gaara’s nod, a theatre nurses took Sakura’s place. She left the OR after that, shedding her surgical gown and gloves. It was only once she had finished scrubbing out and was back in the hall that she realized it was nerves twisting her stomach into knots and not a surgical high.

But there was no shake or waiver to her hands. They were completely still. Sakura couldn’t help but smile a little. Perhaps she could get through this.

to be continued...

#itasaku #where it happened #part 17 #itachi #sakura #Saria Writes #grey's anatomy au #medical au

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fearofaherobrine · 7 years ago

Text

Roleplay Server Log #315

“Stevie’s Glitch, Mob Gossip”

[Doc] Well we know where he is now...

[TLOT] Charges past them with his cloak flapping in the direction of Lies house-

[Steve] Also runs by a moment later-

[Lie] - TLOT! Wait for us! It has to do with CP and Stevie!

[Alexis] - Should I start preparing things here?

[Doc] Yes? No? I have no idea what we're preparing for! - Xe goes dashing off as well-

[Lie] Follows them down into the cage-

[Stevie] Has basically created a blizzard around himself-

[CP] Is pushing closer, using his heat to protect himself- Stevie, you have to calm down, I don't want TLOT trying to kill me for destroying one of his cities

[TLOT] Charges into the portal and runs out into the desert. The offensive plants on the city walls turn to look down as the group staggers quickly through the snow and slushy sand-

[Lie] - I should have brought my cloak...

[Doc] Scoops her up and puts her in hir mane- Just hang on tight.

[Lie] - Yeah, let's find the source... We can at least eliminate CP...

[TLOT] Stops to let Steve catch up and keeps him close as the snow blows around- This is ridiculous!

[Lie] - CP seemed concerned about Stevie... Could Stevie be the cause of this?

[Doc] Beats me. But I think if I accidentally turned his brother into a Herobrine, he will kick my ass on general principles.

[Lie] - CP? What about Notch?

[Doc] I think he'd be more annoyed then mad really.

[CP] Can tell that Stevie is running out of energy and is quickly coming to the conclusion that he may need to punch his brother-

[TLOT] Is close enough to see them now - Stevie! Cp! What the Nether is happening out here?!

[CP] - Stevie's glitching!

[TLOT] Gathers the energies around him and heads straight for Stevie to try and stabilize him-

[CP] - Don't let the other's closer, I've got my heat to protect me, but your Steve and Lie? Not so much...

[Steve] Hears him and hangs back as Doc trots up-

[Doc] Oh fuck...

[Stevie] Quietly- Brother...

[CP]- I'm still here!

[TLOT] Reaches out for Stevie, murmuring soothing words and reaching out to him mentally to try and calm him-

[Stevie] Is panicked, but the words are helping and the ice is already beginning to settle down slightly-

[Doc] Is looking around at the ice - That's some serious cold...

[TLOT] Just look at me Stevie, breathe slow-

[Lie] - Well CP and Stevie are pretty much polar opposites...

[Stevie] His eyes still betray his fear but things are settling down-

[CP] - It's alright Stevie

[Doc] Sorta? Wouldn't the opposite of fire be water? And Cp has lightning? So does this mean he might have rock or earth powers too?

[Lie] - Who knows, but I think Stevie's going to need a bed asap... And I bet the people of Kore may be thinking they've witnessed the birth of a new god...

[Doc] Looks back at the row of Testificate faces peering over the dunes a ways behind them- Yeah... probably. They're so impressionable.

[Stevie] Finally collapses to the ground, gulping for air-

[TLOT] Kneels beside him- I don't know what brought that on, but it was impressive at least.

[CP] - Doc glitched his new arm on...

[TLOT] Ah... break something a little bit more to fix it.... I'm not suprised.

[Stevie] - First try... Fell... Off...

[CP] - His body completely rejected it

[TLOT] I see. Well, whatever works.

[Steve] calls out- is it safe?

[CP] - For now?

[Lie] Hurries forwards- Stevie...

[Steve] Rushes up as well- You're glitched Stevie?

[Stevie] - Now... Yes...

[Lie] - We should get him to a bed... The chapel in Kore is filled with my flowers, they may help

[Sprlhm] Is leading the little group of Testificates- Is something awry my lords and ladies?

[Lie] - Er... Well

[TLOT] Archly- Your war gods brother hath joined our ranks. Stevie of the ice.

-Little gasps-

[CP] Flips TLOT off before going over to his brother and kneeling in front of him- Breathe Stevie, just focus on that

[Sprlhm] Can we... get you anything?

[Steve] Make a room ready for him in the temple. He needs to rest amidst the healing blooms.

[Sprlhm] Snaps his fingers and a few villagers rush off- it shall be done

[TLOT] Goes to pick up Stevie-

[CP] Growls at TLOT as the other brine gets close-

[TLOT] Will you carry him then?

[CP] - Yes- He moves to scoop his brother up

[Lie] Has a slightly proud expression on her face as she watches her husband-

[Stevie] Where he and CP are in contact begins steaming-

[TLOT] Leads him instead and Steve falls into step beside them.

[Doc] Shrinks down to hir smaller self and also follows.

[Lie] Stays closest to her husband-

[Sprlhm] Opens the gates for them and there's the usual commotion in the square. The kids are playing in the little drifts of snow. Some of them dressed up like their visitors-

[CP] Ignores the kids as he moves forwards-

[Lie] - We'll have to deal with some of this ice before we leave...

[Cherie] Is waiting and ushers them inside. The place is still full of Lies flowers and the air is redolent with sweet fragrances from them.

[CP] Looks for the bed for Stevie-

-It's off to the left of the hallway and the room is also full of flowers-

[CP] Carries Stevie in and puts him on the bed-

[Lie] - I'll see about acquiring some soup, something easy for him to digest

[Cherie] I'll find something for him mistress - hurries off

[Doc] Is checking Stevie over- this is very strange...

[Steve] So he's not a Herobrine, but he got some powers?

[TLOT] It might have just been a feedback effect of whatever was done to him...

[Doc] I had to get rough with his coding so it would stop rejecting the transplant

[TLOT] I see...

[Sprlhm] is he okay?

[CP] - It's the same symptoms as I went through acquiring my fire powers...

[Lie] - And how long did that take you to figure out how to control?

[CP] - ... Months...

[Doc] I guess some quality time is in order, since for once you're the only expert on what's wrong Cp.

[CP] - Yeah...

[TLOT] So.... Why my seed Cp?

[Steve] Awww. Hanging out with your bro, with common ground for once!

[CP] - Because I panicked and it was the closest desert I could think of that was large enough

[TLOT] Ah. Makes sense. Oh well, I'm sure some of the villagers who live here have never seen snow before. I doubt it will last long.

[CP] - I don't know... I went through like five servers trying to control my powers and destroyed at least half of each server

[Stevie] Starts stirring a little-

[TLOT] Stares at him for a long moment and then slaps him hard across the face. - Don't ever, ever put my Testificates in danger again.

[Doc] So.... set up another console next to Gem's in your yard. Got it.

[CP] - I WAS PANICKING!

[TLOT] You still deserved that. The NOTCH server is almost entirely unused area with no structure spawns.

[CP] - I was thinking desert because it's usually a large expanse of land. Had it been fire, you'd be glad there was nothing there for it to spread with

[Doc] I think we all just need to relax....

[Steve] Checks on Stevie-

[Lie] Briefly thinks about what she did with Notch on TLOT's server-

[TLOT] Whips around to look at her- Liiiie?

[Lie] - Yes?

[TLOT] Eyes narrow- What did you do?

[Lie] - Nothing?

[TLOT] More fixed gaze and he takes a sharp little poke at her mind-

[Lie] Winces back at the poke and tries but fails at putting up a barrier, showing the village that she and Notch ended up at after fixing Traveller. And the tree as a sign of gratitude towards Notch- I think... I'm just, gonna go outside now...

[TLOT] Long annoyed sigh - That could have been a lot worse, buuuut.

[Steve] Is watching his mind- That's a huge tree....

[Lie] - Eh heh... Sorry?

[CP] Was not paying attention, more focused on Stevie-

[Doc] Has taken a quiet step back and is checking on Stevie -

[Stevie] Starts opening his eyes- What... What happened?

[Steve] You made a ton of ice!

[Doc] It's snowing in what's probably the biggest desert on TLOT's seed.

[Stevie] - It's, what?

[Cherie] Comes back with a bit of oonion soup and a loaf of bread. - Oh! The new god is awake! I brought you food.

[Stevie] - New god?

[CP] - Welcome to the "I didn't want this title club"

[Cherie] He did preform a rather strange miracle. And he is brother to the god of war.

[Doc] Cherie, it might be better to consider him clergy like Father Steve....

[Cherie] Is that acceptable?

[Stevie] - Um... I don't really care either way...- He winces and causes a spike of ice to erupt from the ground

[CP] Sighs and just starts melting it- Yeah, I think I know what I'll be doing for awhile...

[Cherie] Oh my!

[Sprlhm] I'll get him a gem straight away! -Rushes off

[Lie] - A gem?

[Steve] Taps his chestplate, indicating the smooth green gemstone in the middle. - The clergy carry them, but there's no standard for how you bear it.

[Stevie] - That... Might take some getting used to...

[CP] - First thing you'll need is training...

[TLOT] It's worth it. It's safe passage in strange places and if you show it to them; the villagers will take you in for a night and feed you if you're wandering.

[Stevie] - Only here though, right?

[Doc] On the other seed too. You're forgetting that the villagers in Konohakagure and Amegakure are from here and they have treaties with Sunagakure and Limewatch.

[CP] - Yeah but those places for the most part know all of us

[Doc] Do they? I doubt Stevie has been to Limewatch. And maybe not Sunagakure either. Have you been over the long bridge?

[Stevie] - Not since before the village was discovered. Remember, you originally placed the human village over there

[Doc] Oh yeah! I forgot. Geeze that was forever ago.

[Stevie] - Yeah...

[Lie] - Stevie, do you think you feel well enough to head back over?

[Sprlhm] Comes back and strides over to Stevie- This is for you sir. - He holds up an oval gem on a golden chain. It sparkles in the torchlight and the big jewel is full of interesting swirls and bright patches of color.

[Stevie] Takes the gem and looks it over- I've never seen this type before...

[Sprlhm] They're very special, and not found often.

[Doc] Hence saving them for a special occasion-

[Steve] It's a bit shinier then mine, but I've taken quite few blows to the chest. Mines kinda scratched up.

[Stevie] - I see... Thank you...- He's starting to feel light headed

[CP] - Stay with us brother, we still need to get home

[Doc] I can always carry him-

[CP] Growls a little-

[Doc] As a dragon! I'm not impuning your ability to carry him!

[Lie] Can't stop a small laugh-

[Steve] At least he's being protective... Thats a huge step.

[Lie] - Oh absolutely

[Stevie] Shivers and it starts snowing in the church-

[TLOT] Just go please. Steve and I will make some quick rounds here before we come back.

[Doc] Yeah. I'll set up a console for you. Let's go.

[CP] Reaches down to pick his brother up and toss him over his shoulder- Come on, let's go idiot

[Doc] Follows along-

[Sprlhm] Safe travel to you all!

[Lie] - Enjoy the snow while you can!

-Outside the kids are tossing snowballs and generally running around-

[CP] Creates an opening back to the cage and walks right through-

[Lie] - You go first Doc, he won't close it till I'm through

[Doc] Scoots out and looks up at the offensive plant - Doing a good job there. Keep it up!

[Lie] - It was worried a while back...

[Doc] Worried? I wonder why? Maybe it misses you and you need to come down here more often!

[Cherie] Sirs? We actually have a gift for you. One of our explorers found it, but we cannot read the text. We thought perhaps it would be of use to you. - she holds out a small black book with gold corners-

[TLOT] Takes it curiously and his brow furrows at the puzzling glyphs, they resemble the designs of the enchanting table and there are several diagrams for things he's never seen before.

[Lie] - Doc, I have the strongest connection with this pod, it woke me from my sleep it was that unnerved. That's why I shut the door to the cage, even though I knew somebody had entered one of the servers, I trust it to know when something is wrong, especially if it's something it cannot bite

[Doc] Well... I'm not sure what we can do about it. You said it's been a while?

[Lie] - Yeah...

[CP] - Can we get this thing set up? I don't think we want Stevie freezing this place over and he's starting to sniffle

[Stevie] - I am not!

[Doc] Okay, okay... - Xe click copies a command block and starts setting it up- Give me a phrase and I'll generate a seed from it.

[CP] Would flip Doc off if his hands were free-

[Lie] - Bonding zone

[CP] - Lie!

[Doc] Types it in - done! Let's see what we got! - Opens a portal into it-

[CP] Quickly carries Stevie through-

[Doc] Follows curiously, scanning around. - Mob griefing is off, keep inventory is on, and we're set on easy with structures set to no, so there aren't any villagers to get caught in the crossfire.

[CP] - Good

[Stevie] Sneezes and the area is filled with ice-

[Lie] Yelps and steps back from the opening, having not gone through yet-

[CP] Sighs and puts Stevie down so he can start melting the ice away from the forest around them-

[Doc] Brrrr... - shivers a little-

[Stevie] - Sorry...

[CP] - This will be awhile Doc, you might as well head back

[Doc] Ah, okay. -grins- Play nice you two.

[CP] Flips Doc off-

[Stevie] - I request somebody checking in to make sure I'm not dead every once in awhile

[Doc] Well respawn is on Stevie. Geeze. I wouldn't set up a hard core server knowing you were going to do dangerous things on it! I do actually like you, ya doofus.

[Stevie] - Yes but brother can hack

[CP] Uses a bit too much heat and accidentally sets a tree on fire-

[Doc] Stevie... do you really think he wants to kill you?

[Stevie] - Sometimes

[Doc] Walks over to Cp and fluffs hir hair really hard with both hands to get the rest of the honesty pollen out and on him- Now, ask him!

[CP] - You fucker!

[Stevie] - At you going to try and kill me?

[CP} - Want to but probably wont since you'll probably explode into super cold ice

[Doc] Is this a letter vs spirit of the law reply since you know the respawn is on Cp?

[CP] Shut up

[Doc] That would be a yes.

[Stevie] - I'm starting to feel hot again...

[CP] - You'll probably want to leave Doc...

[Doc] Okay. But I will check on you guys. - steps back out of the hole.

[Lie] - Be safe you two!

[Doc] Follows Lie back up to the surface-

[Hock] Is standing guard near the bathhouse and waves merrily-

[Doc] waves back- Nice to see everyone acclimating.

[Lie] - Yeah, it is pretty nice

[Eliza] Is heading towards the house to speak with Winston-

[Chester] Is scooting along quickly behind her-

[Doc] Grins- Looks like Eliza has a shadow.

[Lie] - Is that the new spider?

[Doc] Yeah, that's Chester. Have you talked to him yet? He's a bit of a dork, but polite.

[Lie] - No, I have not

[Doc] Pulls out the egg and balances it in one hand- Hey Eliza? Are you busy?

[Eliza] - Hm? Oh! Mistress, Doctor. No, I'm not terribly busy

[Chester] Nearly bumps into her because he's walking too close- OOH! Doc! - He looks up at Eliza to guage her reaction to them, and then scampers over-

[Lie] - Morning Eliza, I see you have a follower

[Eliza] Gives a slight bow of her head- Yes Mistress, the Doctor brought him from a different seed

[Chester] Is sort of picking his feet up and putting them down randomly like he's doing an excited dance- This is the mistress? Oh golly! Um... all hail!

[Lie] - There's no need for that, I assure you. What's your name?

[Chester] Chester, Mamm!

[Doc] He's from TLOT's home seed.

[Lie] - I see, well it's a pleasure to meet you. I doubt you've met my husband yet but he won't be around for awhile...

[Eliza] - Why is that Mistress?

[Lie] - Stevie... Has developed some powers and CP's walking him through how to control them

[Chester] You as well! You have such neat hair. It looks like silky spiderwebs.

[Doc] You liking your new home?

[Chester] Heart eyes at Eliza- Uuuuhh huh!

[Eliza] - Speaking of webs, Mistress, Winston asked me to repair some fabrics around the house, would you like me to get started on that?

[Lie] - Yes, it would be much appreciated

[Chester] I can help!

[Eliza] - You know how to weave and sew?

[Chester] I can make string! And I can make a web..... You could teach me!

[Eliza] - We shall see, we will take our leave now Mistress?

[Lie] - Yes, of course. I need to go speak with Alexis anyways

[Chester] Nice to meet you! - Runs towards Eliza and bumps into one of her back legs because he's going too fast.

[Doc] dawww

[Lie] - He's adorable

[Doc] I just hope she doesn't get annoyed and squish him. I forgot what a big spider she is.

[Lie] - Yeah, she's larger than normal spiders, I remember how freaked out I was the first time I saw her

[Doc] I would have been too, considering what the circumstances likely were.

[Lie] - Yeah...- Gives a small shudder

[Doc] Funny how things change. I wonder how Blake is faring with the new blazes? It seems like TLOT's mobs are full of suprises.

[Lie] - He's very frustrated with them

[Doc] I take it they're not much for fighting?

[Lie] - They're also not very bright

[Doc] Oh dear... Well at least they're keeping him busy?

[Lie] - So far

[Hoff and Moth] Approach them. The two pigladies are chatting amibly and chuckling a little- Hello!

[Lie] - Hello, are you two doing alright?

[Moth] We heard what happened to Winston. So scandalous! -giggles-

[Hoff] I had no idea he was such a ladies man!

[Lie] - What happened to Winston?

[Moth] He had sex with a human woman!

[Lie] - I'm sorry he what?

[Hoff] One of the creators no less!

[Doc] Snickers- I heard about this. I'm suprised you didn't. TLOT told me he came back with lipstick all over his skull.

[Lie] - Oh for fucks sake...

[Moth] His first time with anyone apparently. Poor thing. I understand he's been around for a while.

[Lie] - From what CP's told me he's always been focused on making sure everything was running smoothly

[Hoff] Oh, but you have to make a little time for fun. It's too stressful being serious all the time.

[Doc] The Doctor agrees with that - nod nod

[Lie] - I'm sure Winston got plenty of entertainment out of all the ridiculous situations the other mobs got into

[Doc] Oh just be happy for him Lie. I'm sure he's slightly annoyed with the low resolution around here.

[Moth] That nice Gold came around earlier to see if we needed anything and we said no, but we wrote them a little haiku to deliver with the paperwork so they'd wouldn't have wasted a trip.

[Hoff] I pressed a flower in mine. For our nice boss Cp.

[Lie] Is trying to suppress some laughter, already knowing how her husband will react to that-

[Doc] Is turning a bit pink trying not to laugh- You gals are doing great. Keep it up.

[Lie] - How are the others?

[Hoff] Francis and Baconn are so smitten with each-other. It's scary to think that what happened to us made them forget something so special as each-other.

[Moth] Hock would love to visit the library, but he's too shy to ask. Maybe you could assign him to accompany Ashe? Then he'd have a reason to go?

[Lie] - Hmm, well Ashe just had a growth spurt and is old enough to go by himself, but Willow and Oak on the other hand

[Moth] That might work.

[Lie] - Or I could ask him to get some for me

[Doc] Does he know where it is? Or just that it exists?

[Moth] I think you'll have to show him. I know it's kinda that way- Waves a hand in the vague direction of the library - but that's all

[Lie] - Ah, I see. I'll keep that in mind

6 notes · View notes

gordonwilliamsweb · 4 years ago

Text

Back to Life: COVID Lung Transplant Survivor Tells Her Story

Mayra Ramirez remembers the nightmares.

During six weeks on life support at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Ramirez said, she had terrifying nightmares that she couldn’t distinguish from reality.

“Most of them involve me drowning,” she said. “I attribute that to me not being able to breathe, and struggling to breathe.”

On June 5, Ramirez, 28, became the first known COVID-19 patient in the U.S. to undergo a double lung transplant. She is strong enough now to begin sharing the story of her ordeal.

Mysterious Exposure

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Mayra Ramirez began working from home. She’s unsure how she contracted COVID-19.(Northwestern Medicine)

Before the pandemic, Ramirez worked as a paralegal for an immigration law firm in Chicago. She enjoyed walking her dogs and running 5K races.

Ramirez had been working from home since mid-March, hardly leaving the house, so she has no idea how she contracted the coronavirus. In late April, she started experiencing chronic spasms, diarrhea, loss of taste and smell, and a slight fever.

“I felt very fatigued,” Ramirez said. “I wasn’t able to walk long distances without falling over. And that’s when I decided to go into the emergency room.”

From the ER to a Ventilator

The staff at Northwestern checked her vitals and found her oxygen levels were extremely low. She was given 10 minutes to explain her situation over the phone to her mother in North Carolina and appoint her to make medical decisions on her behalf.

Ramirez knew she was about to be placed on a ventilator, but she didn’t understand exactly what that meant.

“In Spanish, the word ‘ventilator’ — ventilador — is ‘fan,’ so I thought, ‘Oh, they’re just gonna blow some air into me and I’ll be OK. Maybe have a three-day stay, and then I’ll be right out.’ So I wasn’t very worried,” Ramirez said.

In fact, she would spend the next six weeks heavily sedated on that ventilator and another machine — known as ECMO, or extracorporeal membrane oxygenation — pumping and oxygenating her blood outside of her body.

In this photo taken before the transplant, Mayra Ramirez is being monitored by the ECMO team at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago.(Northwestern Medicine)

One theory about why Ramirez became so sick is that she has a neurological condition that is treated with steroids, drugs that can suppress the immune system.

By early June, Ramirez was at risk of further decline. She began showing signs that her kidneys and liver were starting to fail, with no improvement in her lung function. Her family was told she might not make it through the night, so her mother and sisters caught the first flight from North Carolina to Chicago to say goodbye.

When they arrived, the doctors told Ramirez’s mother, Nohemi Romero, that there was one last thing they could try.

Ramirez was a candidate for a double lung transplant, they said, although the procedure had never been done on a COVID patient in the U.S. Her mother agreed, and within 48 hours of being listed for transplant, a donor was found and the successful procedure was performed on June 5.

At a recent news conference held by Northwestern Memorial, Romero shared in Spanish that there were no words to describe the pain of not being by her daughter’s side as she struggled for her life.

She thanked God all went well, and for giving her the strength to make it through.

‘I Just Felt Like a Vegetable’

Dr. Ankit Bharat, Northwestern Medicine’s chief of thoracic surgery, performed the 10-hour procedure.

“Most patients are quite sick going into [a] lung transplant,” Bharat said in an interview in June. “But she was so sick. In fact, I can say without hesitation, the sickest patient I ever transplanted.”

Bharat said most COVID-19 patients will not be candidates for transplants because of their age and other health conditions that decrease the likelihood of success. And early research shows that up to half of COVID patients on ventilators survive the illness and are likely to recover on their own.

But for some, like Ramirez, Bharat said, a transplant can be a lifesaving option of last resort.

When Ramirez woke up after the operation, she was disoriented, could barely move her body and couldn’t speak.

“I just felt like a vegetable. It was frustrating, but at the time I didn’t have the cognitive ability to process what was going on,” Ramirez said.

She recalled being sad that her mother wasn’t with her in the hospital, not understanding that visitors weren’t allowed because of the pandemic.

Her family had sent photos to post by her hospital bed, and Ramirez said she couldn’t recognize anyone in the pictures.

“I was actually sort of upset about it, [thinking,] ‘Who are these strangers and why are their pictures in my room?’” Ramirez said. “It was weeks later, actually, that I took a second look and realized, ‘Hey, that’s my grandmother. That’s my mom and my siblings. And that’s me.”

After a few weeks, Ramirez said, she finally understood what happened to her. When COVID-19 restrictions loosened at the hospital in mid-June, her mother was finally able to visit.

“The first thing I did was just tear up,” Ramirez said. “I was overjoyed to see her.”

The Long Road to Recovery

After weeks of inpatient rehabilitation, Ramirez was discharged home. She’s now receiving in-home nursing assistance as well as physical and occupational therapy, and she’s working on finding a psychologist.

Ramirez eagerly looks forward to being able to spend more time with her family, her boyfriend and her dogs and serving the immigrant community through her legal work.

But for now, her days are consumed by rehab. Her doctors say it will be at least a year before she can function independently and be as active as before.

Ramirez is slowly regaining strength and learning how to breathe with her new lungs.

She takes more than 17 pills, four times a day, including medicines to prevent her body from rejecting the new lungs. She also takes anxiety meds and antidepressants to help her cope with daily nightmares and panic attacks.

The long-term physical and mental health tolls on Ramirez and other COVID-19 survivors remain largely unknown, since the virus is so new.

While most people who contract the virus are left seemingly unscathed, for some patients, like Ramirez, the road to recovery is full of uncertainty, said Dr. Mady Hornig, a physician-scientist at the Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health.

Some patients can experience post-intensive care syndrome, or PICS, which can consist of depression, memory issues and other cognitive and mental health problems, Hornig said. Under normal circumstances, ICU visits from loved ones are encouraged, she said, because the human interaction can be protective.

“That type of contact would normally keep people oriented … so that it doesn’t become as traumatic,” Hornig said.

Hopes for the Future

COVID-19 has disproportionately harmed Latino communities, as Latinos are overrepresented in jobs that expose them to the virus and have lower rates of health insurance and other social protections.

Ramirez has health insurance, although that hasn’t spared her from tens and thousands of dollars’ worth of medical bills.

And even though she still ended up getting COVID-19, she counts herself lucky for having a job that allowed her to work from home when the pandemic struck. Many Latino workers don’t have that luxury, she said, so they’re forced to risk their lives doing low-wage jobs deemed essential at this time.

Ramirez’s mother is a breast cancer survivor, making her particularly vulnerable to COVID-19. She had been working at a meatpacking plant in North Carolina, for a company that Ramirez said has had hundreds of COVID-19 cases among employees.

So Ramirez is relieved to have her mom in Chicago, helping take care of her.

“I’m glad this is taking her away from her position,” Ramirez said.

Friends and family in North Carolina have been fundraising to help pay her medical bills, selling raffle tickets and setting up a GoFundMe page on her behalf. Ramirez is also applying for financial assistance from the hospital.

Her experience with COVID-19 has not changed who she is as a person, she said, and she looks forward to living her life to the fullest.

If she ever gets the chance to speak with the family of the person whose lungs she now has, she said, she will thank them “for raising such a healthy child and a caring person [who] was kind enough to become an organ donor.”

Her life may never be the same, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try. She laughs as she explains how she asked her surgeon to take her skydiving someday.

“Dr. Bharat actually used to work at a skydiving company when he was younger,” Ramirez said. “And so he promised me that, hopefully within a year, he could get me there.”

And she has every intention of holding him to that promise.

This story is part of a reporting partnership that includes Illinois Public Media, Side Effects Public Media, NPR and KHN.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

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stephenmccull · 4 years ago

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Back to Life: COVID Lung Transplant Survivor Tells Her Story

Mayra Ramirez remembers the nightmares.

During six weeks on life support at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Ramirez said, she had terrifying nightmares that she couldn’t distinguish from reality.

“Most of them involve me drowning,” she said. “I attribute that to me not being able to breathe, and struggling to breathe.”

On June 5, Ramirez, 28, became the first known COVID-19 patient in the U.S. to undergo a double lung transplant. She is strong enough now to begin sharing the story of her ordeal.

Mysterious Exposure

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Mayra Ramirez began working from home. She’s unsure how she contracted COVID-19.(Northwestern Medicine)

Before the pandemic, Ramirez worked as a paralegal for an immigration law firm in Chicago. She enjoyed walking her dogs and running 5K races.

“I felt very fatigued,” Ramirez said. “I wasn’t able to walk long distances without falling over. And that’s when I decided to go into the emergency room.”

From the ER to a Ventilator

Ramirez knew she was about to be placed on a ventilator, but she didn’t understand exactly what that meant.