#BUT I FINALLY HAVE MY NORMAL MEDS AGAIN AFTER …. 2 MONTHS????

[mostlybats-partiallyrats]

This doesn't just help the elderly or those needing palliative care btw. When I was experiencing the worst IBS flare up of my life, before I was medicated for it at all, I had been through 4 different doctors over the course of 6-8 months. My days at that time consisted of the following; waking up, taking my anti-spasmodics, waiting an hour for them to kick in and my stomach pain to subside, then sitting (not getting) sitting up. At lunch I would make the trek from my bed to the kitchen and grab what few things I could still eat and very slowly eat them.

I would be in pain for the remainder of the day, only mitigated by the weighted blanket I used in bed. Therefore, I would only get out of bed to use the bathroom. On days where I had to shower, I would ask someone else to prepare my meals so I'd have the energy. I only left the house for doctor's appointments. I had developed severe agoraphobia surrounding my symptoms.

When night came, I would take my evening dose of anti-spasmodics and tuck myself tightly into bed. I would then put on guided meditation to force me into a state of calm where I could sleep. I was exhausted all the time in those days, a kind of bone-deep exhaustion you only get from being in constant pain and discomfort. If I was lucky, which was rare, I would drift off to sleep and awake early the next morning to start the cycle again. Most nights though, I would spend back and forth going to the bathroom experiencing painful evacuations. I would finally pass out from exhaustion around 5-7am.

I lost 2 stone (~28 lbs) in those six months, despite eating at least 2 meals a day and barely leaving my bed (no exercise).

The next doctor I spoke to began his appointment by asking exactly what op did. "What were my goals for my care?" He even asked me something else very interesting. The meds I was on helped make my symptoms more bearable, sure, but they didn't all the way get rid of them. And at this point I was beginning to accept that there was nothing they could do.

When I said the meds helped he said "With 0% being no change, and 100% being back to normal, how much have the meds done?" I said 60% (a bit high tbh, but I was struggling to remember what life was like before that point). He said that the goal was 100%, so he changed my prescription to a different anti-spasmodic and prescribed me something else for the pain. When I didn't take that medication because it said on the box it was for a different purpose he explained to me, in detail, why he prescribed it and the success he'd had with it before for other IBS patients. After that I felt reassured, and I started the meds.

Since then I've: got a driver's licence, a car, volunteered at courses once a week, and started a musician's course in September which I attend all day, 3 days a week. My mother has been able to start work as she no longer needs to care for me full time, I regularly go out with friends, and (this was the most difficult thing) I've fallen in love with food again! <3

So yeah, a good doctor who asks the right questions goes a long way!

A doctor discovers an important question patients should be asked

This patient isn’t usually mine, but today I’m covering for my partner in our family-practice office, so he has been slipped into my schedule.

Reading his chart, I have an ominous feeling that this visit won’t be simple.

A tall, lanky man with an air of quiet dignity, he is 88. His legs are swollen, and merely talking makes him short of breath.

He suffers from both congestive heart failure and renal failure. It’s a medical Catch-22: When one condition is treated and gets better, the other condition gets worse. His past year has been an endless cycle of medication adjustments carried out by dueling specialists and punctuated by emergency-room visits and hospitalizations.

Hemodialysis would break the medical stalemate, but my patient flatly refuses it. Given his frail health, and the discomfort and inconvenience involved, I can’t blame him.

Now his cardiologist has referred him back to us, his primary-care providers. Why send him here and not to the ER? I wonder fleetingly.

With us is his daughter, who has driven from Philadelphia, an hour away. She seems dutiful but wary, awaiting the clinical wisdom of yet another doctor.

After 30 years of practice, I know that I can’t possibly solve this man’s medical conundrum.

A cardiologist and a nephrologist haven’t been able to help him, I reflect,so how can I? I’m a family doctor, not a magician. I can send him back to the ER, and they’ll admit him to the hospital. But that will just continue the cycle… .

Still, my first instinct is to do something to improve the functioning of his heart and kidneys. I start mulling over the possibilities, knowing all the while that it’s useless to try.

Then I remember a visiting palliative-care physician’s words about caring for the fragile elderly: “We forget to ask patients what they want from their care. What are their goals?”

I pause, then look this frail, dignified man in the eye.

“What are your goals for your care?” I ask. “How can I help you?”

The patient’s desire

My intuition tells me that he, like many patients in their 80s, harbors a fund of hard-won wisdom.

He won’t ask me to fix his kidneys or his heart, I think. He’ll say something noble and poignant: “I’d like to see my great-granddaughter get married next spring,” or “Help me to live long enough so that my wife and I can celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary.”

His daughter, looking tense, also faces her father and waits.

“I would like to be able to walk without falling,” he says. “Falling is horrible.”

This catches me off guard.

That’s all?

But it makes perfect sense. With challenging medical conditions commanding his caregivers’ attention, something as simple as walking is easily overlooked.

A wonderful geriatric nurse practitioner’s words come to mind: “Our goal for younger people is to help them live long and healthy lives; our goal for older patients should be to maximize their function.”

Suddenly I feel that I may be able to help, after all.

“We can order physical therapy — and there’s no need to admit you to the hospital for that,” I suggest, unsure of how this will go over.

He smiles. His daughter sighs with relief.

“He really wants to stay at home,” she says matter-of-factly.

As new as our doctor-patient relationship is, I feel emboldened to tackle the big, unspoken question looming over us.

“I know that you’ve decided against dialysis, and I can understand your decision,” I say. “And with your heart failure getting worse, your health is unlikely to improve.”

He nods.

“We have services designed to help keep you comfortable for whatever time you have left,” I venture. “And you could stay at home.”

Again, his daughter looks relieved. And he seems … well … surprisingly fine with the plan.

I call our hospice service, arranging for a nurse to visit him later today to set up physical therapy and to begin plans to help him to stay comfortable — at home.

Back home

Although I never see him again, over the next few months I sign the order forms faxed by his hospice nurses. I speak once with his granddaughter. It’s somewhat hard on his wife to have him die at home, she says, but he’s adamant that he wants to stay there.

A faxed request for sublingual morphine (used in the terminal stages of dying) prompts me to call to check up on him.

The nurse confirms that he is near death.

I feel a twinge of misgiving: Is his family happy with the process that I set in place? Does our one brief encounter qualify me to be his primary-care provider? Should I visit them all at home?

Two days later, and two months after we first met, I fill out his death certificate.

Looking back, I reflect: He didn’t go back to the hospital, he had no more falls, and he died at home, which is what he wanted. But I wonder if his wife felt the same.

Several months later, a new name appears on my patient schedule: It’s his wife.

“My family all thought I should see you,” she explains.

She, too, is in her late 80s and frail, but independent and mentally sharp. Yes, she is grieving the loss of her husband, and she’s lost some weight. No, she isn’t depressed. Her husband died peacefully at home, and it felt like the right thing for everyone.

“He liked you,” she says.

She’s suffering from fatigue and anemia. About a year ago, a hematologist diagnosed her with myelodysplasia (a bone marrow failure, often terminal). But six months back, she stopped going for medical care.

I ask why.

“They were just doing more and more tests,” she says. “And I wasn’t getting any better.”

Now I know what to do. I look her in the eye and ask:

“What are your goals for your care, and how can I help you?”

-Mitch Kaminski

Source

[adhdandcomics]

one of those mornings

[effy-writes]

Hii!! I really love your writing and I saw that you're taking requests

WARNING up a head

I would like to know if you would be okay with writing a scenario involving Fizz and Ozzie with a reader (female or gender-neutral) who has epilepsy. The reader has been experiencing frequent seizures due to getting less sleep, stressing over work, missing a few doses of their medication (meds were pricey and they felt like a burden to them), and eating chocolate that was gifted by a coworker (they'd feel bad for declining), despite being aware that it's a trigger factor.

I've been going in and out of the hospital for the past 2 months due to high fever (after I fell off the stairs and hit my head) and seizure monitoring and despite being an adult, I feel like a burden to my parents because they have to look after me and pay for everything (and I try to skip a few days of meds to make them last a little bit longer) 🥲🥲🥲

And if you ever feel uncomfortable writing this, you can just ignore it! Mwah, have a good day/evening, loves!!

holy shit are you okay 😭😭 and thank you for requesting! and also thank you for the compliment!

also i didn’t know if you wanted one shot or HC so this is like a little bit of both i think

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fizz x GN!Epileptic! Reader x Ozzie HC

•You haven’t been epileptic your whole life. It all started when doing a performance at Ozzie’s and fell off a platform and hit your head. Obviously, your polyamorous relationship with Fizz and Ozzie were worried sick about you. They took you to a hospital straight away (and since it’s hell, it was a pretty sucky hospital), all they said was that you had a concussion.

• Going back to Ozzie’s house they made you take things slow and refused to let you do things. It was killing you though. Everyone at Ozzie’s loved your performances and the customers paid lots of money to go see you, and because of your injury you obviously can’t perform. So, customers ended up not going.

• You felt extremely guilty for it, but Fizz kept reassuring you that him and Ozzie aren’t mad. They just want you to get better.

•Well, things got even worse. A few days later you had a horrible fever. You felt so weak to even talk and your skin was burning up. Ozzie was the first to notice this. He took your temperature and was horrified whenever it came out to 105° F, which is a deadly fever. He immediately got Fizz and they took you to the hospital yet again. Since you’re an Imp they didn’t care, but after Ozzie showed his true form they took you seriously and monitored you.

•That same day Ozzie had to go to a very important Hell meeting so he left Fizz with you. He realized you looked worse even though they gave you IV medicine. When he saw your body shaking and eyes rolling back he freaked the fuck out. He called out for some nurses or doctors and they quickly gave you seizure medicine to stop the seizure. Obviously you were “blacked out” for this, so you don’t remember much. Fizz on the other hand was hyperventilating and got worried sick. He couldn’t call Ozzie because of him being at the meeting, so he held your hand and told you it’s going to be okay while you’re asleep.

•After some very expensive days at the hospital they officially diagnosed you with Early Post Traumatic seizure. Basically epilepsy. The moment you got this information you broke down. Ozzie rubbed your back while Fizz squeezed your hand. It hurt them to see you like this. The doctors prescribed expensive seizure medicine to take daily to prevent more seizures.

•Finally you were able to go back home and hoped things would go back to normal. Ozzie paid for the medication while Fizz reminded you to take them. The next couple of months the seizures became less frequent and almost disappeared.

•You were still able to perform (after months of begging, but they soon gave in because they saw you haven’t had a seizure in a while). However, Ozzie made a deal with you. You can only perform on Friday and Saturday nights and made it “seizure friendly” (basically on those days they refuse to show flashing lights), and because of those seizure friendly days more people started showing up because they also have epilepsy!!

•Your polyamorous relationship anniversary is coming up and you wanted to do something special. And lucky for you, it landed on a friday. You’ve been preparing this for months, you wanted it to be something completely different and wanted it to be special. However, you could only practice the dance with the backup dancers super early in the day (like 4 am) so Ozzie and Fizz won’t see what you’re getting up to. You’ll sneak out of the bedroom and head on down to Ozzie’s and meet the backup dancers there to practice.

•Because you’ve been getting less sleep and you’re stressed out fixing up this anniversary present, your seizures have been acting up. The first incident was that you were walking from the bedroom to the kitchen (and you stood up too fast) and immediately fell back down as your body compulses. Ozzie was already in the kitchen making breakfast and once he heard something (more like somebody) and saw you shaking he took action and turned you on your side just in case if you throw up. He also grew in size and placed his hand underneath your head so it wouldn’t keep hitting the ground repeatedly. Ozzie kept it cool, but Fizz was hyperventilating (this dude worry’s so much because you mean everything to him).

•You didn’t know how much your medicine costs until Fizz pointed it out. He didn’t mean any harm, he just said “Damn, this shit is more expensive than the Demon Driller 5000.” And yes, that’s saying a lot. He meant it as a joke and didn’t know it made you feel guilty. You wanted to skip the meds, but since Fizz keeps track of it you had to come up with a plan for him to not helicopter you.

•It was actually pretty easy, you told him you wanted to do things yourself and he respected that boundary. You hid the medicine and only took it twice a week, which definitely didn’t help your case.

•Both of your boyfriends were worried sick about you and wanted to take you to the hospital but you always declined (you even got mad at them because of it. You meant no harm but because of the stress and having to deal with seizures just made you on edge).

•At work a coworker gave you chocolate because the anniversary was coming up soon. You didn’t want to eat it because you really didn’t want to have a seizure since they hurt so much. But, you’re a people pleaser and you ate it. Soon enough, you had a seizure 30 minutes later (not while performing because Fizz and Ozzie begged you to not perform once you’ve been seizure free for 2 months).

•After that one, things got heated between you and your boyfriends.

“Is everything okay, babe? We’re so worried about you.” Ozzie rubbed your back.

“I am. Just stressed and tired because of these seizures.”

Fizz laid his body across you and Ozzie, his head on your lap. “Is that all? Or is there something more?”

•You kept it a secret for so long and it sucks because the anniversary is this friday and you really wanted it to be special. So, you told them everything, including skipping meds.

“I haven’t been sleeping a lot and I’m stressed because I’ve been working for months on this stupid performance for our anniversary.” You huffed. “And I may or may not be taking my meds.” You winced.

“WHAT?!” Ozzie yelled, but lowered his voice, “What? Why?”

“It’s too expensive and I feel so guilty that you have to pay and I feel like a burden.”

Fizz shot up, “You’re not a burden! We love you so much and want you to be healthy!”

“Don’t worry about the money, babe. I got it.”

“And sorry for spoiling the surprise.”

“Eh, I figured you were up to something.” Fizz smirked.

“What? How?” You laughed.

“I know you. I knew you longer than Ozzie.” He kissed your nose. “I can tell when you’re keeping secrets. But I’m VERY pissed at you for not taking your meds.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

Ozzie combed through your hair with his fingers, “Don’t ever apologize, and don’t ever skip your meds. I’m flattered you wanted to do a special performance for us, but we also care deeply about you. You’re not a burden, you’re our lover.”

[bad268]

Every Step of the Way (Pablo Gavi X Barca! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/FCB

Requested: Nope, I’m testing it out. I’ve been a Barca fan since 2018, but never actually did anything with it lol. Also, I’m aware he doesn’t speak English, but my Spanish is elementary level at best, so I’ll stick to English with Spanish nicknames.

Warnings: ACL recovery discussed A LOT  (I used my sister’s experience with it so yeah)

POV: Third Person (She/her)

W.C. 2208

Summary: What's worse than one ACL injury? Two ACL Injuries!

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Within 10 seconds, the lively stadium became silent. It was a freak accident, and it never should have happened. It was a normal game against Madrid, and she had already scored the point that took the Barcelona team ahead 2-1. Looking back, maybe it was ambitious to go for another goal so soon. 

She remembered going for the kick but could not remember anything after that. Maybe she got hit by another player or maybe she twisted her leg wrong. All she knew was that it hurt like hell. It felt like her leg was on fire as she registered being carried off the field by the medical team. 

In the locker room, she learned that she had torn her ACL. That was not something she needed to hear during the height of her career. Like her boyfriend, she was one of the youngest on the team and one of the most promising talents. And now, she had to come to terms with being benched for at least nine months.

The same week that she sustained the injury, she was already in surgery. It was a fast turnaround; she felt like she was getting whiplash. Everything during that week hand blurred together, and the next thing she knew, she was in their bed at her and Pablo’s apartment with a metal knee brace. That’s when it started to set in. 

What if she could never get back to her normal? What if she could never play again? What if there are complications with her recovery? What if this…What if that…What if… What if…What if…

That’s what Pablo walked in on; his girlfriend of two years was on the verge of a panic attack as she frantically pulled at the metal brace. She was crying and screaming that she was fine. She was just dreaming. She was not actually injured because it was all in her head. 

Pablo ran forward, pulling her hands away from her knee quickly before she could do real damage. He held her hands as he watched her thrash around before finally settling down when she met his eyes. Her eyes were watery as she met his, trying to regain her sanity, until she was able to understand what he was saying. “You’re okay. You’re going to be fine, mi vida (my life). I’m here to help you every step of the way. Wait, wrong choice of words.” He was rambling, something he only did when he was extremely nervous. The thought made her smile a little as she squeezed his hands to get his attention. “How are you feeling now, mi amor(my love)?”

“My leg is on fire,” She sighed, and Pablo had to hold back the smile since he knew the thrashing and pulling at the brace did not help her in any way. If anything, it made the pain more intense. Instead of voicing these thoughts, he just moved her to sit up on the bed. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to get you out of bed and get food. Then, I can give you more pain meds,” He replied quietly as he leaned down to press a small kiss to her forehead before kneeling to make sure none of the cogs on the brace came undone. That was the last thing they needed. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t really care, whatever gets the pain to stop faster,” She complained as he pulled her up to stand on her one good leg. He pulled her crutches over as she playfully glared at him with no *real* heat behind them. “Do I have to use the crutches? They hurt my arms.”

“I could always carry you around,” Pablo offered with a smirk as he moved his arms to be under her arms and around her back as he picked her up straight. Clearly, this was not what she envisioned, causing her to laugh. Pablo chuckled with her as he was happy she was starting to get out of the deep rut she was in moments before. “Was this what you were thinking?”

“I imagined bridal style, but now looking back, this is probably the only plausible way you could carry me,” She admitted, and she was right. He could not really hold under her knees because of the stitches and the brace. It would have been more uncomfortable for her than using the crutches. “I feel like a ragdoll.”

“The cutest ragdoll I’ve ever seen,” He joked with her, causing her to roll her eyes as she slapped at his shoulder. “Hey! I wouldn’t hit the person who’s holding you up right now.”

“You wouldn’t drop me,” She gasped in mock offense. Pablo sent her a look that said ‘Challenge me,’ and she knew it was over. He loosened his hold on her as she slowly slid down his chest. She jokingly pleaded, “No, Pablo, please. Don’t let me go!”

“I’d never leave you,” He reassured as he pulled her back up and kissed her. “I’ll be by your side every day until you’re back on the field.”

“Then you’ll break up with me?” She teased.

“No,” he chuckled bashfully as he hid his face on her shoulder. “I’ll be on the sideline then.”

~~

After a week of recovery and relaxation, she started rehab. The specialist started her out on small exercises like bending her knee and slowly putting more weight on it. It was a slow process, but she was getting to the point where she could walk unassisted. Sure, she still had to wear the metal brace and use at least one crutch, but it was so she did not strain it any more than she already had. 

And who was by her side through every appointment? Pablo. Who was there every time she needed new medication? Pablo. Who was there to carry her every time she did not want to walk because he had no backbone when it came to her? Pablo. Boyfriend of the Year, honestly.

It finally got to the point where she could go to a game a month after her initial injury. Not to play in it, but she could sit in the stands and cheer on her favorite country. She was cleared just in time to attend the final game of Spain’s European Championship qualifying group against Georgia, and of course, her favorite midfielder was playing. She was not on the sideline per se, but she was in the stands in the first row from the pitch.

She was wearing one of Pablo’s kits (obviously) as she leaned her body weight against the barrier, cheering him on. It was still early in the game, and there were no points on the board. He was doing an amazing job given that he tweaked his leg a couple of days prior in the Barcelona game. He was running like he owned the field and making some good plays. 

Within 10 seconds, the lively stadium became silent, and she felt her heart drop. All she did was blink, and suddenly, she knew something was wrong. The camera zoomed in on Pablo, who was lying flat on the ground, clutching his right knee. His face clearly showed his pain, and it hurt her to see him in pain. It took a few minutes, but he was walking back on the sideline, getting checked out.

He came back a little while later for another play. Before he even started running, she had that feeling in her gut again. It was not long after running back to the field that he was kneeling on the grass, clutching his leg as the yellow card was thrown.

It felt like forever for her. She wondered how long it felt for him. How bad did it hurt? How bad was the damage? Did he just dislocate his knee? Would he be back in later?

She did not get to delve too deep into the rabbit hole. He was walking, well limping, off the field again with some assistance, but at least he was walking. That had to have been a good sign, she thought. She turned to grab her crutch, so she could make her way up to the concourse. Maybe they would let her down into the locker room to see Pablo.

It was a little difficult given that the game resumed and people were back up and cheering, but she managed to get to the concourse without tripping or injuring herself more. She approached a couple of security guards that she knew personally. 

“Do you know if I’m allowed to go down to the field or in the locker room?” She asked, hopeful, as they stepped away to radio down to the security by the locker room. It did not take them long to go back over to her and direct her to the elevator. Once again, it felt like forever, but she made it down to the base floor. 

She hobbled her way over to the locker room where she immediately recognized one of the Barcelona physicians walking out. It was eerily quiet despite the game being in full swing just outside the hall. It filled her with nerves.

She needed to keep her composure because he needed her support more than ever. She took a minute for herself and took a few deep breaths before she pushed through the door. Despite expecting to see him injured, nothing could have really prepared her for seeing him flat on the table. 

She limped over beside him where he had one arm over his eyes and the other fist clenching as physicians assessed his knee. She made sure to stay out of the way as she grabbed his fist, unwinding his fingers to grasp at her hand. She used her other hand to run through his hair as he kept his eyes screwed shut, leaning into her. 

After a few moments, the physicians finished up. Instead of vocalizing what was wrong, they gestured to her leg before pointing at him. They stepped out of the room, and that’s when Pablo noticed they were not touching his leg anymore, causing him to lift his head and look around. She took her hand out of his hair as she sat on the table since her knee started bothering her, and when he laid his head back, it landed on her lap. She moved her hand right back to his hair as he stared up at her.

“Guess who gets to play nurse now?” She attempted to joke.

“If you’re insinuating that it’s you, we’re screwed because you’ve only been recovering for a month,” He sighed, “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” She replied sarcastically as she took her hand out of his hair and leaned back on it. Immediately, he started complaining as he used his hand that was not already holding hers to reach back to find the other. “No, that was mean. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, mi amor(my love),” He mumbled as he stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “Will you play with my hair again now? I’m in pain. Speaking of that, did they say what they think it is?”

She smiled down at him as she put her hand back into his hair and he reached his hand back to hold her wrist there. “I know you are, and I’m sorry. At least we get to go through the same recovery.”

“You’re lying,” He gasped, eyes widening as he sat up and looked back at her. “Do they think I tore my ACL? That would mean I’m out for the season! And the EuroCup!”

“Welcome to the club,” She tried to joke, but he was not laughing. She moved so that she was sitting right next to him as she wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders and still held his hand in hers. “Hey, don’t start just yet. They probably need to take you for some X-rays and do a couple more tests. Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. You could have just strained it.”

“How long would I be out if it’s a strain?” He asked quietly, leaning back into her embrace. 

“Pretty sure it’s anywhere from three weeks to three months,” She said after she googled it. “Whatever happens, just know I’ll be with you every step of the way…wait. Not that. Wrong choice of words.”

That’s what broke him. He started laughing as he leaned onto her shoulder before whispering, “I get it.” Then, the physicians came back into the room with a gurney to take Pablo to the X-ray. He looked nervous and anxious again, but as soon as he looked over at her, he knew he would be fine. “Will you hold my hand, mi vida (my life)?”

“Of course, I will,” She answered endearingly as she stepped aside for the physicians to move him to the gurney. She grabbed her crutch and followed them toward the X-ray. He looked over at her, and at that moment, he knew that he could not live without her. They would be with each other through every step of the way, and when they were both healed, he knew just the way to thank her. 

~~~

Part 2 ->

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[jaywalkers]

hi róisín, since ur in med, i was wondering : is aftg v medically accurate ?

hihi! i'll preface with that i'm not a med student, i'm a final year paramedic student, but i think my scope and areas of practice fit the antics the foxes get into in aftg enough to comment on it!

i won't talk on aftg's take on medications, antipsychotics or otherwise, because a lot of other lovely people who are far more educated on the topic have written about it! when it comes to aftg's treatment of injuries, though, i do have some things to say.

i'm going to tee up a couple of examples of frontline medical treatment in aftg and make some comments on them! granted they're very messy, but i hope they're understandable enough.

from the best, to the worst:

kevin's hand

i don't think it's unfeasible that kevin was back to playing capacity two years after his injury happened — while i think that his hand was probably severely fractured, and there was likely different fingers involved too, with good surgical intervention (which he was likely able to access) hand fractures, even complex ones, can be healed enough in 4-6 months.

the ligament injuries would be the more pertinent, and i think those would be the more pressing concern for him outside of the healed bones, considering ligament injuries can cause chronic issues not limited to pain. i would be surprised if abby was the sole medical provider for the foxes, because while she does appear to be a well-rounded sports nurse, kevin probably would have needed to work with a dedicated physiotherapist and/or a hand specialist to get the use of his hand semi-back to normal.

other questions abt kevin's medical problems? please observe here

2. neil's wounds post baltimore

when it comes to how these wounds are treated by medical staff, i have no concerns. the hospital neil is brought to by the FBI seems to have treated the wounds well and left him to sleep off any negative follow-on effects from the chloroform. the only thing i have qualms with is the implication from the hotel scene that the hospital has put an adhesive dressing over neil's burn on his cheek, which is a big no in wound-dressing — burned skin is very delicate, and adhesives can damage or rip it away with removal. it's why we use glad-wrap in the prehsopital setting for burns, because it's sterile and not sticky!

abby, when she gets her hands on neil, changes the bandages so the wounds can be visualised and aired out, cleans them again, and then re-dresses them cleanly. i have no issues here.

when it comes to how these wounds are treated by andrew, i have only this text from my brother when he first read the series a couple of years ago

throughout the series, including post-nest, andrew is constantly getting his grubby little mitts in neils fresh wounds. he should not be doing that. in particular in the hotel scene he peels away the adhesive dressing over a burn which is just a recipe for tissue-loss, severe pain, and increased risk of infection. i don't know how abby didn't scream because i would have.

just andrew. in general. yikes, my dude. don't do that.

3. jean

jean. he is the kicked dog of this series and i genuinely don't know how he was alive at the start of the book series, let alone at the end. at the start of the series, he has (according to the EC) experienced not only numerous fractures to various bones, but has had two incidences where he 'bashed his head open on the concrete', and needed 266 stitches total. also ten incidences of waterboarding.

if we break this down: that's two major head injuries, multiple incidences of significant amounts of blood loss, and ten incidences of asphyxial peri-arrest events.

it's further implied by both the novels and the extra content that jean was not given time to heal from these injuries, and instead had to play games. add to that the hours of the nest and the living conditions, and i actually cannot fathom how jean was not yet dead, by either a single incident or the culmination of many. exy is a contact sport. those head injuries, plus an accidental shoulder-check into the plexiglass could have, and should have killed him.

i'm glad he didn't. i think it's important that he didn't. but it is a miracle of biology and the sanctity of his cerebral blood vessels that he stays alive to the end of the books.

---

anyway i hope this all makes a bit of sense! im writing this half-mad with eight hours until my last exam for my 2nd to last semester so i'm running on energy drinks and way too much memorisation work of how benzos work. thank you for the question! and as always, please field more my way i LOVE this stuff.

[freesia-writes]

Lil Life Update for Y'all <3

I've been a lil cryptic or back-n-forth, I think, and just wanted to share a little bit about what's been going on. I say it's not for attention but who knows what motives lurk under there, LOL. It's mostly because I love you all and want to let you in, also hope that it's encouraging or connective for anyone else who's experienced the same, and also I just miss the community I have sooooo loved here. 🥹

I'm a 34yo female with 2 kids aged 4 and 7. I had depression like crazy during and after my second pregnancy especially. In Aug 2021, my primary doc suggested I try something like Zoloft since I'd been complaining of irritability, no capacity, constant worry, and other anxiety symptoms. When I did feel some relief and felt encouraged that I could "feel like myself" again, I pursued solutions for other issues I was noticing. Over the last year and a half, it's been quite a ride. ADHD symptoms led to Adderall for 4 days, then Wellbutrin for a few months, then Buspar for a few months, then Strattera (tapering up and then back down) for about 3 months, then Ritalin for 1 month, which I thought was helping until we realized that the entire month of October was basically an increasingly manic episode.

Whew.

We're talkin 2007 Britney here (ok I didn't shave it but I cut my hair off into a pixie). Spent thousands on a new wardrobe of the "dark academia" style. Bought Disneyland tickets. Invested in a photography mentorship. So much energy and inspiration. Then we realized it was getting out of hand.

I had also been tapering off a lot of the meds over the last two months, so it was just a crazy cocktail of chemicals that made my brain finally go kaput. I finished the last dose of Zoloft on November 5th, and that was the last of the meds, so now I'm off everything. My therapist thought the mania was medication-induced due to all the changes plus the addition of the stimulant, so the goal was to try to allow everything to settle down and see what "baseline" is for me right now.

And it has been frickin HARD.

Cervical vertigo. All-or-nothing sleep and appetite. Extreme sensory sensitivity. Random itchiness. Racing mind. Total inability to focus. And the worst part has been the mood swings.

I'm basically having all the symptoms of bipolar disorder in a rapid-cycle format. It may be cyclothymia, or it may be the withdrawal effects from all the meds, but regardless... It's been quite the roller coaster. The nerd in me has been fascinated by the experiential knowledge of it all, since I majored in Psychology and have always loved learning about it, but the overall negative effects on me and my family have been difficult.

I'm someone who has always relied completely on being highly capable and in control. I find my worth in my productivity and competence. And it has caused increasing stress throughout my life. I've been praying for years that God would break me of it, and I can see how he is using this to do precisely that -- lovingly trying to answer my request to be freed of this relentless pursuit of the illusion of control. He's inviting me to simple, joyful life of trust. The perspective shift is so freeing when I realize that I don't need to have it all figured out because he already does, and I can just rest in his loving guidance and look to him for the next step instead of trying to plan out every possible outcome and strategy. I went on a reflective retreat in the Santa Cruz mountains and just felt so encouraged and loved in the way he invited me to let my shoulders down and to ground myself in his warm provision and care.

But the change doesn't happen overnight.

So in the middle of a total storm of bipolar symptoms -- days of mania followed by days of depressive episodes and being so new at it all that I don't know how to navigate "normal life" with all of that -- I'm also trying to rewire 34 years' worth of the way I think and act. BUT it's a blessedly simple process: the only thing I have to worry about is this moment. I can't affect the future or the past. So all I have is right now, and I can turn to God for guidance, encouragement, insight, or anything I need in this moment, and he is so faithful to give it. But man, it's easy to forget. ;)

Literally me with that right now, trying to figure it all out on my own before I remember I can't and don't need to:

Anyway, this got LONG, surprise surprise, but I've always enjoyed being vulnerable for the sake of connection and potential encouragement. And selfishly, I'd LOVE to hear from any of you who may have had similar experiences. Right now the fixation of my [very limited] capacity is on my photography business, but I've been feeling drawn to writing more and more, and have attempted a lil drabble here and there. So I'm just patiently waiting for the inspiration to return. :)

I have so appreciated the love from you all. I also haven't been as active with reading/reblogging/supporting/etc as I was, and that's just where I'm at right now, but please know that my heart is with you even if my brain is not, LOL.

If you made it this far, you get a gold star. Or a Howzer hug. Or somethin. :)

[millerflintstone]

I think I'm experiencing kitty caretaker burnout. Gigabyte is adjusting to her CBD. Her max is two drops on her gums. I think I accidentally gave her 3 a couple of nights ago because the second drop got mainly on my finger and I might have given her too much because she slept so hard at first I thought she had died. Nope. Just very asleep and was sleepy through the next day. Then she was restless the day after. She's been getting 2 drops a night and that seems to be a good amount. I have to give it to her 2 hours before or after her Rx meds.

She has been a bit restless and vocal and that will wake me up, so my sleep has not been the best. She is not interested in plain water, so I flavor her water and give her Hyrda Care. She will drink a bit of plain water every day, but not like before. I will syringe feed her water and wet food and that will calm her down. She does have periods in the day where she just eats and drinks normally but sometimes I have to physically put her in front of whatever she wants, rub food or water on gums and she'll react like, "Oh yeah! I do want that!"

I do have to syringe feed her extra phosphorus binders and potassium which I do mixed with wet food while she's sleepy in her window bed. Luckily that ends up being easy but to start her off it is a bit of a fight.

She's my elderly toddler who thinks she knows it all. I hope she adjusts to the CBD because it does seem to help her appetite.

I honestly don't know if I'll be able to be a cat guardian again. All three of my cats have needed extra care. Loki was the longest - he was diagnosed with bad kidneys when he was 6. It was 6 years of daily pills and fluids, but he was very easy to treat until the end when he had his final crash. Diva completely lost the ability to walk a couple of months before we had to put her down. That was waking up every 3 hours to change her pee pad in her bed, give her food and water and meds. I could disguise her meds in goat cheese but sub-q fluids were a two person job. Then her kidneys gave out as well. Gigabyte is just perfect for fluids but everything else is a struggle.

[starsxcanucks]

why not- a QH fanfic

part 1

I left the hospital only to not be surprised that it was gloomy, cold, and wet. Again. It’s 10 in the morning, in normal circumstances, the sun would be out. Move to Vancouver, Canada, they said. They definitely don’t warn you not to move here in October… or to start taking vitamin D to compensate for the lack of sunshine. Feeling a buzz coming from the thigh pocket of my scrubs, I answer without looking at who’s calling.

“ICU, this is Alex, how can I help you?” I say on autopilot. Hearing a deep chuckle coming from the other side, I’d recognize that sound from anywhere. “Whoops, my bad Cam, I’m just leaving the hospital after a 15-hour shift, so I’m on my way to the grocery store and then home to pass out. What’s up?” Cam, short for Cameron, is my older brother, he’s 28, meaning that he’s 3 years older than me. We’re essentially the same person; we’re both in healthcare, have the same hobbies, and have wavy dark-brown hair and hazel eyes. He’s a major deciding factor as to why I’m here in the first place. Also, needing a change of scenery from Texas, to get back into snowboarding and to be closer to him; at the time, it seemed like a no-brainer. But I haven’t seen the sun in almost three weeks, and it’s driving me crazy.

“I was just checking in to see how you’re settling in and adjusting to everything here in Canada and had a last-minute surprise for you!” A surprise from him could range from food to a brand-new animal, you never know what he’s going to suggest.

Sighing, “Oh boy, should I be scared? Because last time you said you had last-minute plans we were stuck on the side of a mountain for 2 days.”

“Calm down it was one time, and we made it out, didn’t we? So now you have a fun fact to open up with when you go on dates. Any who, tomorrow is family appreciation day at work and management gave staff tickets so that our families can come to watch the Canucks play.” Cam was a physical therapist for Vancouver’s hockey team. I’m somewhat familiar with the sport and can keep up since this is what his passion has been since high school. “Plus, since I’m me, I can show you around the behind-the-scenes of my job and maybe introduce you to the rest of the med staff.” I could tell that this was important for him and could practically hear him smiling and getting excited like a dog waiting for their owner to throw the ball.

Finally, getting inside my car, waiting for the engine to purr alive, and locked it. A few seconds passed before the call transferred over to the car’s audio, “Umm, what day is tomorrow?” Being on the night shift will ruin your perception of time and social life.

“Sunday, the game starts at 5:30 pm, but if you could get here early, say around noon, it’d make everything easy. And I would definitely be able to show you where I work and introduce you to everyone before the chaos happens.”

“I could make it by noon, but I’m on call tomorrow from 5 – 9 pm, so if I get called in, I’d have to leave, so I’d have to bring my scrubs,” I say after checking my work schedule.

“You nurses and your weird scheduling. That’s fine. I just wanted this to be your first time going somewhere other than the hospital, and I haven’t seen you since I helped you unpack your apartment. If you didn’t notice, it’s been a month since,” he huffs with annoyance. Shifting my car into drive and driving towards home, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know that I love my job and have a hard time saying no to picking up extra shifts.” It’s been nothing but smooth sailing since arriving here in Vancouver, I only came with my Toyota Rav 4 packed with stuff and drove here with the intention of going shopping once I arrived for decorations. I had my furniture shipped, all paid for by the hospital as a stipulation for my relocation.

“Okay, okay, if you want, come pick me up, and we can ride together so that you have access to good parking and can escape quickly if you need to leave. I’ll catch a ride home with one of the other physical therapists. Just make sure you wear blue since it’s a home game. It’s also an important game since it’s the team captain’s birthday.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there by 11:30, and we can grab a coffee on the way in, so I don’t look so dead in the morning,” I say with a laugh. “Just please be ready by 11:30, I’ll text you when I’m headed your way, ok?”

He responds, “That’s fine, sounds good. Yay, see you tomorrow. Text me when you get home, drive safe, I love you, goodnight. Or good morning I guess? I don’t know. Sleep well.”

“Bye Cam, will do, I love you, see you tomorrow.” I hang up the phone, and it’s finally quiet. Or as quiet as it can be for a Saturday midmorning in downtown Vancouver. Working as a cardiovascular ICU nurse, you’re constantly surrounded by sounds coming from the monitors and ventilators, so it’s nice to take in the peace.

After an hour of being at the grocery store, I finally arrived home, brought all the groceries in put the cold foods away hazardously, and left the rest of the food on the counter before sprinting away to strip my scrubs off, throwing them in the hamper in the hallway, and making a b line for a nice hot shower.

Coming out of the shower, and doing my skincare, I go back to make sure that there is nothing in my scrub pockets, only to find pens, gauze, alcohol wipes, and unopened syringes; I toss the scrubs in the wash along with my pair from yesterday. Gathering the accidentally stolen supplies, I put them in my purse so that I could bring them with me to my next shift.

Returning back to the kitchen, I neatly organized the groceries and ate my meal prep, which consisted of turkey, potatoes, and veggies. With exhausted eyes, fighting to stay awake, I scarfed it down and took my vitamins. Then, I opened the living room blinds so that the plants could get some gloom light. I’ll have to invest in a light stand so that they get the proper amount of light. After double-checking that the doors are all locked and secured, I rush to my room and shut the blackout curtains, making my room pitch black so that I can sleep. I text Cam that I’m home and going to sleep. Turning on the ceiling fan, and plugging my phone in, I am finally able to sleep.

Waking up at 3 am was really nice because It meant that I slept like a baby, and now I am refreshed. Starting on this week’s meal prep, it’s a chicken squash salad with quinoa. Fighting for my life, trying to cut everything because butternut squash was super hard to cut this time. While the squash was baking, I switched the laundry, made breakfast, and got ready for the gym. Thankfully this complex has a full gym with everything needed for a workout. Taking out squash from the oven and turning it off leaving for the gym.

Coming back around 6 am, I finish up my lunch meal prep, take a quick body shower, and sit down to just relax with my book.

Waking up to my backup alarm at 9 am, I can start getting ready to meet Cameron. Starting with my hair, I decided to just keep it natural, paired with light makeup, a blue sweatshirt, black jeans, and blue vans to match the sweater. Making sure to grab my work bag with a pair of scrubs and shoes, I throw it in the back seat. Double-checking that my nurse badge was in my purse, and I was good to go. Sending a quick text to Cam that I’m on my way, I picked up coffee for both of us.

Pulling up to his flat, he’s already waiting outside for me. Leaning over to the center console to give him a hug, “Hey, I missed you! Thanks for inviting me to this.”

Embracing me back, “Hey, I missed you too! Thanks for the coffee. And of course, I know that it was last minute but happy you could make it! You’ll love all the staff, and who knows you could join me and the team.”

Rolling my eyes in a playful manner, “Yeah right Cam, you know me and how much I love hockey and big tall sweaty men.”

“They’re not bad, just avoid the locker room, because the stench never goes away or gets better,” he laughs.

Pulling into the parking garage with Cam’s guidance, I notice that only some of the stalls have numbers on it, “Each player has their number on their designated parking spot to make it easy for everyone,” he says answering the question before I could ask.

“Cool, I wonder if it makes it easy for them to mess with each other when they want.”

“Yea, the team is fun and lighthearted with each other.”

Looking around, almost all of the stalls are filled with cars. Worriedly I ask, “Did I make you late? Almost all of the spots are full.”

“Nah. It’s the captain’s birthday today, so they’re celebrating with a team lunch that was catered and whatever dessert that Q wanted,” he said while opening the door to enter the facility.

Following him side by side, taking in the behind-the-scenes of an arena, there are so many staff running around trying to get it ready for tonight’s game happening in a few hours. But even as everyone runs past us, Cam says “Hi, have a good day,” and just that just makes me happy. Cam and I have always been social; he’s just more outgoing, whereas I have to get comfortable in my environment before I talk to anyone and everyone. Cam walks me to his office and tells me I can set my work bag down behind his desk, and no one will touch it. He also lets me know that he’s going to the bathroom so he’ll be right back.

Glancing around the office, I see photos of him with his friends, and with Mom and me. it’s a nice office, very standard which isn’t a bad thing since he’s only in here to update care plans, and what he’s done for each player for each session. Going through my work bag, I take my scrubs and shoes out so that they don’t make the bag fall over. Startling me, someone knocks on the door and enters without another notice. “Hey Cam, food’s here and I need you t t-, oh hey, you’re not Cam. Sorry for scaring ya, do you know where he is?”

Shyly, I respond with a smile, “You’re fine. He went to the bathroom, so he should be back any minute. Maybe I can help you with something?”

The mystery man, shakes his head, “Nah, you don’t get paid to take care of us, I just need help stretching out my SI joint area. I’m Garland, by the way. Connor Garland, number 8. I didn’t know that Cam had a girlfriend.”

Laughing at what he just said, “Nope, definitely not his girlfriend, I’m his sister. He invited me to watch the game tonight. I’m Alex, nice to meet you.” I say, extending my hand to shake, and he returns the gesture. “I’m not Cam, but I can help stretch the SI joint, I’m a CVICU nurse, but I took up kinesiology for fun.”

“Oh, sure if you don’t mind, my right side is cramping up and I need to stretch, maybe roll it out before-, oh hey Cam, I wanted to let you know that food is here, cake is about to get cut. But was hoping that you could help me stretch out my right side. You didn’t tell me that you were bringing anyone tonight. Your sister offered to help since someone has a pea-sized bladder”, he says winking at you.

Blushing and rolling your eyes, “It’s because I’m on call, so I don’t know if I can stay the whole time. I just offered, but I don’t wanna do anything to cause more damage before tonight’s game. Cam is back and can help,” you return a smile to him. Guiding all of us out of his office, he closes the door, making sure he has his credentials on him, “Garland, leave her alone. Yeah, let’s get that stretched out. Actually, Alex, can you help with this? We might be able to help stretch out that cramp and get it to stay. His chiro says it’s fine, and everything on the MRI is fine. His muscle is just evil.”

Following behind both men, “Have you thought about getting a steroid injection? They’re safe, and I can ask an office in the area to get in contact with you. Especially since you have an MRI, it should be quick and easy.”

Connor responds, “Oh yes please, especially since it can’t do any more damage than what I got going on. Cam, can you give my info to her, that’d be great bud.”

“What am I? Your assistant? Yeah, that’s not an issue,” Cam says shouldering Garland. Turning into the training room, “Alright, get on the table show me what’s going on and where it hurts.”

Garland gets on the table, using his right palm to cover his SI joint area, and shows that it’s more of his hip area. I mention, “It might not just be your SI joint, it might just be your hip. Have you had any imaging done on the hip?”

Cam responds, “Yea everything is fine, its just his muscles. The injection isn’t a bad idea, I didn’t wanna suggest because I don’t have any connections to the PM&R docs in the area. The team doc is kinda strange about that. Maybe I could introduce you guys and you could connect us with the hospitals and have the Ortho and PM&R docs at the hospital on standby, that would be so amazing.”

Walking to the opposite side of the table of Cam. Making eye contact with Garland, “Can I do a quick assessment?” Giving me a nod of approval, I start poking and prodding at his problem area. “Umm, yea Cam. I can get you in contact with the Chief of Ortho. Dr. Peters, and the PM&R docs too. Dr. Tate is really cool and her team would love that.”

“Cool,” Cam responds as they both start maneuvering Garland into positions to help stretch out his issue.

A pleasant voice coming from the hallway starts yelling, “Garland, come on they’re about to start cutting my cake, and I’m not gonna be held responsible if you don’t get one.”

Looking to Cam, he yells over his shoulder, “In here Q.”

About three seconds later, Q barges in and confusion spreads on his face when he see you working on his teammate. This is the captain, and it’s his birthday. He looks like a Libra Normally, they get a bad wrap, but since I’m a Taurus, I have a soft spot for them.

[thecaroliner]

After almost six months I think I’m finally ready to talk about what happened to my dog to get it off my chest and maybe this will help others prevent this happening to their dogs.

About 2-3 ago we began noticing a few changes in Chibi that we just associated with age. He was 10-11 at that point so obviously he was slowing down a little bit but we also noticed how itchy he had become. It seemed like all day every day he was gnawing and scratching at himself, sometimes to the point of drawing blood. His vet basically shrugged and said “idk try this prescription shampoo” we tried it. There was a small improvement but really didn’t do enough for him. As time went on he became more and more miserable so he was finally prescribed a pill and a monthly shot to help with the itching. Again, it did ease his symptoms somewhat but not like it should have. His vet seemingly just didn’t care enough to try anything.

So last year he began losing hair, like a LOT of hair. Especially on his tale. His underside was slimy too, and he smelled awful despite having a bath pretty much every other day. It was getting to be a little gross to even pick him up. He was freezing all the time because of how little hair he had.

So finally, in around January, I took him to the vet one day because his eyes were leaking really badly. The vet seeing him that day was like a traveling vet and it was her first time at that clinic. She was much more concerned about his itching and lack of hair rather than his eyes, and when I told her his history she said “well it sounds like the regular vet has just been trying to put a band aid on his symptoms and not get to the root of the issue.” I am eternally grateful for this woman because she was determined to find the cause of it and it lead to a diagnosis of hypothyroidism. All his symptoms, his lethargy and itchiness and hair loss, his overproduction of sebum was all related to that. Pretty much within a few days of him receiving thyroid medication, he was like a new dog.

He suddenly had energy again. He would play and run around. His hair began growing back and he stopped itching and smelling bad. My baby, who we were afraid was just slowly dying from age, was like a puppy again. I am so so so grateful that he got to spend the last few months of his life full of energy again.

And then came April. One night, after a completely normal day with him, and he threw up around 11 pm. No big deal, he throws up from time to time. But then he did it again, and again, and again rapid fire. He was shaking and walking around like he was scared. Three years prior, he had shown these same symptoms and the emergency vet concluded he had eaten something toxic (to this day we have no idea what it could’ve been) and in kidney failure but was able to get him on some fluids and meds and he was good as new.

Mom and I were afraid this was happening again, so at midnight we loaded him into the car and took him to the ER vet. $800 and some fluids later and they said “well, he could possibly have pancreatitis but just monitor him and follow up with his regular vet.”

We take him to the vet a few days later. “Oh, I see he was diagnosed with pancreatitis.” We were shocked because the ER vet said it was maybe a possibility and not a definite. But okay, he has pancreatitis. So now he has to be on an extremely bland died of boiled chicken and rice and some prescription dog food.

He did fine for the next week or so, but then one day just stopped eating. He didn’t even want his favorite snacks like peanut butter. He just sat around the house, but he was sitting up as though laying down would be too difficult for him. He kept begging to go outside and try to potty but he couldn’t. Even days later when nothing was in his stomach at all he was trying to go.

I take him to the vet one morning and tell them the symptoms. “Well, just get him to eat a bland diet and it’ll ease his symptoms” he. Is not. Eating. I went home frustrated. That afternoon he seemed to be in tremendous pain so I took him back, and this time they weighed him. He’d lost 4 pounds in just a matter of days. Not one person at that vet office seemed even mildly concerned about this.

This bitch of a vet tech pulls me into a room and goes “okay, so tell me exactly what is going on because you and your mom keep giving us conflicting answers about if he’s eating or not, so what’s the deal” HE. ISN’T. EATING. My mom and I were both telling them that. I don’t know what the confusion is. He got more fluids and we left once more with no answers.

And then 4 days later he was gone. On his last night he began sounding really congested when he breathed and the next morning the vet said his pancreas was just failing I guess and the mucus he was producing was from his lungs and there was nothing they could do. And that was the end.

I found out shortly after that undiagnosed hypothyroidism can lead to pancreatic issues and failure in dogs.

My baby suffered for 2 years because his vet didn’t bother trying to really fix his problem. And then he finally, FINALLY gets to feeling normal again only to go from a little sick to dead in just 2 weeks.

It really just felt like the vets office was in the mindset of “oh he’s old so we aren’t gonna bother doing much for him”. Life expectancies for his breed can go up to 15-17 years so he probably still had quite a life left ahead of him.

I miss him so much.

[thebastardgerard]

Recently, after reading my friend @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter ‘s posts, I thought it was finally time to share my own story experiencing medical racism, transphobia and sexism.

TW: MEDICAL TOPICS, RACISM, TRANSPHOBIA, SEXISM AND EDS.

Somethings about me and disclaimers:

For those who don’t know me, hi hello, what’s the dealio? My name is Kuco, I’m a two-spirit black-indigenous mixed person. I am light-skinned, but most people can tell I’m mixed or assume I’m Latino, to the point where my medical documents mark me as Hispanic despite myself telling them to change it. I’m also AFAB.

While my experience is bad, it’s not unique to just me. Other people who are apart of the BIPOC community have faced the same or much worse. Regardless, please listen those in the community with darker skin. They often face much worse. If you’re only comfortable listening to those with lighter skin and feel more comfortable while claiming you’re an ally, you’re wrong and need to do better.

My story:

In 2021, I was experiencing nausea and vomiting after I ate. After a week of this continuously happening while working, I went to see a doctor who sent me to a surgeon, who sent me to a gastroenterologist to see what could be done without surgery.

This doctor was a cis white man in his late 60s who was apparently “retired.” After pointing out my symptoms and how they were getting worse, he looked through my medical history and noticed I had anxiety. He immediately went to the conclusion of a “brain-to-gut” connection, saying it was often found in woman. (Shock to no one, that wasn’t the case. Also, the issue was not my anxiety. My anxiety has progressive gone down and was at the lowest it had been in YEARS. My therapist at the time even confirmed this himself.) During this time, he also repeatedly referred to me using she/her pronouns, despite that my medical record points out that I am transgender and went by he/him pronouns at the time. (Despite me pointing this out, he continued to ignore this.) He gave me medications that were supposed to help, a doctor’s note (as I worked at the time) and sent me on my way.

Things only got worse. After 6 months of my symptoms getting worse and worse (to the point I could not eat solid food and started vomiting liquid) and several tests, he still believed it was a brain to gut issue. I had lost a lot of weight, to the point my own family noticed.

One of the last appointments I had with this doctor involved what’s called a gastric emptying test. For this test, a radioactive isotope (which isn’t harmful to humans) is put into some eggs and ingested. Pictures are taken of your stomach to track how long the isotope stays in your stomach after 2 hours, 3 hours, and 4 hours. Normally, your stomach is meant to empty at the 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hour mark. (By what I was told, mind you.)

My stomach emptied finally at the ladder end of 4 hours. This was considered on the way lower end of normal.

Once my doctor got this result, this was his response: The test says that your empty is at the lower end of what was normal, so that’s normal. Just keep taking your meds. It’s more common for Caucasian (white) people to have more serious gastric problems. Just so you know, I’m not writing you another note for your work, it’s not what I do.

This is what broke the camel’s back.

I called my primary care doctor and let her know that I wanted a different doctor who was a woman to see. I told her that he wasn’t listening to me nor taking me seriously and I refused to see him again. I also let her know that he was refusing to write me anymore work notes, despite the issue not being resolved. (A small time after this, my job let me go due to not having a return date. They said I was allowed to reapply afterwards, but I didn’t for different reasons. That’s another story for a different day.)

My primary care doctor sent me to a different doctor who was a woman and also happened to be a POC.

I had an appointment a week later, in which I told her all my symptoms and how I was barely able to eat it drink anything without being nauseous and vomiting. She listened to me while looking at my previous results from previous tests, in which she saw my gastric emptying test.

Her response was: Your test says your emptying is on the lower end of what’s normal, but by what you’re saying, it’s only gotten worse. Why didn’t he give you anything? I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now.

I told her that he had said that due to my anxiety, it was a brain to gut issue, which was common for “woman” and continually insisted on that, as well as his other comments. She concluded I have a condition called Gastroparesis, or delayed gastric emptying. This is a condition that affects the stomach muscles and prevents proper stomach emptying. While there isn’t a certain idea of why it happens, it’s thought that those who previously suffered from EDs and have diabetes contract it more. (I had suffered from EDs when I was younger and have a history of diabetes that runs in my family, which is where I believe my causes came from.)

I suffered 9 months with this condition without proper treatment, in which my symptoms were prolonged, got worse, and almost passed, all because if ONE doctor.

While I got better for a time, I’m still battling with this condition, as well as other conditions that came along.

~~~~~~~~~

When those in the BIPOC community tell you we don’t trust white people, especially doctors, it’s because we’ve been shown time and time again the complete disregard for our care and safety.

Use your allyship for good and protect us.

I would like to thank my friends for your help, but especially with my partners and my friend @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter . They helped me so much through those 9 months, and even now continue to help and support me. I love you guys so so much. 🩵🩵🩵

[undeadorion]

I am so fucking pissed right now, I'm going to fucking fist fight my doctor!

I've been seeing this doctor since 2019. She's was okay. Not spectacular, but fine. She wasn't was willing to work with the transgender stuff and didn't (immediately) judge me for my weight. But it turns out she was only okay so long as it wasn't an on going thing she had to address over multiple visits.

Like I spoke to her about my anxiety, she gave me some meds that helped immensely. Once I didn't explode from the meds, it wasn't mentioned again and things were fine.

But then I got super sick for a full fucking YEAR and she wouldn't take it seriously. I've talked about it before, but it started with me asking if maybe I had either fibromyalgia or ME/CFS. They're both disorders of elimination, so she agreed to help me figure it out and started sending me to specialists.

Only a few months into this journey is when I got INTENSELY sick with that cough that wouldn't go away. She noted that my blood pressure was super high, too. It hadn't been during one of my regular checkups and she was the one who noted the correlation between my blood pressure being high when I was sick, but normal when I wasn't. She chalked it up to the effort of coughing making it high. Not the fact that I was also experiencing a chronic shortness of breath. So she gave me a high blood pressure medication collad Losartan and thought it would improve things. It didn't. And all through this my fatigue and cough just kept getting worse.

I got sick in August and it wasn't until the following May that she finally sent me to a pulmonologist (lung doctor) for a cough so intense that it was affecting my bladder control when a super strong coughing fit hit. It was a nightmare. I only got part way through the stupid long history of what I'd done and experienced to figure this cough out, and she stopped me to say it was likely asthma. That fucking fast.

The delay isn't the only reason I'm furious. It's the meds. Losartan didn't do a damn fucking thing to bring my blood pressure down. That only came down back to completely normal once my asthma was under control, because bronchitis had left me in a year long asthma flare. It took about 6 months for it to fully calm down with 2 inhalers and a pill. My cough never fully went away, but it stopped being such a life altering problem.

The only problem was, I still didn't feel better. For a while my fatigue levels improved, but then slowly declined again. I started having trouble sleeping and weird cramps and aches. Then due to a fluke with my pharmacy I didn't have the losartan for over a week. I'd slowly started feeling better but I'd chalked it up to a recent reduction in stress of having settled into a new job. But then taking it again after that break, my health immediately tanked. My back and calves all severely cramped up. Then I remembered something I'd spotted on the bottle (I'd recently changed pharmacies). The label didn't just say Losartan, it said Losartan Pot. Pot as in POTASSIUM. Which was caushing the muscle cramps because I had too much of it in my body.

I then looked up the side effects. Fatigue. Cough. Shortness of breath. Cramps. Are you fucking kidding me?!

I poked around a little more. While losartan isn't outright dangerous for people with asthma, it should not be the first choice for high blood pressure medications due to it causing bronchial spasms.

I stopped taking it immediately. And just a few days later, I feel like a completely different person. A week ago, I could do a single minor chore before I needed to lie down. Cooking a meal would wipe me out completely. Today I've already cleaned up the kitchen and gave the pantry a rough re-organization and partially cleaned up the pile of stuff accumulating around my desk because I was too tired to take care of it before. And I'm nowhere near needing a nap.

But that's not all. Let's rewind to a few weeks before I made this discovery. I finally had a follow up with my doctor following my ashtma diagnosis. She didn't look at my vitals at all, and she certainly didn't compare them to my last visit. My blood pressure came down from nearly hypertensive crisis to pretty much normal, and I'd lost 30 fucking pounds. And she couldn't give a fuck.

I told her about the pulmonologist SHE sent me to, and her response was "So you think you have asthma?" Then she insisted I stay on Losartan. Which I now know was a terrible call to make. I even talked to her about the fact that my fatigue was still keeping me from doing the bare minimum and she just brushed it aside. Like, excause me? That's a big fucking deal and the reason I keep coming to see you. To solve this problem, because this isn't normal! She went so far as to ask why I'd even come in if all I had was to tell her I had asthma. As if that didn't fundamentally alter everything we'd been doing. She then refused to diagnose me with ME/CFS, even though she agreed I likely had it. And had no answers as to what else could be causing my symptoms, but I coud use that "label" if I wanted to. Then proceeded to not include any of that in the notes, but did note that I'd said I'd intentionally not exercised out of spite for a shitty cardiologist she'd sent me to. Like quoted me, verbatim. Nevermind that was how I lost the 30 fucking pounds.

The nail in the coffin, however, is that my sister dealt with the same thing. We ended up with the same doctor by pure chance. She was in constant pain and had constant health issues, and our doctor just refused to do anything about it and kept brushing it off. When my sister finally got to a specialist, it turned out to be a serious issue with her gallbladder that required fucking SURGERY to fix.

I've already started the process with patient relations, and it sounds like they're taking it seriously.

I'm just so fucking furious. This has been such a long fucking journey, and to have a fix work in a matter of days is so surreal.

On the bright side, I can at least finally move on with my life. After being sick for nearly 2 years at this point. I first got sick in August of 2022, catching something that led to bronchitis while sitting with my sister in the ER for her bruised rib (she thought it was broken because a spoiled brat of a kid kicked her in the sternum while throwing a tantrum). It's now May 2024. I managed a lot in that time, but holy fuck.

[mikelogan]

apologies in advance for the following rant that you really don't have to read if you don't want to.

my parents have been raising my nephew since he was just over a year old and he'll be 7 in march. i had to move back in with them in early 2023 bc of my medical and financial issues. as he gets older, the more violent, disobedient, mean he gets, and his outbursts and tantrums are nightmarish at home and at school.

a couple weeks ago, they were finally able to meet with a doctor (he already has a good pcp and has recently established with a psychiatrist) and he had a full day of testing. he's already been diagnosed with ADHD. they got the results today, which confirmed that. in addition, he's also on the autism spectrum, though i don't really know to what degree yet. but he also has dmdd and after checking it out on nimh, it fits him to a t. but jesus christ, don't read the treatment section unless you want to feel hopeless.

it's a newer disorder, first in the dsm in 2013, and listed is cbt or medications, none of which are specifically for dmdd. i looked at a few reddit posts from parents of children with the disorder and it's exactly what we're dealing with and the outlook feels so bleak. his frontal lobe is underdeveloped, so he's unable to regulate emotions the same way other kids of his age are.

and the real kicker? my sister tricked her boyfriend of 3 months at the time into getting her pregnant, telling him she was taking her birth control when she wasn't. she has borderline personality disorder but won't seek treatment for it and every direct result of her actions is always someone else's fault in her eyes, so she refuses to take accountability for anything. and she smoked pot for the entire duration of her pregnancy, claiming that it HELPS brain development 🙃

in summary, if i 1) wasn't dealing with multiple chronic illnesses, 2) wasn't so close with my parents and grandparents, and 3) didn't have severe anxiety, i would pick up and move so far away from all of this. i'm sure a lot of this sounds insensitive from the outside, but i don't mean it to. i know none of this is his fault, but the fact of the matter is that his behavior takes a massive toll on my own mental health because it's quite literally constant. loud, violent outbursts, one right after another over the most miniscule triggers. yelling, screaming, swearing, hitting, throwing, kicking, etc. if he doesn't get precisely his way. and my parents are trying and they love him dearly, but they're also not very consistent, which makes me fucking nuts.

i just. i don't know what to do and it doesn't look like there's a ton that can be done. he's tried so many meds already and the one that seemed to help for a while is starting not to and he's gotten even worse. i dread him coming home from school each day and literally count down the hours until bed time. and even then, he'll get up multiple times after they put him to bed for no reason and then throws a tantrum when they tell him to go back to bed.

however bad you think it might be, i can guarantee you it's worse living with it. i'm not being dramatic. he's a nightmare to be around and he's hurt teachers and other students, not to mention how rough he is with my parents. he has an iep and hopefully this testing and results will open more doors for help at school, but apart from math, he couldn't be less interested. all he wants to do is play on the playground and then disrupts the classroom when he doesn't get his way. he's thrown chairs, hit other children, made them bleed, etc. and again, i feel like i have to state that i know this isn't his fault, that he's not doing these things on purpose, but something's gotta give, right? i'm exhausted and miserable and i can only spend so much time holed up in my bedroom, and even then, my door has to stay open enough for my cats to get in and out, and you can hear everything downstairs even at a normal volume, let alone screaming. we only have one vehicle because mine got repo-ed after i lost my job and before my long-term disability got approved, so i can't just leave the house any time i want, plus that'll be even less of an option once winter comes.

i hate it here, basically.

[starjxsung]

me when i disappear on my gf my wife my love my jisung my moon and stars

anyways hi baby i humbly request a life update

- 🦢

HELLO MY ANGEL 👼💓 life updates below for those who care 🧍‍♀️

Work is so!!!! busy !!!!!!!!!! for me every single day holy shit I want to kms actually. I’m in that phase of wanting a new job but being so terrified because I would have to re-learn all my day to day tasks and have a whole new team AND unemployment is so bad so the interview process would be a pain in the ass. Pulling thru for now but I’m gonna start seeing what else is out there 🏃‍♀️

TW/ED: I’m almost one week clean from lax abuse !! going to celebrate with a little cake for Jilix birthday (I will post pics when I decorate it…cake decorator era….). It’s such a small feat but I’ve been abusing laxatives for a good amount of my life and it’s really not letting me eat normal meals anymore so I finally scheduled an endoscopy and I’m going back on meds (everyone booed !!!!) In my hotel room for Lolla I almost asked my sister to take me to the emergency room bc I ate nothing for like 2 days and then took so much saline I thought I was going to die of dehydration😭 anyways I have a doctors appointment tomorrow to ask for meds so hopefully she prescribes me something (pls pls pls)

I’ve also been hanging out w my parents every day that’s gang frfr 💯 yesterday my mom brought me a lil cake from crumbl and today I went to the art store with my dad and after my doctor’s appointment I’m going to the kpop store again for the first time in months bc I need so many new albums and it’s a lil congratulatory gift to myself (granted I stay clean for the remainder of the week lol) and there’s one of those idol photobooth thingies so I need pics with Taemin or I will simply pass away…….

Hmmm what else. Oh momo is doing so good she’s just annoying as hell and destroys everything in my room but she’s been sleeping w me every night bc she can somehow always tell when I’m not doing good. That’s also gang frfr 💯

ANYWAY HOW ARE YOU….. HOW’S LIFE GOING…. I love you so so much I hope the universe is being so good to you. hit the klaxon for me ❤️

here’s the moon today this afternoon and also Momo sleeping. I want to be her so bad

[faofinn]

No. 2 "I'll call out your name, but you won't call back."

@whumptober-archive

Thermometer | Delirium | "They don't care about you."

A 'recovery' fic set some time after this

Harrison had gone from strength to strength in his recovery. Even despite the sepsis and pneumonia, on top of the initial gsw and opened chest in the field.

It had been a long, hard slog to get there, though, that couldn't be forgotten. After the chest drain, he'd ended up with a little delirium from everything, and everyone dreaded that it was going backwards. Somehow, he kept progressing, kept improving, kept defying expectations. 

It was several months later when he was finally allowed from the bed, graduating to being allowed to potter between there and the sofas. He was on strict instructions to not treat anyone, to not do anything stupid and outside of his current abilities. He still had a babysitter, though they denied that that was why they were there. It was obvious, but he didn't really mind; he enjoyed the company and conversation. 

Harrison had lost so much weight with it all, far too much, and that brought its own problems. His prosthesis no longer fit properly, the bone rubbing against the hard plastic. It put him off walking with it, choosing instead to use his crutches where he could.

Fao didn’t mind ‘babysitting’ Hars. He was still getting over his own chest infection, easily tired, and so sitting around in the basement doing paperwork and making sure Hars had what he needed suited him just fine. Besides, he liked Harrison’s company, and it was still just so nice to have him ‘back’ after all they’d been through. 

The past few nights, Harrison had been struggling to sleep. He just couldn't settle with pain and just wrongness in his bones. He'd tried to shake it off, busying himself in the basement to try and keep his mind active. The room spun each time he stood, but after a few moments of gripping whatever counter he was closest to, everything returned to normal. It was just tiredness, that's all.

Fao noticed as Harrison emerged from his room, somewhat unsteady on his crutches. Not unusual, and Fao wished he’d use his chair instead, but he wasn’t about to start that fight again. 

“Hey. Need anything?” Fao asked. 

He took a moment to reply, looking blankly at Fao before he shook his head. "No, I'm good."

“You okay?” He asked, frowning. 

"Been better."

“Need something? Meds?”

"I want out of the basement."

“Want some fresh air?”

"Yeah. But I want to stay out."

“I can’t let you stay out.”

"You can't keep me here."

“You’re still not well, Hars.”

"I'm late, Fao. I don't have time to worry about not being well."

Fao frowned, standing up and putting his book down. “Late?”

"Yes, late. I'm trying to get ready."

“Late for what?”

Harrison turned to look at him, exasperated. "Work. Honestly, Fao. I don't get you."

“You don’t have to go to work, you’re off sick right now. You got hurt, remember?”

"I'm not stupid, I know I got hurt. I can fucking feel it."

“So you don’t need to go anywhere.”

"Yeah, I do." He turned back, swaying on his crutches. "I need to go."

“You don’t need to go to work, you can stay here. Why don’t we sit down, I’ll put the kettle on?”

"I don't want a drink. I want to go outside."

“Come on, it’s okay.”

"None of this is okay."

“I know, I know. But you don’t need to go out, you can stay here.”

He frowned. "I don't want to stay here."

“I know, but it’s for your own good.”

"It's obviously not."

“It is, Hars. I know it doesn’t feel like it.

"Where's Tai? He'll tell you."

“He’s at work today, he’ll be home soon.”

Harrison frowned at him. "Well where's Levi?"

“Your dad is with him.”

"He's my son."

“Nobody is saying otherwise.”

He huffed. "Right. Okay."

“I mean it, Hars.”

"Mean what?"

“Nobody’s saying otherwise about Levi.”

"Right. So I need to go."

“No, you don’t.”

"Whatever." He turned away, bored of the conversation and ready to do his own thing. 

The turn made him dizzy, but he figured it would go, it had to. He stumbled forward, managing a few steps before his crutch slipped slightly. He struggled to right himself, but the dizziness was only getting worse, the room darkening at the corners. 

Nausea rose too, only adding to the feeling that he was dying, but he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. His leg shook and he knew his knee wouldn't hold him, but the thought was quickly lost to the blackness.

“Hars? Harrison?” He called.

Fao spotted the way Harrison went blank, the stumble just another warning sign. He crossed the room quickly, aiming to help Harrison stay upright on his crutches, but his eyes rolled and he went down. He reached for him just as he went, stretching further than he should, and he staggered under the weight of him as they went to the floor. It was softer than it had been if he’d not caught him, but it wrenched Fao’s bad shoulder and he groaned, the pain already bad. 

Harrison was still in Fao's arms, his chest rise and fall all too shallow. It took a few moments for him to start to come to, screwing his face up. 

“Hey, you’re okay.” Fao said, running his fingers through Harrison’s hair. “Take a moment.”

He groaned, trying to get his bearings. He reached to rub his eyes, his head pounding. 

“You’re alright. You fainted.”

"Head hurts."

“Headache? You didn’t hit the floor.”

"I'm on the floor."

“I caught you, you fainted.”

"Oh. Okay."

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

[man-made-object]

really should've posted this earlier but anyways i have a question

you don't need to read past this to vote but if you do it gives a lot of context. would normally cw this due to being about The Bruise (only the first paragraph has the bad shit; i gave a tldr for this paragraph bc of that) but i actually want people to see and vote on this

how my leg is (contains 2 explicit mentions of self harm)

i'm actually gonna correct myself from the last post, in it i thought my bruise is currently at a stage 3 but rereading definitions it's not, it's still stage 2. i wanted to not mention this but i feel like it's extremely important to say i felt this while i was harming. i do not just feel this randomly. just so we're clear. but earlier i felt pain shoot through a couple bones (one at a time). i'm really concerned about it bc i feel like i shouldn't feel my bones, y'know? also in general it's extremely hard to get up and start moving immediately after resting for a while. granted i've always been resting for more than 30 minutes but i'm sure after any point i get up i'll be limping like i fucked with it all over again

tldr: stage 2 bruising, concerned about severity (depth i guess), hard to move around

how work is

the other thing is that i haven't gone to work in 2 full weeks (insomnia/morning vertigo combo from not having meds left). which is just 4 days but i get paid every week so that's 2 missing paychecks. i love my pathetic little $80-130 paychecks :( but to be fair when i'm there i'm on my feet all day. but i'm also genuinely worried about losing my job so i feel like i should go regardless :')

hospital tho...

if i go to the hospital it's for getting the bruise and leg checked out first of all (doctors can't really do shit for bruises but at least check my bones since i felt them). and maybe get some med refills from her since my psychiatrist and pharmacy both kinda fucked me over this month. and we can also finally talk about my thyroid levels. i'll hopefully remember to get a doctor's note for this week at least, idk if they'd tack the other two weeks on there too or not but it'd be wicked if they did.

however: due to going in for a self harm thing (and the whole "being off my meds" thing) there may be a chance that i get put in a psych ward. which... not ideal, but it's a risk i'm willing to take

there are currently like 6 appointment spots for tomorrow in the chart up for grabs but idk the results yet. if i'm going i'd either have to drive myself (an hour there and back, the bruise is on my driving leg) or get my friend to drive me (absolutely no clue if she's busy or not tomorrow).

[meirimerens]

Do you have more khotkin/notkhan lore... I'm intrigued...

Sorry for late reply was aseep. Sure 👍 warning I don't think about their relationship that much (they just ball + are in cringefail teenage crushes we've all been there [cavernous voice]) to think of as much little details as I do the grown-ups but I have a vague timeline in my head I can elaborate on for you so here

14-15 years of age (current time as of the game)

Embarrassing like back and forth, both disliking (or pretending to dislike to save face) the other while wanting to mend the bond. Pride coming in the way/wanting the other to apologize because doing so would be an admission of fault or guilt and can't have that... 💯 "He's a decent enough guy [said in the voice of a guy who'd love to sit next to him and do the "inconspicuous arm around the shoulder while yawning" move]". "I'm not holding your hand [in the House of Death] because I want to dude I do it because you're shaking you're so scared bro. I'm doing this for you. Stop being a pussy and I'll let your hand go [doesn't do that even as the other has calmed down]." "Also who walks around in shorts and rolled sleeves in the middle of the night [voice of a guy who would lend his coat but is too prideful to try + that'd be like admitting """defeat""" and he wants to retain some sort of power]"<- happens here. Everyone around is just kinda

here especially Capella who Knows they kiss in the future but she can't guess when so she just kinda has to like. Wait and sit.

15-16 years of age (post-plague)

Attempt at a resolution. With the Polyhedron gone they just kinda have to like. Hang out together again so everyone kinda makes it so they come face to face. They're exhausted from the plague + meds combination so they don't have it in them to catfight with the other anymore. "Napping huddled together with his big leather coat as a blanket over the both of you" event happens here. [They might blame it on the plague + meds exhaustion but everyone knows.....] Ragingly blushing as they sit next to each other / pretend they didn't in fact nap huddled together etc. People around them are like "aw they're reconciliating 🫶 love wins" and they're like WHAT WINS???? and the people are like "platonic love... friendship... friendship is magic... calm down boss... [knows]"

Cringe fail kiss like two weird fish happens 6 months after that and then they don't talk about it again. Everyone is just like Smile and nod yall Smile and nod. Sticky owes Capella money/items because they had a bet on when and of course she wins & some dogheads & Dualsouls owe stuff among themselves too. They refuse to make it like "official"/weird vibes in general. But everyone knows. Everyone has known.

16-17 years of age

Attempt at a resolution 2/continuation. Go to the Broken Heart once on a date that's relatively uncringe for two people who used to tell each other to kill themselves. I think Khan reintegrated the Kain household by then. He invites Notkin over once and Victor is just like Smile and nod yall. (Victor learned to stop having a problem with his son being gay. He now has a problem with him having bad taste.) Still refuse to make it official.

17-18 years of age.

At this point I think both Capella and Khan go to college to get more knowledge. (Khan strikes me as a linguistics or maybe economic sciences guy) again weird floaty evasive relationship behavior. Notkin comes to Khans dorm like twice and they go out in the town as like #buddies as like #pals [Khan pays for their food and drinks even if at this point I think Notkin makes some kind of money in Town. I'd love for him to be a vet but I think he's too #sensitive to deal with animal pain and death. In my mind's when I imagine a modern AU he's doing a car mechanic internship. Nothing to do with that timeline just wanted to share.]

18 years of age and onwards

Finally 👍 they are normal about it. I don't think they have a big announcement like We Are Together but they admit it to each other at least. Have from there on a shockingly normal relationship. For people who used to tell the other to kill themselves. Love wins. Etc