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thejosh1980 · 2 years ago

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Dr Kitch, it's terrible...

It's been a while. I know that writing my thoughts and feelings down has a real positive affect on my mental well being. I learn about myself and often feel free, or freer, from the worry or concern I had before I started writing.

I just haven't prioritised writing lately. Sometimes I don't feel motivated or, more often, I don't feel I have anything interesting to share.

I do write, but I don't share everything. I have unsent letters to friends, family, pets and myself, which I have written for the sole purpose of getting my thoughts and feelings out, and hoping in the process find a little bit of calm.

Recently I got a new job offer.

My current position as a community support worker is fantastic for many reasons, and not so great for a few. After finishing my studies to become a counsellor I wanted to get some experience in the real word. During the past 6+ months, I have seen improvements in the well being of the people I work with, and the influence I have had on their lives. I really enjoy the time with the people I work with, even if shifts can be challenging at times.

However, I am not excited about the company, my managers and the system of care in place. Probably the best way I can explain it is, the company can be more of a challenge to work with than the people I work one on one with.

It was never going to be a long term job, it was about getting experience, learning about myself, the people I work with, the various mental health diagnosis out there, and how the system works. After 6 months, I still put in 100% with the people I work with, but I'm not a fan of the system.

So I am changing systems.

The new job will be somewhat similar, but vastly different in other areas. I will work at one location, and people who need support will come to that location. I will no longer work in isolation, I will have colleagues to work with, and support me, during the whole shift. Shifts are longer and there's no cancellation at the last minute. I will work as a peer support worker at a suicide prevention project. I can't go into further details right now, but it'll be an exciting step for me to be able to support people in crisis daily.

I will work both jobs for a while, but eventually cut back on my old position once I settle into the new job.

Part of the new job is that I'll need to keep myself safe, prioritising my mental well being and physical well being. I am really pleased I will be part of a team, and have colleagues, who I can talk to, learn from, and share my experiences with. I'll have a daily opportunity to debrief, something that is often missing in mental health work. I'll have a chance to learn from other peer workers, one on one, as well as sharing with people who visit the project.

Exciting times...

What isn't exciting is how I'll keep myself physically well. I need to get vaccinations. Now I don't want to go through the whole COVID vaccine debate, it is what it is, and this is about something else.

I am very scared of needles!

Prior to COVID, The last time I remember getting an injection was in late 1997, when I broke my pinky finger and needed a local injection in my elbow, in the spot we call the “funny bone”, where that nerve tingles down your arm when you bump it. I had to be gassed up, held down and I still was crying, shaking and hating every moment of the process. I remember the doctor said “stop being a baby”, which definitely didn't help the situation. I remember telling him “make sure you put in more than enough to numb me, because you won't get a second chance”.

I was alone, he gassed me, jabbed me, re-broke my finger and set it in place.

Good times...

I have learnt a lot since the COVID vaccines became mandatory, I learnt that I could get a jab (or 3) if I had Alex with me to hold my hand and an understanding nurse who was gentle. I focused on the fact I was showing courage, even if I was reacting with tears and shaking, doing something that protected my family, and myself.

Those jabs were the first I had had in over 20 years.

Last month I began the process of getting jabs for the new job. I calculated I'd need at least 4 seperate injections, if not more, over the coming 3 months. Initially 2 at a time and then 1 or 2 after that, not to forget the dreaded blood tests I'll need too.

Oh boy!!!

In December, I had the doctor, nurse and Alex lined up on Thursday morning to get the ball rolling. Except it didn't roll very far. I was amped up and before the appointment thinking “right, I'll go in, lay down, they'll jab, I'll cry and shake, and then we'll move on like nothing happened”...

After huge anticipation, and a few sleepless nights, leading up to that appointment, it didn't happen. The appointment ended up being only a discussion with the doc and a prescription for the jabs. See, I didn't know I had to go to the chemist to get the needles and come back for the jab. So it was all rescheduled for the following Saturday morning.

I had been mentally prepared on Thursday, only to be denied, and had to prepare again for Saturday. I am so lucky the nurse and the doctor were compassionate, understanding and knowledgable on how to support folks like me. Folks who have a strong reaction to needles. They did a great job, and I don't do this very often but I'll blow my own horn here, I did a great job too. I kept my arm still, cried, shook, wiggled my toes, talked very fast, lost a little oxygen or something because my face was tingling, and I got through it, I survived.

2 jabs down!

I could tell the nurse was pinching me (pretty hard according to Alex) to help desensitise my upper arm as I was laying down looking over Alex's shoulder, tears in my eyes, wiggling my toes. I didn't make eye contact with anyone while in the nurse's room. I could tell when the needle went in, and it didn't hurt. I should know better, I know it doesn't hurt.

So why the reaction?

I have been thinking about this since the job (and jabs) came up. Why do I react in such a strong way, even though I know they don't hurt, they're not unsafe and I have survived them before? And why is there this strong reaction, just to the thought, of having to have an injection?

In fact the fear was so strong that about 15 years ago, while surfing in Hawaii, I cut my big toe up on a reef. I had to go to the emergency room. My partner at the time can surely remember the Jackie Chan type nurse who took care of me, and the shaking boyfriend on the bed with eyes all big and fearful. I knew that needles were going to be mentioned. Those needles could be for stitching me up or for some other thing like tetanus!

What the hell is tetanus?

I am sure I had whatever necessary vaccinations a child needed back in the early 80's, which might have included this tetanus the nurse mentioned, but when asked when I had my last tetanus shot, I lied. I said “oh, in my late teens”, which was within 10 years and satisfied the nurses curiosity. Secondly, thank god they decided not to stitch me up, they decided to use super glue instead.

Crisis averted.

I was glued up and left the emergency a relatively happy man. Eventually I got a walking stick and enjoyed a rockabilly festival at our next stop, in Green Bay. Playing cricket and doin' the limbo with my rockin' cane on the dance floor. Those that were there, know, it sure was a good time to have a limp.

Back to the question of the day... So, why the reaction?

Firstly, I'd say that long gap of 20+ years between jabs hasn't helped. I got more and more scared, worried and distant from the needle. I avoided getting any blood tests, or jabs, for almost 25 years. I wouldn't travel to a country that required a jab. I wouldn't go to the doctor if I hurt myself and thought there's even a hint of a chance that the doc might consider the possibility that there's a reason he might think about using a needle even close to me.

So lets go back, back even further than 25 years...

Many of our adult thoughts, feelings and behaviours stem from our childhood experiences and what we make of those experiences.

I have a memory of receiving a jab in 1986 in Brunswick Heads that didn't go well. I was 6 years old, and my parents had separated the year before. I don't have many memories from my childhood, this is surely the strongest.

I know the previous jabs were all in 1980-1981, I was just a wee baby and it's in my baby booklet Mum has kept all this time. I don't remember any of these jabs. By 1986 I was more aware of the world around me, I was aware Dad wasn't around, I was no longer living in the big city. I knew there were things going on, with me, Mum, Dad and my sister, that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I'm sure it was a stressful time for us all, I am sure that stress was something I didn't know how to process.

I remember feeling very small, with the feeling of tears burning down my cheeks, fighting the doctor, shouting and crying. I may have tried to run, but didn't get far. I remember being at the door pleading with them not to do it. I remember the doctor wasn't very impressed with me. I can not remember Mum being there.

This was a traumatic event for me.

It isn't the event itself, but the stress one feels, that makes it a traumatic event. That's why two people can experience the same event, and have different reactions. One may feel fine, the other traumatised.

So why the stress? Why the reaction?

My recent thoughts directed me to my parents having recently separated, and I was taken away from all that I had known: big city suburbia, and my family security at the only house I'd ever known. My environment, and our family, had changed and I hadn't processed all these changes. I was missing Dad, and trying to adjust. I remember I was struggling to settle in at school. Mum did her best, I have no doubt she protected us kids and made the best of the situations that arose. She definitely worked very hard to support us. I don't have memories of any other really challenging events, between the time we left Melbourne and when I had the jabs.

Mum said as a baby I was fine with the jabs, I cried a little, but didn't react to the extent I would show a few years later that continues to this day.

What I remember as my worst experience since my parents separated, still affects me years on. There has to be a connection there, because that experience affected me so deeply. Another way to think about it is to ask the question, if I had those jabs in Melbourne, with parents who were still together and happy, would I have developed the fear?

I am not upset with my parents for separating. I think it was what they had to do, as there was unhappiness in their relationship that they couldn't work through. I've been there too, and ending the relationship was the best way.

Even as I type this, I can't get close to connecting the dots. Usually I do, usually as I write I find answers to questions I ask myself, because I let my thoughts wander, I let them go deeper than I have before.

So far, nada.

I may need to go deeper, and that is becoming more challenging around this subject. I feel I may need professional help with that. It isn't always easy asking yourself the hard questions, I may need a little help.

But it did affect me, didn't it?

My fear and reaction are so ingrained that I struggle to shake it off. The fear and worry has been in my head for too long to just “get over it”, “man up”, and get it done. It takes a lot of work, it's a real journey, to change years of behaviour, thoughts and feelings. I have been reframing my thoughts, becoming more comfortable with being vulnerable in front of others, and finding small ways to see myself take whatever steps I need to get through these few moments of intense reaction.

Small steps.

The smallest ones I could possibly do to get 'em done. I've written about this before, when a job, event or action feels too big and overwhelming, I break it down into the smallest parts possible.

Small achievable steps.

I have thought about the steps I took to get through the COVID jabs, and that was because I saw the reasoning behind it, I made a choice to get them to support safety within my family, close friends and community. I got those jabs for someone else, not for me. I surely didn't want those jabs, I never have ever wanted to have 'em.

Alex came to all 3 of those appointments, held my hand, wiped the tears, and talked to the nurses. She showed me the compassion and support the doctor didn't showing me in 1986 and again in 1997. I did the jab for her, and she in turn showed me I could do it, I could face the fear after all these years.

When I found out I would need to get updated and new vaccinations, like this tetanus shot, I decided to work on small steps to help me. I would need the dreaded blood test too, something I have never been able to successfully do. I tried once, when I was about 20, but I didn't last long in the pathology clinic. I was out of there the moment they tried to put that strap around my arm to stem the blood flow.

I never looked back.

Recently, I used an opportunity to experiment with exposure therapy. That is, to expose myself to small amounts of needles.

About 6 weeks before my first injections, when a close friend needed to get an IV put in his hand from the ambulance, I stayed in the room. I didn't actually watch the thing go in, hell no!!! I was a couple of meters away, watching his face, and seeing little reaction or worry, in fact he was calm. Once it was in, I had a quick look at his hand, didn't look too bad either. OK, this was a small step, I let someone else get a “permanent” jab while I was in the same room.

Happy days...

Next step, upping the exposure....

I had the opportunity to take someone I work with to get a blood test a few weeks later. I could have looked away, I could have left the room, I could have asked him to turn away, but instead I faced my fear. I watched the whole process, and the outcome was 2 vials of blood, and he said it was the best blood test he'd experienced. I immediately took down that nurse's name and would book in with her when I needed a blood test.

I felt like I'd come a long way from the days of not being able to even be in the same room with a needle.

Now with the new job, we're back at it, getting jabbed. That Saturday's appointment was intense, I wiggled my toes to distract myself, so much so that I didn't realise I was digging my nails into my toes, and was bleeding.

I got 2 jabs in a row... I still can't believe it.

It helped to have a strong reason to get on with these vaccinations. A new job... A new job which supports our goal to buy our own house. I figured out the overall reason too, my health. I'm not getting any younger, I'll need jabs and blood tests more and more likely as I grow older.

But I don't think I am ready to volunteer to get a jab just because...

I need a solid reason, I need support and understanding, and I hope over time, with more growth and understanding, I'll be calm, cool and collected while the nurses and doctors do what they gotta do...

Thanks for reading,

Josh

EDIT: I re-read my blogs to make sure I cover all the detail, to go as deep as I can. As I wrote this, I was sure the issue with my fear stemmed from my parent's separation. The thought of a needle throws me back to that time of change.

I am sure, that it does to a degree, and needs further exploration... But...

Just now, as I read through, correcting a few details, spelling mistakes and grammar, I came to realise in 1986, the biggest part of the needle fear stemmed from my feelings surrounding the doctor's attitude and lack of compassion towards me.

I felt hurt, I felt unfairly judged, and I felt that I was treated badly.

I was a sensitive kid, my parents weren't together and I was experiencing a lot of change. I feel that the doc didn't care about any of that, he just wanted to stick it in, no matter what the experience may have felt to me.

Now, I can work on finding calm.

#needles #personal growth #doctor #growin’ up #vaccinated

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panicinthestudio · 6 months ago

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The cycle played out almost exactly like with original SARS -CoV-1 in the 2000s: the discrimination, the global panic, and the denial of how serious it was. Facts are it spread and made it out to major travel hubs, but killed too effectively and wasn't able to become endemic globally to trigger lockdowns and mass quarantine. By then for places that were the hardest hit, it was too late for a lot of people. No vaccines, no proven antivirals, just fear and constant news about new cases, how it chewed through medical staff trying to treat and comfort patients.

All the anxiety after about swine and avian influenzas, foot and mouth, MERS, and other zoonotic diseases was because of that wake up about the speed of transmission and global health infrastructure that was used to localized outbreaks not being up to the task. There was even the whole spike in zombie and epidemic media that happened at the time which continued long after the pandemic ended in 2004.

For the last 20+ years since, places like Hong Kong and other major Asian population centers at least seasonally update if there's a change in the varieties of flu and other respiratory infections. The reason so many Asian countries have an established custom of masking is because they've been expecting potential pandemics and epidemics ever since and they never stopped cropping up. The dissonance was real because we watched it happen, and when most of the pandemics failed to really interfere or touch most people's lives outside of the outbreak centers it was compartmentalized away as some faraway, abstract problem for someone else.

The difference between flying out to HK before and after SARS was night and day. We had expected in 2004 to need masks on hand in case we needed them when we got there or worst case on the plane, there was still a soft one week isolation for travelers or if we caught something while in transit. Hand sanitizer was a travel-sized novelty we fit in our liquids bags for a two to three month trip because it was suggested on the advisory, no one was constantly masked or doing hand hygiene, everything else was same old. The culture shock started when people just silently started putting on masks before lining up at the gate to board; kids, adults, and seniors with whatever they could get from woodworking and dust masks to N95s and they stayed on except for food until we got to where we were staying.

When we got there all high traffic surfaces were plastic wrapped and/or disinfected like clockwork; personnel was always masked or shielded; a sneeze or a cough would draw a crowded queue's attention; while mandatory infrared cameras and thermometers were something you just had to get used especially at customs and crossings. Minimal pandemic awareness was cranked to "this is how things are for the foreseeable future," and it stayed that way for more than a decade. The reason why I remember it so vividly is because living in that environment even for a few months at a time was a constant awareness and jarring reminders that this could happen anywhere, in parallel to returning home and getting temporal whiplash to a time before the need for any of it.

COVID is not done with us, directly or indirectly, and the trauma will keep seeping out in new and unforeseen places because people want to forget. The privileged ignorance of not being affected is dead while the denialism is absolutely about trying to claw back the appearance of that bubble of security. Abandonment for political and economic convenience is the tip of what we've lost in people, time, and mental space/distance from it as an ongoing and present situation informing how we live.

I guess all that to say, keep talking about it and remember how we got here. At the personal level it's at least a step towards processing and understanding where we are.

it's practically taboo to still talk about covid but god i wish we could acknowledge the worldwide trauma it's clearly still causing in people. like, it's flat out just. not "polite" to talk about how a mass deadly event might, JUST MIGHT, emotionally affect us a little bit. how an airborne invisible-to-the-eye thing can just BE anywhere now. how abandoned we still feel by our respective governments. how we've lost family, friends, either to death or misinformation and cults, which they cling to because they're ALSO afraid but often refuse to admit it because it'd mean admitting covid is real and ongoing. we just. can't talk about it i guess.

#SARS #sars cov 2 #endemic #pandemic #trauma #mental health #memory #denialism #covid 19

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jordanandegypt · 3 months ago

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Besaw Island

October 3, 2024

We are home, still feeling the joy of travel - but tired - real tired. Our suitcases are empty and after 4 loads of laundry every single item we hauled around - or purchased - is clean, folded, but not yet put away. 🥴. I’m not going to lie about this - I greatly prefer my laundry set up here over my hand wash in the sink or tub. (I’m such a spoiled brat!) My brand new formerly white gym shoes are thumping around in the washing machine right now. Temps are in the high 60s and it feels WONDERFUL! I have a scarf draped around my shoulders and it is perfect.

We left our hotel in Cairo yesterday at midnight, for a 3:00 AM three hour flight to Paris. We had an almost 4 hours layover - but frankly you need about 3 hours to negotiate that crazy airport. Our flight home was just under 8 hours and was flawless. We have 7 hours to flip to get back to “our time” and Mark went to bed at 6:00 PM last night, but I made it until 9:00. It is now 4:00 AM Eastern time and I’m on my second cup tea and Mark has been up for a couple of hours. It will take a couple days…

As I feared, I fell far behind on my blog - but I will complete it in the next couple of days. Let me take you back to Wednesday, September 25, 2024. We were on our beautiful dahabiya gently floating down the beautiful Nile.

We were already underway during breakfast this morning heading to Besaw Island for something OAT calls “A Day in the Life.” This activity takes us into the life of a family, neighborhood or community in the region we are visiting and gives us better understanding into the lives of the people. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this day!!! In the past we have spent the day with a sheep farmer in Argentina, a nomad in the Sarah Desert in Morocco, a dairy farmer in Sicily, a farmer who runs a huge ranch for bulls for bull fights in Spain and many other amazing activities. We usually meet the family, explore the farm/region/island and then enjoy a local lunch, very often that we have helped to prepare. Our hosts are ambassadors for their countries because making friends from strangers is a wonderful joint adventure and surely beneficial to all.

Ayman had written our name is Arabic and in preparation for our trip we pinned them on your shirts.

This says Gayl and I can’t find Mark’s name tag…🤬

Sayed, our host for the day, arrived via a small motorized, boat- name tag in place. That boat would be our transportation to the island.

Once we stepped off the boat and onto the island, Sayed walked us around his village. They do not have a Dr or a clinic on the island and have never had a covid case. The government made the vaccine mandatory and each house has the covid vaccine mark on it.

Each house now has water and sewer - but that is new and people are frustrated that they have to pay for it. Water used to be drawn from a pump put in by the United Nations in 1923.

First stop - bread making.

The bread is called sun bread. It is a sour dough bread made with sour dough starter, flour and water. NO ONE would think of eating bread that was made yesterday so this baking happens every morning. The ball of dough is placed on the little “plate” and set out in the sun to raise. Then it is brought into the oven to await baking. It is flipped gently from the “plate” to the hand then onto the bread “shovel” to be placed in the oven.

“The bread raising plate”: The island residents raise chickens and sell eggs. When the cardboard egg cartons wear out - they are torn into pieces, cooked with water until it is a mush - then patted into cake pans. After they dry in the sun - they become these great little plates. LOVE IT.

The ladies baking the bread were all good sports and we laughed together at our inability to do with ease something they have done everyday of their lives. This bread will appear on our lunch table. They know some English (probably much more than they let on) and we know almost NO Arabic - but we do know “shokran” with means “thank you.” Despite the language problem - we got along just great!

While the bread baked some children joined us and taught us some games.

Sayed, who is 40 years old, told us about life on Besaw. Until the construction of the Aswan High Dam in 1970, the island flooded annually. The village didn’t exist because the water covering the island would have been about two feet high. Before that, farmers came each year after the floodwaters receded, living in tents. So the entire village, and all the villages on the island, only sprang up after 1970. The floods still come, but only high enough to cover the fields along the shore, bringing nutrients that feed the soil.

Sayed spoke no English before 2018. In that year, a friend of his who lives in Cairo and worked with OAT contacted him and asked him if he would be interested in becoming a sort of local ambassador for OAT. He has since taught himself English, watching movies and videos, and his facility with the language was impressive.

As we toured the village we saw a group of men harvesting dates. Do you see the little piece of white in the top of the middle tree? That is the harvester.

He climbs up the tree, machete in hand and cuts the cluster of dates that fall to the ground.

The men seated below pull the dates from the stems. Each of these men are climbers and harvesters. They wear no shoes or safety equipment.

Of course we tasted the dates and they were fabulous. No pesticides ever. Sayed was very adamant about that!

Here is our group with these hard working men

On the island they grow dates, bananas and mangos (currently not is season). They grow most of the vegetables and meat they eat on the island. The rest they sell to the cruising ships or at the market on the mainland.

I was fascinated by the bananas. Check out the size of the banana flower.

We learned that a banana plant has one bunch of bananas. After the bunch is picked it is chopped to about 5 feet. There will be 2 “suckers” at that time - a small one (I’m going to call it the grandhchild) and a medium sized one. (I’m going to call it the parent). The plant that has just grown the banana bunch I’ll call grandparent. When grandparent is chopped down it continues to feed the parent and grandchild. The parent grows large and another bunch of bananas is ready for harvest every 45 days. The grandparent is also feeding the grandchild - but when the grandchild is ready to have its own bunch - the grandparent is cut to the ground. And the beat goes on.

Sayed is standing by the “grandparent” but do you see the “parent” growing right in front?

We arrived near the school just a lunch time when the kids were out of class and sharing their lunch. Check out the “lunch cafeteria”

After their lunch break, we were invited in to see their school. The children stay on the island for elementary and middle school. High school requires a trip across the river. Many boys go to HS - very few girls do. We could not take photos inside the school. The principal is standing in the entrance behind the girls.

The school had four classes and 4 teachers - all men - within one large room. Grades K-1, 2-3, 4-5, 6-8

The children were sitting in two rows with 2 people per desk - boys and girls in separate rows. I asked about the fact that there are all men teachers - but Sayed explained that the government assigns teachers to different schools yearly and since this school is reached with a boat it would be a hardship of women - especially those married with children to add the additional commute time. Ok - I buy that (almost). When ever we travel - especially to rural areas children are anxious to speak English to us.

English and Arabic are taught from grade 1. Ayeman told us that learning to speak English can change your life.

There is a sense of community here that is strong. We have seen it everywhere in the rural communities. I believe that most people on this island are related. Girls will marry someone who lives on the island. The boys - especially those that go to high school may expand the gene pool - but for the most part everyone is related.

When we arrived at Sayed’s home we were greeted with lots of people - all family members. We were given the choice of welcome drinks, tea with mint, hibiscus juice or hibiscus tea. We were asked to into their home and sit down for a chat.

They introduced themselves and asked us to do the same while we passed a map of the US around. When we were done Sayed, his wife and daughter and sister-in-law reintroduced themselve while holding the map. Sayed’s daughter -age 16 - said - I’m from Texas and I like cowboy boots. Sayed’s was most interesting as he said, I am from Georgia and I love your president Jimmy Carter. He had lots to explain to use about why. Jimmy Carter had brokered peace between Israel and Egypt to begin with. Then we he was no longer president he went on to do wonderful things around the world and he named many - like monitoring elections and helping to control waterborne illnesses like guinea worm. Did you know that that horrible disease has almost eradicated? Only 4 cases have been reported in 2024. THIS IS A HUGE IMPROVEMENT IN PEOPLE’S LIVES.

We asked him how much he was following the US Presidential election and looked at us like we were nuts. "EVERYONE in the world follows your elections." The United States has the potential to do great good or great harm for the whole world, he told us. He is praying everyday that Kamala Harris is our next president. A cheer went up from the others in the room.

People paint their houses with their dreams. Sayed’s dream is to fly to Mecca for the Haj one day.

The village owns a bunch of cows and water buffalos. The cows spread out on this island and a small island nearby. They return twice a day to be milked. Sayed’s brother Mufassa, clicked his tongue and made some gentle hand motion but when they saw us - they turned away. Sayed’s said that the vet wears the same kind of clothes as were wearing - so the water buffaloes figured we were vets and they were like “no thanks”. Their dairy products are from their cow and water buffalo milk.

They served us a wonderful lunch then it was time to go.

By the time we left the village, took our little boat back to our boat, I was whipped. We were going to take a little hike to a quarry but I bowed out and took a nap.

After dinner we watched a documentary about the Rosetta Stone. Loved it.

Tomorrow will be another busy day

Salam

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satyamprimarycare · 7 months ago

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Choosing the Right Immigration Medical Doctor in Raleigh: Your Essential Guide

When navigating the complex process of immigration, obtaining a thorough and accurate medical examination is a crucial step. If you are seeking an immigration medical doctor in Raleigh, this guide will help you understand the importance of the medical exam, what to expect, and how to choose the right provider for your needs.

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Conclusion

Choosing the right immigration medical doctor in Raleigh is a crucial step in your immigration journey. By verifying credentials, checking experience, reading reviews, evaluating convenience, and ensuring effective communication, you can find a trusted doctor who will help you navigate the process smoothly. With proper preparation, you can confidently approach your immigration medical exam and move one step closer to achieving your immigration goals. Whether you're new to Raleigh or a long-time resident, finding a reliable immigration medical doctor will provide peace of mind and ensure that your medical examination meets all necessary requirements.

Meet us at Satyam Primary Care to get the best service for your immigration process. Our team of experienced professionals is dedicated to providing comprehensive support every step of the way. From securing appointments with USCIS-approved civil surgeons to ensuring all your documentation is accurate and complete, we prioritize your needs and strive to make your immigration journey as smooth and stress-free as possible. Trust us to deliver personalized and efficient service that addresses all aspects of your immigration medical exam, helping you move closer to achieving your goals.

#best primary care physician in raleigh #immigration medical doctor in raleigh #best women's health doctor in raleigh

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globalpetcabservices · 8 months ago

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Traveling with Pets: Best Pet Transportation Services Reviewed

Introduction

When it comes to moving our beloved pets, whether across the city or across the globe, the process can be as nerve-wracking for us as it is for them. Choosing the best pet transportation services ensures that your pet travels comfortably, safely, and stress-free. In this blog, we will explore the various services offered by Global Pet Cab, a leader in pet transportation, and guide you on how to select the perfect service for your pet's needs.

Understanding Pet Transportation Services

Pet transportation services cater to the needs of pet owners who require assistance in relocating their pets. This can include everything from domestic moves to international relocations. Services typically include:

International Pet Transportation: Moving pets across countries, involving complex processes such as health certifications, customs clearances, and adherence to international pet transport regulations.

Domestic Pet Transportation: Services designed for national travel, ensuring your pet's comfort and safety over shorter distances within the same country.

Pet Taxi Services: Ideal for local travel, such as visits to the veterinarian, groomer, or any other location within your city.

Choosing the Best Pet Transportation Services

Selecting the best Pet Transportation service for your pet involves understanding their specific needs, the distances they will travel, and the logistics involved. Here are some tips to ensure you choose wisely:

Assess Your Needs: Determine if your pet needs domestic or international transport. Consider the duration of the journey and the comfort level required for your pet.

Research and Reviews: Look for service providers with excellent reviews and transparent practices. Companies like Global Pet Cab that specialize in various types of pet transportation can offer tailored services based on your needs.

Compliance and Certification: Ensure that the service provider follows animal welfare laws and holds valid certifications. This is crucial for international pet transport, where legal compliance is not just important but mandatory.

Preparation and Process: Understand the process involved. A good service provider will guide you through the necessary preparations, including health checks, vaccinations, and travel crates.

Highlight on International Pet Transport and Costs

When transporting pets internationally, understanding the cost involved is crucial. These costs can vary widely depending on the destination, the size of the pet, and the specific requirements of the destination country. Services like those offered by Global Pet Cab include detailed breakdowns of international pet transport costs, ensuring there are no surprises along the way.

Success Stories of Pet Relocation

Hearing about successful pet relocations can ease your mind. Global Pet Cab prides itself on countless happy clients who have safely relocated their pets across borders. Each story highlights the attention to detail and personalized care that go into every pet's journey.

FAQs in Pet Transportation

What documents are needed for international pet transport?

How should I prepare my pet for travel?

What are the typical costs involved in domestic vs. international pet transport?

How do I ensure my pet's comfort during the journey?

Conclusion

Choosing the right pet transportation service doesn't have to be daunting. With Global Pet Cab, you can rest assured that your pet is in good hands, whether traveling across the country or around the world. Embrace the journey ahead with confidence, knowing your pet's comfort and safety are our top priorities.

#pet transport services #international pet transportation #pet relocation services

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tri-nationsmigration · 2 years ago

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A Step-by-step Information To The Brand New Zealand Visa Application

A visa application must be submitted previous to travelling to South Africa. Start by choosing the visa possibility that the majority suits the explanation on your go to after which submit a visa application to our staff of immigration attorneys to process. New Zealand immigration recommendation cannot be provided without a licence, which includes advising an individual on visa options or how best to fill out an software form. Exempt individuals embrace present New Zealand legal professionals and Immigration New Zealand workers. The firm focus is on residence, investor and entrepreneur visa applications as nicely as the compilation and submission of major appeals when required.

Overseas college students have to have a pupil visa and an affordable stage of cash to spend in order to undertake a course of study at a New Zealand based instructional establishment. New Zealand instructional institutions will inform the appropriate immigration authorities if a pupil ceases to attend their enrolled programs, who may then suspend or cancel that scholar new zealand immigration from south africa's visa. Educational institutions typically additionally trade this enrollment and attendance information electronically with different authorities companies responsible for providing scholar assistance. Currently, South African passport holders do not need to apply for a customer visa before travelling to New Zealand, with genuine visitors being granted a visitor visa on arrival.

Catriona Robinson mentioned she is confident that INZ is properly placed to extend its onshore processing capability. However, Robinson stated that these offices have been closed since March 2020 and with no certainty about when visa volumes may return to normal, INZ has needed to make some tough decisions. "The girl had started making some good progress in New Zealand, and from what I understand, the South African system sees disabled individuals as a burden on society and wants immigration to new zealand from south africa to maneuver them out of the method in which." A South African crew visa may be issued to a member of the crew of any transport conveyance. A South African treaty visa gives foreigners permission to enter South Africa to participate in programmes which have been agreed upon by South Africa and their respective international locations. Further to this, ANZSCO sets out the tasks that visa candidates should be succesful of perform as part of their on an everyday basis duties.

To talk and write, all you need is a primary understanding of English. Also, you must be acquainted with the tradition and legal guidelines of the nation earlier than you migrate. The social and cultural expectations of New Zealand and South Africa are utterly different. Consequently, you must plan and make sensible decisions regarding your way of life within the new surroundings. Only college students who have received a suggestion of admission are granted a scholar visa. The INZ recognizes that totally different cultures could have totally different ideas of what constitutes a relationship.

The laws units out examples of the forms of companies that can fall under every of the licence categories. Children travelling alone, or in a unique cabin class to their parents new zealand immigration, are thought of Unaccompanied Minors and pay the total adult fare. If you are paying or receiving child maintenance monies, you should update your private information.

Anyone considering moving to Australia ought to contact Network Migration. Currently, people from SA do not want to use for a visitor visa earlier than travelling to New Zealand, with genuine guests being granted a customer visa on arrival. There is a major quantity of vet visits to get all the mandatory paperwork and vaccines. It can immigration new zealand visa be important that the proper vaccines and certificates are carried out. At PETport we are going to facilitate this course of with our confirmed community of veterinary professionals. If you do not meet a number of the necessities it can lead to a 180-day quarantine interval or worse even returning the pet to South Africa.

Also, keep in mind that it is an offence for anybody other than a lawyer or a registered immigration advisor or Immigration New Zealand, to give immigration recommendation. So, we now have been careful to assist with the links to the relevant websites only, and solely used data available on the official websites. If you've a smartphone remember some airlines require all cell phones immigration new zealand have to be switched off throughout then flight including those telephones with ’in-flight’ mode or the ability to change the network connection off. Check along with your airline/s as to what their policy relating to good telephones is earlier than you rely on your cellphone on your leisure.

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1ddotdhq · 4 years ago

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👱🏻‍♀️Thurs 12 Nov ‘20🎸

Niall and Ashe’s performance on yesterday’s Late Late Show was, of course, gorgeous! No other songs, unfortunately, but the interview did give Niall a chance to run through all of his RAH talking points again, as well as describing the odd circumstances that had brought him and Ashe together. Ashe said they instantly felt like old friends, and then they compared the situation to a reality dating show, cue awkward chuckling all around. Oddly enough, I almost think they had more chemistry through zoom than they do irl, sigh. Guess it's all right we can’t all meet our online friends: sometimes distance truly does make the heart grow fonder! In what could perhaps be called the end of the HBW era, Niall has changed his twitter layout to pictures of himself during the RAH show. The question now becomes: is this just the end of an era, or the beginning of a new one as well? He's been clear that NH3 won't happen until the circumstances of the world change (change back?) so what would that mean? Anne-Marie, who was working with him earlier this month, said that they wrote three “brilliant” songs in the studio that day (she was like “wow, you’re actually talented” when Niall began showing off his instrumental prowess). Niall + blond female collaborator/promo tour BFF has proved to be a winning formula many times over now, perhaps we can mark time in these uncertain months by how many of these collabs we see from Niall! He is also donating a signed guitar to Wishio (an app that connects celebrities with causes) to raise more money for We Need Crew. I wonder if this guitar will sell for more or less than the $28k Harry's did, do you think, and will this one actually sell to a fan? Whatever it goes for will just be the icing on top of the over ￡2 million the RAH show ended up bringing in for the cause.

Speaking of $28k guitars and the people who signed them, we learned a bit more about H’s project with Gucci: it’s a seven episode mini-series that follows the character of Silvia (presumably Not Harry) through her “eccentric morning routine” in her home in Rome before “the arrival of an unexpected visitor”, who seems to work some kind of magic, and her day becomes a surrealist experience in a Gucci-filled reality. The titles of some of these episodes are “The Theatre”, “In the Cafe” and “The Neighbours”, none of which sound very COVID-friendly to me, but at least there is one called “At Home”. The series, which will be streamed online from the 16th to the 22nd (which, holy shit, that’s next week, how are we not still in July?), and is called “Ouverture of Something That Never Ended”, which would be a stunning alternative title to Fine Line, tbh. It is unclear which exact episodes Harry will appear in, or who will be playing the part of Silvia, but I have created a Gucci account to receive regular updates on this thing (the things I do…) so you will all know when I do! Harry has also been nominated for, uh, EVERY category of J-14′s 2020 Teen Icon Awards, Niall is in almost as many, and Liam and Louis and Zayn are each in one. Gotta say, I think J-14 is a bit obsessed. It’s okay, love, we’ve all been there.

Abby Roberts, the Spooky Makeup Queen, put up a ‘Day in the Life’ video on YouTube with some fun bloopers and behind the scenes from the LP show, which means we got to relive the moment where Liam admitted that Louis dared him to pull Harry’s pants down, and the Tik Tok live, which broke several times, because it’s not a 1D event without the full array of technical difficulties. Liam continued his celebration of the armed forces today with a one on one golfing outing with ex special forces/current TV personality Jason Carl Fox. The picture is of them standing around, and WHOA Liam’s beard is REALLY growing (uh, pun not intended, but please feel free to take it that way). Is this a picture evidence of a flagrant disregard for the UK’s lockdown? Uh, it appears to be, yes, but I’m happy to see Liam happy, at any rate. And, in true supportive Liam fashion, Liam sent out an email reminding people that Tom Felton will be doing a Veeps “19 years later” watch-along at 12 PT, ft. Willow, Tom’s dog. Liam asks us, “I’ll be watching along, will you?”

#niall horan #harry styles #liam payne #and zouis is MIA #i mean technically H is too but y'all know what i mean #also i want to clarify something really quickly re: the Ticketmaster thing from yesterday #the part that i was uncomfortable with was not the 'mandatory vaccine' bit #though i would love the reassurance that the vaccine is safe and has gone through the rigorous and necessary trials #before they are distributed #BUT i understand the need for a mandatory vaccine #I even understand the need for a national record of who has been vaccinated and who has not #but what i am DEFINITELY uncomfortable with is that my medical records would/could be given to a third party private for profit corporation #and then to Ticketmaster which is ANOTHER private for profit corporation #that just seems like it could cause a massive problem if someone were to say...hack the system #and steal the data #and think of the data mining!#it just all seems like it hasnt been thought out with consumer privacy in mind #BUT i am very very very pro-vax #vaccinate urself vaccinate ur kids please and thank you #anyways!#song of the day!#So It Goes by Billy Joel #which is a reference to Slaughterhouse Five which I really really love!!#but also the song is sad and sweet and i knew it complete etc.

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mcyt-peach · 3 years ago

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Could I pls request mcyt x reader with needle phobia? Just loads of comfort when they have to go gey a vaccine bc panic attack ect and maybe more comfort afterwards bc next few days of side effects am I right... they/them pronouns pls and I'd love it if u could do wilbur and ranboo as well as any others u want

Tysm

mcyt with an s/o who's afraid of needles

⋆｡˚ summary: today you're getting a shot, so you bring along someone to comfort you through one of your worst fears

⋆｡˚ including: cc!wilbur, cc!george, cc!niki and cc!punz

⋆｡˚ warnings: needles, injections, reader uses she/her pronouns, brief mentions of panic attacks and crying

⋆｡˚ note: I know when you requested this I had Ranboo on my "will write for" list but I was recently updated on his boundaries so he isn't included, sorry :( let me know if you want anyone else added

Wilbur

he is unbelievably understanding of your fears

some people think certain phobias are silly, but Wilbur does the best job of simultaneously calming you down while making sure you feel validated for your feelings

Wilbur’s no stranger to mental health issues and has many coping mechanisms that he’ll go over with you before you even see the doctor

he makes sure you breathe out when you get the shot, so your muscles relax and the injection causes less damage

when the doctor leaves the room and the two of you have some time to yourselves, he runs through your checklist

“Y/n, darling, can you tell me five things you can see?”

he keeps his voice calm, so you can unconsciously follow his breathing pattern

“That’s great love. What about four things you can touch?”

he’s so, so encouraging to you, just working on calming you down and showing you that you’re ok no matter your worry

George

George may not be the most understanding about why you’re afraid of needles, but he knows everyone has their own worries

but if we’re being honest, George was definitely the type of kid to get scared of the doctors office

so while he might have grown out of his fear, he knows that support is what will help you most

he’s mostly a quiet supporter, just sitting by you and letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you need, not complaining even when it feels like you’re breaking his hand

at home, he feels much more confident about taking care of you

all the words he felt embarrassed to say in public come flooding out, albeit in a gentle, soothing tone

“You did so well, my love. M’so proud of you. You we’re so brave.”

he’ll have you lie down on top of him on the couch, keeping your arm from getting pushed into the cushions

sporadic forehead kisses and soft massages to relax your muscles are just what you need after a stressful day, and George is more than happy to deliver that

Niki

you couldn’t imagine anyone better to help comfort you

Niki just wants to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible before, during and after the shot

as someone who cries when stressed, Niki is totally considerate if you freak out while getting the shot

she’ll sit with you in the car afterwards, not passing any judgement, just letting you get all the stress out that you’ve been bottling up

fluffy activities are mandatory for the rest of the day

she basically barcades you and her in bed, insisting on taking care of you for the rest of the day

but not before she brings the cats into the room of course

“Y/nnn, you’ve got some cute little visitors who want to cheer you up!”

she’ll load up one of your favorite comfort movies on her laptop and crawl into bed with you for a movie night

she knows that it won’t make all the stress of the day disappear, but you best believe she’s gonna get at least one smile out of you before the day ends

Punz

Punz may talk a lot of smack, but he really truly hates seeing you in pain

so, even if he’s not perfect at comforting you in the moment, he’ll try his best

he’ll let you curl up into his arm while the injection’s being prepared and your arm is being sanitized

he’d totally stare down the doctor giving you a shot

like he doesn’t even mean to, he just gets overprotective seeing someone cause you pain

if you get any weird looks for your reaction, he’s calmly quieting you and then sending an even harsher death stare their way

he all but tells the doctor to beat it after the shot and lets you cry into his shoulder and won’t let you leave the room until you feel better

when you get home, he’ll dress you up in something big and soft, so the fabric won’t bother the injection site

sure there’s a chance you’ll see the bandaid and spiral again, but he does a good job of keeping you grounded while you’re changing

“Baby, arms up. No, no, don’t look at it. Just let me take care of you.”

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yellowocaballero · 3 years ago

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Obi-Wan’s a teen dad and Anakin DESPERATELY wants to do crime

A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.

It hadn’t been Obi-Wan’s intention to spend a week lying in bed - or, at times, lying on the living room floor. Or staring blankly at the stove, or holding a toothbrush as he forgot what he was supposed to do with it. It had been his intention to handle the new...arrangements. Put on a brave face. Take care of business. There was so much to do, and Obi-Wan really did want to do it. But he stood in front of the stove staring at its knobs instead, lost.

Anakin had been a good sport about it, at least. He figured out alarmingly quickly how to work the stove and fry up the sliced fruit in their cupboards. Anakin didn’t understand that you didn’t fry fruit, but Obi-Wan ate it with little complaint. He put food in front of Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan ate it. When Anakin asked him, somewhat fearfully, how to use the shower, Obi-Wan showed him and then took one himself. After the third day he left the living quarters semi-frequently, which would have been worrying if Obi-Wan cared.

Obi-Wan’s depressed, grieving, and has an inferiority complex the size of an Alderaanian mountain. Anakin doesn’t know what’s happening, but he does know that the power grid failure was not his fault. Can Obi-Wan ever be a true Jedi and a competent master? Or is his backstory, as told by the Jedi Apprentice novels, too fucking weird?

Rest under the cut.

A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.

On day six, Obi-Wan worked up the energy to turn on his datapad, and was promptly bombarded with messages. They scrolled down the screen, a new one popping up every second.

A lot of them were from his automated specialized education classes. Obi-Wan had finished the required padawan courses when he was sixteen, breezing through each course at his own pace virtually during downtime in transit and on missions. He had signed up for some Knight-level specialized education courses afterwards, loading as many on his plate as he could and managing special permission to complete them all virtually too. Apparently, he had a great deal of assignments due.

Many messages from the Temple administration. Notification for mandatory forms to complete for requisitions, medical care...reports on the Naboo mission...a mountain of forms to complete for the promotion...a mountain of forms for the new padawan...a mountain of forms for processing Qui-gon’s death.

Messages from his friends. How are you doing, Obi-Wan? Are you okay, Obi-Wan? Can we come over and talk, Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, you stupid bastard, how dare you fight a Sith without me?

Disturbingly, even the master of mission assignments had messaged him. Xe wanted to know if Obi-Wan was going to file for extended reprieve from missions to train his underage padawan in the Temple, or if he wanted to continue taking missions. Decide quickly, Knight Kenobi. Xe are willing to grant three years of light to no missions to help ‘facilitate Padawan Skywalker’s integration into the Jedi’.

The thought made Obi-Wan dizzy. No missions for years? He and Qui-Gon had barely gone weeks without a mission. But Obi-Wan had been thirteen, and Qui-Gon had a particular talent of taking an assignment to mediate standard legislative disputes and turn it into a three month embroilment in an endangered animal trafficking scheme. Staying stuck in the Temple for that amount of time made his skin crawl. Staying at home in the Temple so Anakin could integrate into the Jedi, become the Jedi he dreamed of...

Obi-Wan turned off the pad and tossed it across the room, letting it land on Qui-gon’s private meditation mat. Somehow, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Five hours later, Obi-Wan dragged himself out of Qui-gon’s room to find Anakin lying on the floor with what looked like an entire droid disassembled over the carpet. He was kicking his feet in the air, lying on his stomach, stripping some frayed wire.

Obi-Wan stared at him blankly, forms dancing behind his eyes. Anakin needed clothing. They had already processed him through his vaccinations - thank hell - and prescribed him some antibiotics for his multitude of intestinal parasites, but there was no way he was taking the pills. He needed to teach him how to braid the padawan braid. He needed to get them some food for the cabinets. He needed to…

“Are you hungry?” Obi-Wan rasped. His hair felt disgusting.

Anakin’s head snapped up, eyes widening. He scrambled off the rug, brushing a suspicious amount of dirt off his knees. “Yeah! I’ll make us that green thing!”

He shouldn’t let the nine year old work the stove. But Obi-Wan let him anyway, as he managed to somehow dump water in the kettle and place it on the stove, standing beside Anakin and waiting for it to whistle.

I must be doing very well, Obi-Wan thought hysterically, as he stared at the old-fashioned durasteel kettle that Qui-gon had favored. He was releasing his emotions into the Force with perfection. He wasn’t feeling anything at all. He wasn’t thinking about Qui-gon. He wasn’t thinking about anything at all. His mind was clear and empty, and he was perfectly at peace.

Obi-Wan tried to pour his tea, but he just couldn’t move. He stood and stared at the kettle for so long that Anakin eventually walked in and, straining on his tiptoes, sloshed the steaming water into the plastic white cup.

***

On day seven, Obi-Wan managed to wrangle both himself and Anakin into some semblance of hygiene and clean clothes. Anakin needed a lot of help, which clearly embarrassed him, but Obi-Wan was too dead inside to be frustrated about it.

He ended up tying his obi for him, as Anakin wriggled and tried to turn around to see it on the back. He’d have to show him how to do it himself later, but that was for later.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Anakin whined. “It’s so heavy.”

“I’ll see if I can requisition you an outfit with less layers,” Obi-Wan said. A lighter outfit wouldn’t cut it, as Anakin had ramped up the temperature controls in their quarters a week ago and the rooms haven’t dipped below boiling ever since. “Hold still. Hold - hold still, please.”

“What does requisition mean?”

Anakin held still eventually. He managed to untie the obi in the first ten minutes, but Obi-Wan really couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Then they had to worry about brushing their teeth, and Obi-Wan had to teach him how to do that, and why was this so hard, why was everything so hard -

But when Obi-Wan eventually got them both out the door, he found no relief.The Temple felt different. Obi-Wan didn’t know how; just that it did. It was identical in every worldly way, yet mismatched in the Force. As if it was a different Temple, a pale echo from another dimension, that was the home of a different Obi-Wan. Or maybe Obi-Wan was different: maybe his Force signature was so warped and polluted that he tainted everywhere he went.

They were all parts of the great whole of the Force. The Force was composed of every Jedi, every sentient being and eddy of wind. There were tens of thousands of Jedi in this Temple - how could the death of one man change it so thoroughly? Or had it just changed Obi-Wan?

Somewhat suspiciously, Anakin seemed to know the way out of the dormitories and into the main thoroughfare of the building. Obi-Wan kept a death grip on his little hand the entire time, slowing his steps so Anakin could keep up without having to jog. It didn’t stop him from trying to run forward every few steps, only for Obi-Wan to gently tug him back.

“You weren’t supposed to run around the Temple by yourself,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Anakin grinned sheepishly, in what Obi-Wan was already beginning to recognize as his ‘Busted!’ face.

“Why not?”

“You could have gotten lost.”

“I did get lost,” Anakin said proudly. “But then I found a secret service tunnel for the droids and I crawled through it and I found a server room and -” He stopped abruptly. “But that was way after the power outage yesterday. That I had nothing to do with.”

Obi-Wan...should probably care about this.

He didn’t. He was too busy releasing his emotions into the Force, and returning his dark thoughts to the Force, and maintaining complete control over his body and spirit. There was no room in that for caring about Anakin, maybe, destroying the Temple.

Wasn’t he a teacher? Shouldn’t he be teaching?

“First rule of being a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted, “learn to lie.”

There. That was a lesson. Qui-gon had said the same thing to him when he was fourteen. Obi-Wan was doing great at this. Anakin beamed and made a weird motion with his hand, clenching it into a fist and sticking his thumb out. Obi-Wan stared blankly at him until he put his hand down.

Maybe it was because Obi-Wan was releasing all of his feelings and thoughts into the Force so well, but he couldn’t help but feel a constant prickling at the back of his neck. It felt like everybody was looking at them. A group of gossiping knights downright stopped talking when they saw Obi-Wan and Anakin approaching, and they broke out into whispers when they left. Padawans and initiates openly stared. Masters were too polite to stare, but their interest clearly peaked in the Force.

By the time they got to the quartermaster’s and slid in line, Anakin was practically hiding behind Obi-Wan. Anakin had likely gone his entire life without anybody noticing him, blending into the background. Obi-Wan had learned almost a decade ago that it was a useful survival tactic for slaves. Although how he had ever done it, Obi-Wan would never know. The boy was a sun in the Force. Blinding and burnt, as broiling as the temperature he kept their quarters at.

“Oh my. Padawan Kenobi, is that you?” Meela, the Quartermaster’s knight assistant, stopped and stared at both of them. She was carrying a large box of fabrics, and all of the other Jedi waiting in line stopped talking to crane their heads and stare too. “Oh! It’s knight now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, before coughing. He hadn’t realized his voice was so hoarse - he hadn’t spoken to anybody but a nine year old in a week. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Meela.”

“Of course,” Meela said quickly. She was looking openly at Anakin, who was pointedly looking at Obi-Wan’s belt. “And you must be Anakin Skywalker! I had no idea you were so young. Is he even old enough to be a padawan, Knight Kenobi?”

“We determined that the creche wasn’t the best place for him.” Obi-Wan quickly grabbed his datapad, brought up the catalogue of items to requisition, and shoved it Anakin. “Pick out what we’re going to get. I’m certain you must be very busy, Knight Meela, so -”

“My, Padawan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan refrained from gritting his teeth, before rotating on his heel. He stuck his hands in his sleeves, bowing to the aged Togrutan Jedi behind him. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Master Hashi.”

“My condolences for your master’s death,” Master Hashi said sympathetically. His watery old blue eyes were large and perfectly pitying. “It must be so difficult for you. And taking on a padawan so soon after your knighthood, as well.”

“He’s with the Force now,” Obi-Wan said. Smiling. He was smiling. Turn it down. Just a gentle smile. Remember Rishi. “But I appreciate your condolences.”

As it turns out, half the line just needed to express condolences for Master Jinn’s death, how sad, how tragic, how avoidable. He was so young. Obi-Wan was practically sweating by the time they got to the quartermaster’s desk, at which point he was promptly told that he was missing three forms.

Obi-Wan stood in front of the quartermaster’s desk, gripping Anakin’s hand in his, trying not to unwind. “But I filled out the application on the portal -”

“Yes, but you need your knight’s identification code,” the Quartermaster said briskly. “You input your padawan code.”

“How do I find out my knight’s identification code?”

“It should be on your identification card, son.”

“I was only knighted a week ago.” They were staring. They were all staring - “They haven’t issued me a card yet.”

“I’ll refer you to my assistant, Knight Kenobi.”

Anakin tugged on Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “Are we not getting my new clothing?”

A horrible tremor rose in Obi-Wan’s chest: a choking, sinking feeling. It crawled up his throat, making his trachea burn and his head pound. It felt like a balloon expanding, splintering his chest cavity and threatening to crack him apart.

Everybody was watching. They could not see it. Think about Rishi. Do not let them see it.

After fifteen humiliating minutes sitting at a sympathetic Meela’s desk, Obi-Wan finally managed to secure them some clothes. Anakin also received the standard pack of Jedi personal items, including his own toiletries and datapad. They secured an identification code for Anakin and input him into the database, and gave him his own lanyard and set of cards. Older Jedi tended to keep them in a hidden pocket in their robes, but for obvious reasons they affixed them to the neck of younger children.

But, without the identification code and five hundred more hoops, Obi-Wan couldn’t request a new living quarters and new furniture. He thanked Meela for her time anyway, stopped Anakin from attempting to requisition a B900-A40 droid with HyperFlex specs, and escaped something as simple as the Quartermaster’s trying to avoid rattling apart.

Obi-Wan only exhaled when they were outside, looking at his datapad and marking off the first line. The to-do list scrolled down the screen, and onto another page. Anakin was already shifting from foot to foot, bored.

“One down,” Obi-Wan said. “Three more.”

“Do we have to?” Anakin whined. “Why were the other Jedi so mean?”

Obi-Wan stopped short. He looked down at Anakin, who was fiddling with his obi again. “Stop messing with that. And they weren’t being mean, Anakin, they were just concerned.”

But Anakin just wrinkled his nose. “They were being mean. They were making you feel bad.”

How had he even - “If you keep quiet through the errands, you can have some fruit for lunch at the commissary.”

“Wizard!”

****

It quickly became obvious that nobody approved of Obi-Wan and Anakin.

Whispers followed them everywhere. Masters, old friends of Qui-gon, subtly disapproved of his choices. Which was nothing new - Obi-Wan had silently suffered almost everybody in the Temple disapproving of Qui-gon to him for years - but somehow it made Obi-Wan want to tear his hair out. The knights - the other knights - expressed incredulity that somebody knighted that morning received a padawan that afternoon. The padawans refused to even talk to Anakin, and he very quickly stopped trying.

Obi-Wan’s own friends...he did not have many. He was never in the Temple long enough to significantly interact or make connections with any other padawans or knights. He was never home for longer than a few weeks, and if he was planetside for longer than a month then it was because Qui-gon was recuperating from getting blown up when Obi-Wan hijacked a pirate ship and crash landed it on a small moon.

He used to have friends. Bant and Garen and Reeft and Siri...but a small and horrible part of Obi-Wan hated talking to them. A conversation with them always felt like they were trying to communicate with an Obi-Wan who hadn’t existed for a very long time, crying out over an impassable canyon. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan had begun resenting people who saw through him.

Anakin was a stubborn and implacable kid, but he was very perceptive. He clung tighter and tighter to Obi-Wan’s robes the further they walked into the temple, and eventually Obi-Wan had to disentangle him and give him a quick talk about appropriate behavior. It was his tenth talk to Anakin about appropriate behavior - about everything from using utensils to washing his hair - but this was the first time he seemed to understand why.

“So they don’t like you if you don’t do all the dumb stuff they do?”

“It’s not dumb,” Obi-Wan hissed. “And keep your voice down, this is a library.”

Judging from Anakin’s impressed gawking, this was his first time in a library. He clearly didn’t understand why they were supposed to be quiet either, and Obi-Wan was beginning to understand that Anakin refused to do anything unless you gave him a reason.

Obi-Wan carefully placed him in a small chair in the children’s section, in front of a brightly colored plastic table. Some other initiates were sitting around coloring, or working their way through children’s books. Anakin squinted up at him judgmentally as Obi-Wan frantically grabbed the clunky and friendly library datapad and scrolled through the catalogue until he found a likely suspect. Bugs of Rainforest Planets, light on the words, perfect.

“Just stay here until I come back,” Obi-Wan whispered, after a hurried explanation of why they were quiet in libraries. “Don’t leave this chair. Please.”

“I want more fruit,” Anakin warned.

“You will have more fruit. Now please don’t move.”

This was not how you Jedi masters taught padawans. This was not how it was supposed to work. Obi-Wan was not doing this right. He was doing this terribly. And everybody knew, and everybody was judging him.

The children’s librarian was a kind, plump older Twi’lek with long silver lekku down to her waist. Madame Hallan had been a personal favorite of Obi-Wan’s when he was a youngling, and he knew that she still had a soft spot for him. She was probably the only librarian who didn’t explicitly distrust him.

He easily kidnapped her for a meeting - or, maybe, she took one look at his face and kidnapped him - and she shepherded him into her office. He had never been inside, and Obi-Wan felt weirdly on the other end of the fence of his childhood. It was bright and cheerful and had datapads scattered everywhere with tax forms.

“I understand you have a new padawan,” Madame Hallan said kindly. “I saw him reading. He seems like a wonderful boy.”

She and half the temple understood that he had a new padawan. “I need your help,” Obi-Wan said, excruciatingly impolitely. Since when was Obi-Wan impolite? Since when was he lost? “It’s Anakin - I need to enroll him for lessons and I need some introductory literature for him and -”

“Dear, you’ll want to talk to Master Ravenholme for that.” Master Ravenholme was the Master of Education, and personal blight of many. “He’ll likely ask Anakin to take a placement test to determine which classes he joins.”

“Anakin can’t take a placement test,” Obi-Wan said. “He can’t read.”

To Madame Hallan’s credit, and raising a lot of questions about what exactly the other Jedi knew about Anakin, she accepted the information with a thoughtful look and a nod. “Does he know his letters and some words, or is it total illiteracy?”

Obi-Wan scrubbed his face. He was perched in the uncomfortable metal chair across from her desk, elbows propped on his knees. “It’s sporadic. He’s not totally illiterate, and I think he can read mechanical instruction manuals and labels and signs and that sort of thing...if it has to do with starfighters, he can write the instruction manual...I don’t know, I haven’t checked, but I can’t send him to class like this…”

“Calm yourself, Obi-Wan. Release that tension into the Force. Let’s take this one step at a time,” Madame Hallan said firmly, as Obi-Wan carefully breathed. “I will schedule a reading and writing assessment appointment for Anakin for an assessment. Knight Fu and Knight Kili are available to administer personal tutoring until we get him up to speed.” Fu and Kili were two teachers in the special education department, which was somewhat lean for children over the age of ten or so. Most of the ‘delayed’ children were quickly assigned to the Jedi Corp. Obi-Wan was highly educated on this, and shamefully bitter. “Now, doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Madame Hallen typed something out on her computer, making Obi-Wan’s datapad ping. “I’ve sent you a few of the handbooks that we give new knights and first-time teachers. Hopefully they’ll be of some use to you.” She smiled reassuringly at him, oozing serenity. “I think you will make a wonderful teacher, Obi-Wan. Our Temple’s never seen a young Jedi as dedicated and hardworking as you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I’m certain that once you and Anakin get settled in, no matter where he came from, he will make an excellent student. We’re all Jedi here, after all.”

Betting was not Jedi-like behavior, despite the fact that Obi-Wan was a world-class betting champion on three Outer Rim worlds (there had been a diamond heist), but Obi-Wan would bet five hundred credits right now that Anakin was not in the chair where he had left him.

In the end, Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised. Anakin, obviously, was not in the chair where Obi-Wan had left him, but he was within easy searching distance and hadn’t destroyed any droids yet. Instead, he had just meandered to the large picture encyclopedia propped up on a wooden stand, flipping through the flimsi with wide eyes.

Obi-Wan stood next to him, unable to smile but amused all the same. “Do you know what that is?”

Anakin nodded fervently. “It’s an encyclopedia! The padawan guy said it has pictures of every smart species in the galaxy.”

There were, of course, digital databases for these things, but kids loved flipping through things. “Sentient species. Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah!” Anakin lingered on a picture of a Togruta before flipping further at light speed. “The padawan guy said that Qui-gon was a ‘rogue Jedi’ and that he taught you how to do crime and conquer planets and backflip and stuff.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. “Please don’t listen to Temple gossip, Anakin. It’ll jump down Coruscant while the truth takes an airlift.”

“But you can do backflips, I saw it.” Anakin turned to look at him - eyes wide, unjudging. “What does ‘rogue Jedi’ mean?”

What did it mean? Obi-Wan had spent half his life wondering. “It means that Qui-gon and I had a lot of adventures,” Obi-Wan said tactfully. “My training was somewhat unconventional in comparison with many other Jedi.”

But Anakin just beamed. “That’s so cool! Is my training going to be uncon - unconvectional?”

“Unconventional.” Obi-Wan sighed. “And at this point, I’m afraid so.”

Was Anakin going to resent him for this once he grew older? He must. Anakin would never be a real Jedi, a proper one. Just like Obi-Wan wasn’t. And Obi-Wan had spent almost a decade now frantically, fervently, desperately trying. He had done everything: mastered the art of saber-fighting, excelled in as many topics as he could. He was an expert in diplomacy, politics, ecology, and tactics. Everybody who met Obi-Wan found him charming, graceful, and handsome - and nobody who ever met Obi-Wan liked him. He topped his classes, was better at saberplay than most knights, and had personally saved the lives of three princesses and a memorable duchess, and he couldn’t figure out how to be a Jedi.

Obi-Wan couldn’t teach what he didn’t have. And he would never be able to give -

“Cool! I want to backflip and conquer planets too.” Anakin grinned up at him, yellow teeth flashing in the soft library lights. “I already know how to do crime, I’m really good at it!”

“Jedi have diplomatic immunity, so technically I’ve never done a crime,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat testily.

“What’s diplomatic immunity?”

“Lesson number two, padawan, is that it means we can do whatever we want so long as we can justify it in the mission report.”

“Wizard!”

Maybe Obi-Wan should just never repeat anything Qui-gon had ever said to him. Ever.

In a roundabout act of bribery, Obi-Wan finally led Anakin towards the cafeteria. It wasn’t lunchtime, but few Jedi strictly followed the guidelines of breakfast, lunchtime, and dinnertime. This was mostly because the creche and Initiates did, and nobody wanted to be in the cafeteria while children were everywhere. Obi-Wan was somewhat infamous in certain circles for braving the cafeteria at 0500 hours, when the space was completely overtaken by retired and venerated Masters sipping tea and playing intense grudge matches of shogi. Obi-Wan had been forced into the matter by his habit of waking up at 0430, but the shogi skills he learned had once settled a trade negotiation between two tribal groups with an ancestral grudge on a Mid-Rim planet, so he had no regrets.

Anakin was practically crushing his hand in excitement. His head whipped around everywhere, eyes wide and drinking in the sublimely banal and boring sight. There was the salad bar, there was the meat bar, there was the drink fountain...but to Anakin, it was the most amazing thing on Coruscant. It almost made Obi-Wan smile. When was the last time he had that expression on his face? Even the beautiful spires of Naboo were commonplace to him.

“And they just -”

“Yes, they just give you the food.” Obi-Wan stopped in the center of the crowded thoroughfare - where, thankfully, everybody was far too focused on their meal or their friends to care about the Temple’s newest spectacle. “I’m sorry, Anakin. What do you...eat, again?”

Anakin suffered this atrocious act of caretaking patiently. What had he been eating until now? Just the self-stable noodles? Had he been handling boiling water?! “At home we ate jinjaraak and ekijun. People with money had fruit and stuff.” He looked around hopefully. “And they just give you fruit -”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said. He struggled to remember the food Shmi had served them. It had been mostly gruel. Obi-Wan had been around the block enough to see that she had been an adept cook of terrible ingredients. “Could you give me an idea of what those are?”

“Uh…” Anakin made little slapping motions with his hands. “Jinjaraak is from clay and lard and spices. I help Mom make little cakes. Like this, see?” At Obi-Wan’s dubious expression, he quickly clarified, “From the good clay. Near the dried up rivers. Not the bad clay. That stuff makes you sick. O’la’rek ate some of that and she got super sick and she barfed up blue -”

“Let’s get you some fruit,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin got as much fruit as he wanted. Obi-Wan was too busy thinking about what ‘good clay’ could possibly mean to stop him. He could take the extra back to their quarters, anyway.

There was a line for medical diets, and Obi-Wan eventually shuffled an ecstatic fruit-chomping Anakin into that line. He had to present the script the Halls of Healing gave him to the friendly yet belaboured Padawan working the booth that day, and waited patiently as the Padawan squinted at it and ran off to go get his supervisor. Anakin was in Rylothian Heaven, complete with the trees of plenty.

Eventually the supervisor shuffled out, and when Obi-Wan recognized Master Law he bowed. The gruff Patitite squinted at Obi-Wan, then down at the effervescent Anakin with jogan juice staining his sleeve. It was a good thing Obi-Wan thought ahead and ordered extra robes.

“Kenobi,” Master Law finally said, with an air of crisp memory. “Iron deficiency.”

“Yes, Master.” Please don’t remind him. “I’m here with a prescription for my -”

“And the Vitamin D deficiency. And malnutrition?” Master Law squinted further at Obi-Wan, as if half-convinced that he couldn’t possibly be remembering correctly. “I had you eating Lo’rok paste for a month.”

“Yes, Master. After I was stationed on Neskar.”

“How the blazes was a Padawan stationed on -” Master Law cut himself off abruptly, staring down at Anakin instead. He looked him up and down with sharp eyes, seemingly picking out a dozen things that Obi-Wan just couldn’t see. “I’ll get you the nutrient shakes. See that he has one with every meal, three meals a day. I’m prescribing extra vitamin gummies, he’s a bit yellow. Those dietician hacks at the Halls of Healing don’t know anything about real food.”

Obi-Wan really didn’t want to get in the middle of that, so he just nodded. But Anakin blinked up at the man, flecks of seeds caught on the corner of his mouth. “What’s a gummy?”

“A very sweet, tasty candy,” Master Law said gravely. “Which young Padawans only receive when they are very brave.”

Anakin brightened. “What’s candy?”

“The best food in the galaxy.” Master Law’s stern countenance split into a sharp smile. “Seems like that’s just what the doctor ordered. If you’ve never had any, then that means I have to prescribe you a double dose.”

Anakin grinned to match, bright and wide, with yellow teeth and crinkled eyes. “That means I’m brave! I’m super brave! Padme said so, and you said so, so it’s like I’m extra brave!”

For some reason that he just couldn’t parse, Obi-Wan found himself anxiously saying, “I think you’re brave too, Anakin.”

“Triple brave!”

The cafeteria was quickly proving to be Anakin’s favorite place in the Temple. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain that this was a good thing, because it made Anakin happy and happiness was good. That was a reliable fact of the universe: when happiness was scarce, sweet food could usually supply it. Sometimes you took what you could get.

Obi-Wan made an uncharacteristic move and placed a great deal of sugar on his oatmeal. Dumping sugar on oatmeal was crazy. This was probably what going insane felt like. Obi-Wan felt like a criminal.

“You’re very boring, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said judgmentally.

“I’m afraid so,” the ten time war veteran agreed.

It could be worse. Nobody was around to see his shame but Anakin, and the small child wouldn't squeal. All he had to do was ply Anakin with nutrition shakes and fruit, take him back to their quarters, not leave their quarters again for another two weeks in order to recover from this experience, and -

“Obi-Wan! Goodness, Obi-Wan!”

Both Obi-Wan and Anakin jumped a foot in the air, Anakin fighting to keep his food balanced on his child-sized tray. But Obi-Wan recognized the voice, the smooth familiarity soothing his panicking heart and calming down his padawan by connection.

Despite the fact that the voice was the last person he wanted to see.

Bant didn’t run, because she was a respectable Knight, but she did speedwalk in a dignified waddle towards Obi-Wan and Anakin. Anakin subtly slid closer to Obi-Wan, which he should really discourage.

“Obi-Wan! Oh, goodness, you - you jerk, you big jerk!” Bant wrung her flippers, jowls shaking with the clear uge to wrap up Obi-Wan in her patented tight hug and foiled only by the tray that Obi-Wan was holding in front of him like a shield. “You’re an absolute bantha’s - oh!”

She had just noticed Anakin, who held his tray tightly. He was frowning at Bant, and Obi-Wan could feel a twinge of childish bad emotion across their still nascent bond. Wait. What bond?

Bant was oblivious, or put on a good show of it. “You must be Padawan Skywalker,” she said warmly. She bent down a little, and Obi-Wan was struck by nostalgia for her glimmering eyes and bright smile. Bant loved kids. Obi-Wan never had. “It’s so good to meet you! Have you been taking care of your silly master for me?”

Anakin pursed his lips judgmentally. “My teacher’s not silly,” Anakin said, a bit loudly. “He’s great and smart and does backflips. It’s not his fault he’s a jerk!”

Never mind. Obi-Wan was never taking Anakin out in public again. He carefully destroyed the urge to wince, settling for smiling weakly at Anakin. Bant looked a little taken back - shocked by the idea that Anakin could have taken her friendly teasing seriously. Or maybe that he would openly call Obi-Wan a jerk. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to contest it. It was fair.

“Bant’s my best friend, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, with as much warmth as he could muster. His smile was looking more pathetic than anything, so he dropped it. “She knows how good my backflips are.”

“The best in the Temple!” Bant immediately swore up and down. “I’m awfully sorry, Anakin. I think your master’s the coolest guy here. Come on, why don’t you two come eat lunch with me and the rest of Obi-Wan’s friends? We’ve all been dying to meet the newest member of the family!”

A stone sank in Obi-Wan’s gut. He looked over the crowd, effortlessly picking out the familiar table in the back center. Sure enough, he saw the telltale gawks of Siri and Quinlan.

Joy. The two people he wanted to talk to the least. Those two ate Obi-Wan for breakfast on a good day. They would devour him now. They could smell weakness on him. He couldn’t get anything past them. They would take one look at him and know, just know -

“Obi-Wan has friends?” Anakin asked dubiously. “But he just stays in his room all day.” Went tactfully unsaid: and nobody likes him.

Somehow, the emotional obstacle course his friends were going to put him through was more appealing than the cold judgement of the nine year old. “I have plenty of friends,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth. “Let’s go say hi.”

It felt like walking to the guillotine. Actually, Obi-Wan had walked to a guillotine before, and this was - no, it wasn’t worse. Hadn’t he done it twice? The first time was stressful, because he wasn’t sure if Qui-Gon had seduced the prison guard yet. The second time was fine, since he had hidden his lightsaber in the loose floorboard under the guillotine before he set up his own capture. So - better than the first time, worse than the second time.

Bizarrely, Siri and Quinlan grinned when they saw them. Obi-Wan was actively fighting the urge to hide behind the nine year old. The nine year old who he couldn’t possibly have formed a training bond with - he had been his padawan all of a week, it was impossible - but who had undoubtedly sensed his anxiety anyway.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t fucking believe it,” Quinlan shouted, far too loudly. He and Bant’s trays were empty, while the slow eater Siri’s bowl of grains were half-eaten. They had been there for a while, probably hours, talking about life. He had always left after thirty minutes. He had stuff to do. “I must have left you ten damn voicemails -”

“You son of a varnaak.” Siri had a death grip on her spoon, wielding it like a lightsaber. “I’m strangling you with your intestine. Not inviting me to your own knighting -”

“If you’re going to be mean, we’re leaving!” Anakin interrupted, voice high and reedy. “I already said so! I will stomp your feet!”

“You’re not allowed to stomp their feet, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted beyond measure. “Hello, all. Save the interrogation for after we’ve eaten, please.”

And maybe it was the sheer power of Anakin and his mighty feet, but his friends quieted enough for Obi-Wan to shove sugary oats into his mouth and for Anakin to polish off his fruit before starting in on his nutrient shake. Obi-Wan had to stop and take a napkin and wipe the seeds off the corner of his mouth, and help him to insert the straw in the protein shake, but the act of sucking on a straw amused Anakin and he didn’t hate the taste. There were friendly animal species on the cup. Special nutrient shake for chronically malnourished children - now with bright colors!

His friends just watched them, without even food to make the environment faux-casual. Their dark eyes seemed to follow him, and Obi-Wan felt his skin crawl. He didn’t want to deal with this. He could barely deal with Quinlan on a good day, much less...today. Any day, lately.

Finally, his grace period seemed to tick down to zero, and Quinlan broke the ice with a fishing spear and an excess of exuberance. “Is this the famous little guy we’ve heard so much about? I hear you’re a good pilot, kid!”

And, just like that, Quinlan was Anakin’s favorite person on Coruscant. “I’m the best pilot,” Anakin asserted arrogantly. Obi-Wan mentally noted the tendency for arrogance and pride down in the ‘Goal Setting!’ part of his brain that was half-heartedly drafting a training curriculum. “I can blow up anything and anyone.”

“Sounds like Quinlan,” Siri snickered. Unlike Bant, she was terrified of children, but she hid it well. “He and your master are Joballian twins that way. Those two could start a fire in deep space.”

“So who are you people?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan put ‘unbelievably blunt’ in his mental training curriculum. “Are you really Obi-Wan’s friends? He doesn’t like you.”

“I like them very much,” Obi-Wan said rotely. Quinlan pantomimed a shot to the heart.

But Bant just smiled down at Anakin, unflappable. “You’re a padawan, young one. You should call Obi-Wan your master. It’s good to be polite.”

“Why should I have to do that?” Anakin’s voice tinged a little louder, and at a pointed look from Obi-Wan he toned it down. Siri’s eyebrows rose. “He’s my teacher, not a master of no one.”

Bant winced a bit, and all three of them rippled discomfort in the Force. So they knew, even though it wasn’t totally public knowledge. Quinlan had undoubtedly used his ridiculous clearance as a Shadow to access the Naboo mission records and spilled the details to them. Keeping it professional, as always.

“Master means something very different to Jedi,” Bant said gently. “It’s a special relationship between two people. Every Jedi teaches and learns from each other, but your master is the person who guides you and makes sure you go to bed on time. It’s just the same word for a very different thing than you’re used to.”

“What do you mean by that?” Anakin gnawed on his straw suspiciously. “I thought Obi-Wan was the one who taught me.”

Quinlan, who had far more experience with the wider world than Siri and Bant, caught on first. He propped his elbows on the table, and Obi-Wan saw him visibly struggle for the ‘wise teacher’ tone before giving up. “The Jedi have different relationships than you’re used to, kid. Who took care of you and watched you all day back home?”

This was heading into dangerous territory, and Obi-Wan frowned dangerously at Quinlan, but Anakin just hummed. “Mom took care of me and we moved around together. But Old Lady Hun watches me and the other kids in the gathering space when Mom’s busy. And when Jipol was sick, Mom and I took care of her two daughters. And Old Man Wa taught me how to fix things. And -”

“Right. So the Jedi are like that. Instead of a very small number of people raising kids, every adult raises every kid. So, for example, any Jedi would tell you to stop running in the halls or stop you from misbehaving -”

“And every Jedi did, with this one,” Siri added.

“ - but any Knight or Master would help you with your homework, too,” Quinlan finished, elbowing Siri. “We all help each other here. We share food, stuff, school, and teachings. That’s why we practice nonattachment - everything’s everybody’s, not just yours. Make sense?”

Anakin’s brow was furrowed. He paid close attention to everything - chewing everything over again and again until it made sense. Obi-Wan shoveled oatmeal in his mouth, glad Quinlan was doing this. “Why does nonattachment mean you don’t get moms or dads?”

Dangerous territory. Bant opened her mouth to say something soothing, but Quinlan beat her to the punch. “Well, to Jedi, we think the idea of just putting two or three people in charge of kids is pretty crazy. Kids are loud and bouncy. One or two people would get totally stressed out and make mistakes. And imagine just a few people teaching you about life. They could believe all this crazy stuff, and then so would you.”

“And what if the parent’s being a total jerk?” Siri pointed out. “Then the kid’s stuck with that. But when there’s other people around, they can stop and tell the parent that they’re being a total jerk. Then they have to cut it out.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. “So nobody beats their kids here because the other Jedi would get mad?”

Awkward silence loomed. Finally, Quinlan said, “Yeah, totally. Anyway, that’s why our way rocks and makes sense. Boom. Teaching moment.” Quinlan slapped the table in victory. “We are so good at this. We’re going to be the greatest teachers ever, Anakin. Forget lame old Obi-Wan, he’s going to lead you down the path of boring. Stick with Knight Vos, I’m gonna lead you down the path that rocks.”

At Anakin’s deeply confused expression, Bant put a hand on his back. But when she spoke she spoke to Obi-Wan, gleaming eyes boring into his. “We’re Obi-Wan’s best friends. We’re going to be here for you almost as much as Obi-Wan is. None of us have padawans yet, so we’re all really excited to help you! Did you know I’m a doctor?”

Anakin perked up. He respected doctors highly - apparently it was a very prestigious position on Tatooine. “Wow! Obi-Wan’s friends with a doctor?”

“And I’m a superspy action hero, kid!” Quinlan flexed, tossing his dreads. “I can teach you how to hack into anything!”

“I’m a better pilot than anyone at this table.” Siri awkwardly waved her fist in the air in a pantomime of excitement. “I’ll help you...fly things. Which you can apparently already do. But I’ll teach you how to do it better.”

The idea was heady to Anakin. His eyes widened, filled with possibility and excitement. Of smiling adult faces, wanting to help. But he looked at Obi-Wan instead, fear sneaking in through the gap bored by long experience with misery. “So what does a master do, then?”

Obi-Wan smiled wanly at Anakin. Experimentally, he tried sending him as much warmth as possible. He didn’t have much to spare, but Anakin seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “I’ll protect you, Anakin. And I’d like it if you continued calling me Obi-Wan.”

And he knew that meant more to Anakin than all the rest. At least Obi-Wan won there.

Although Obi-Wan had gone his entire life despairing for Quinlan’s future padawan, he somehow handled Anakin wonderfully. Even Siri awkwardly asked a question about Anakin’s favorite kind of ship - clearly expecting an answer along the lines of ‘a big one!’ or ‘one that shoots lasers!’ - and sat through Anakin’s ten minute scientific dissertations on the difference in engine ports between Genoshian Special X100 and Genoshian Special X200.

When’s the last time Obi-Wan had a long conversation with Anakin, where they just talked about nothing? He’d been so selfish, focusing entirely on himself and not even thinking about Anakin. His friends were doing this a thousand times better than he was. They should be the one with a padawan, not him. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought he was ready for knighthood until - well, until it was convenient, but if it took him this long to be knighted he ought to be forty before he got a padawan.

In a characteristically deft maneuver, Quinlan had flagged down a friend of his - Ku Lun, a friendly face and teacher to the Initiates - and gave Anakin a real world lesson in Jedi togetherness by asking him to walk Anakin back to their quarters. Anakin shot a panicked look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan deeply wished to send a panicked look back, but he just nodded supportively.

“Don’t you want to ask Knight Lun about lessons?” Obi-Wan said. “You can work together to design your school.”

The concept of school, and the power to choose it, was obviously heady to Anakin, and he jumped off the bench with only a tinge of reluctance. “Come back to the room in thirty minutes or you’re fired,” Anakin told Obi-Wan gravely, yet nonsensically, before running off with Knight Lun.

It wasn’t until the sounds of Anakin’s chattering faded, then disappeared completely, that Obi-Wan turned back to his friends with a sigh. Their plot had worked. Quinlan and Siri’s perfect score in tactics - second only to his more than perfect score - had won again. He was subject to the masses, and the masses were stressed over his wellbeing.

Better make the pre-emptive strike. “Greetings, my honored friends,” Obi-Wan said dully. “My very best friends in the galaxy, whom I have not spoken to in months.”

“And whose fault is that, you asshole!” Quinlan thumped the table, making the plasteelware rattle, and cuing a withering look from Bant. “You drop out of contact. You leave on a routine diplomatic mission. You get wrapped up in an interplanetary war, obviously, because that’s how your routine missions always go. And you come back with a kid and the head of a Sith?”

“You have the situation well in hand, Quinlan. There’s nothing more I can teach you.”

“Idiot! I’m not asking for a mission report, here.” Quinlan set his mouth, as tempestuous as ever. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay?

Maybe Bant caught something on his expression, because she placed a reassuring flipper on his arm. “We’re sorry about Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. We know how much he meant to you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“You can’t get rid of us just because you don’t talk to us.” Siri scooped the rest of her oats in her mouth, clearly regretful that she no longer had something to hide behind. “Reeft and Garen feel the same way. You’re lucky Garen’s on a mission, or he would have staked out your door.” He would have. Garen was insane. “I know they waived the two weeks in solitude considering your circumstances, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Anakin needs -”

“As his master, I have the best idea of what Anakin needs.” Obi-Wan kept his voice flat, dispassionate. He wasn’t a child anymore, not that impetuous Initiate who yelled and stomped and screamed. Obi-Wan had drowned that anger under thick layers of Jedi robe years ago. “I appreciate and understand your concern. However, I ask for faith in my abilities to handle my padawan.”

“Oh, no. Not the ‘I Am A Perfect Jedi And You Are The Irresponsible Bugs Beneath My Feet’ voice.” Siri didn’t sound amused, as she normally would be while making fun of him. What was funny about speaking properly? “Don’t shut down on us.”

“I’ve never understood where you got the impression that Jedi don’t have feelings, Obi-Wan,” Bant scolded, “but you know it’s not true. Jedi feel their feelings. They feel them and release them. This is you repressing them. They’re just going to fester and get worse if you do that.”

“Yes, Bant. I recieved top marks in Philosophy 101, same as you.” Obi-Wan picked at his sealed up, the rims of thick juice sloshing in the corners, before forcing himself to stop. He forced his hands still on the table, pressing them down hard on the linoleum. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what good a confession would do to all of you. Obviously I miss my master. Obviously I’m all…very sad about it.” Obi-Wan jerked his shoulders in a half-shrug, ignoring everyone’s unimpressed looks. “What good will talking about it do? I have to remain focused. In the real world, you don’t get the luxury of hermitage.”

“Luckily, you’re not in the real world.” Bant’s wry tone imparted the air quotes around ‘real world’. “You’re home. You and Anakin are safe here.” Obi-Wan snorted. “Knight Kenobi, what was that?”

Uh oh. But Siri unknowingly came to his rescue, leaning forward with as intent and sympathetic expression as she could wring from her usually severe countenance. “Don’t give me that dung, Obi-Wan. I cried for a month after Master Tahl died. You were there for me every second of it. What, are you so special that you don’t need help? Are you so much better than us that you don’t feel what every sentient feels? Your ‘better than you’ attitude doesn’t make you better than yourself.”

Bant made a warbling sound of frustration. “Siri, let’s not insult the person we are trying to help.”

“It’s not my fault he’s so - look, this is about Anakin -”

A tightly wound rope of...of something bad snapped in Obi-Wan’s gut. “You don’t think I can handle him.”

“Nobody’s saying that, brother,” Quinlan said, placating for the first time in his life, “but it’s like I was just telling the little guy, right? Nobody can do this by themselves. Cultures that try to do it are - they’re just crazy!”

“None of you think I can do this,” Obi-Wan whispered harshly, trying to keep the - the bad thing locked tight inside, incapable. It wouldn’t stop overflowing, a cup that runneth over. “Nobody in this Temple thinks I’m capable of taking care of him. They don’t think he can be a Jedi. It’s my fault. It’s because he has such a fuck-up for a master.”

Everybody around him suddenly radiated extreme alarm in the Force in unison. Was it really that unusual for him to say the words that swirled around in his head every hour of the day?

“Obi-Wan, we’re the fuck-ups. I mean, me and Siri and Garen. You and Bant are the Rylothian angels here.”

“That’s not what everybody else thinks,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “I’ve always been tainted because of Qui-Gon. Now just being around me is going to taint Anakin. Everybody knows it.”

“Tainted?” Bant asked with alarm. What was alarming? “What are you talking about -”

But Obi-Wan barrelled through her, unwilling to hear whatever sweet and placating words she had for him today. He stood up, carefully stepping off the bench and fussily fixing his robes with hands that did not shake. “We are going to prove it to them. Anakin will become a Jedi. I will make Anakin a Jedi, if it’s the last thing I do.”

He swept off, feeling a little bit dramatic, feeling as if he had expelled the smallest amount of emotion he could. That was the least he could give, portioning out bits of himself to the hungry and braying crowd.

Why did they want these pieces of him so desperately? What was valuable about these hideous parts of Obi-Wan - the fear, the insecurity, the nightmares shaking him awake each night? People like Bant and Quinlan dug and dug and dug until they found what they were looking for, as if they wanted to prove something to themselves, to him, to the Jedi.

Prove that he was inferior. Prove that he was just as wild and angry as everybody always said. Prove that his flimsy mask of ‘A Perfect Jedi’ was nothing more than a stage actor placing a pulp-mache bantha’s head mask over his face and strutting about as if he was a king. Prove what Qui-Gon had always thought of him: that any love for him could only be held at arm's length, that a kid who needed to prove himself never required support or a helping hand, that there was no such thing as ‘good enough’ when you lived in competition with ghosts and shadows.

Prove what everybody knew, and what Obi-Wan could not hide.

***

When Obi-Wan got home, Anakin was lying on the ground committing atrocities upon the ravaged corpse of a pilfered library droid.

“Please start putting down a tarp when you do that,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve been getting oil into the carpet.” He paused a beat. “And please stop sneaking away from chaperones.”

“But I need to practice sneaking away from good guys so I can be good at sneaking away from bad guys! And it’s not like I was caught.” Anakin didn’t look up at him, absorbed in his work. “That’s Jedi lesson three, right? ‘Do whatever you want, just don’t get caught’?”

“When had - why do -” Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the one day exposure to Qui-Gon. But..in the face of that logic, Obi-Wan was forced to concede. It was objectively true. “Yes. But make an exception for me. Just don’t get caught by others.”

“You got it! Hey, pinch this wire for me.”

So Obi-Wan lay down on his stomach across from Anakin, staring at him from over a sea of rusty machinery. His round little face, somehow still clinging onto baby fat, was smooth as only a child’s could be. It was flaky and rough from the blistering heat of twin suns, but he had ointment now. His featherly light blonde hair would darken without its sunshine bleach, and it would grow long in limp brown shags. He would look like his mother - if, apparently, there was no father to speak of.

His expression was screwed up in concentration, tongue poking out of his teeth as he carefully screwed in a bolt where it likely was not intended to go. There was something strangely beautiful about him in that moment - an intelligence at work, a powerful focus rarely applied. He glowed in the Force like a sun, overwhelming and breath-taking.

But when Obi-Wan’s breath caught, he wasn’t sure if it was the Force. Maybe it was just Anakin. Could you fall in love like this? Just by looking at somebody, just by feeling how great they could be? Stronger than Obi-Wan, more righteous than Qui-Gon? Kinder than Master Dooku, more vibrant than Grandmaster Yoda?

Could he be better? Or would Obi-Wan only make him worse?

“Do you like my friends?” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Gimmie a min’.” Anakin finished screwing the bolt, huffing at the piece. “Bad. Gotta redo...what didya say?”

“Do you like my friends?”

“Oh!” Anakin brightened. “They’re super cool and awesome Jedi! They’re just like I thought Jedi would be. Bant’s a doctor! Did you know that?”

“I did.” A pang shot through Obi-Wan’s heart. “They’d be better teachers than I. I’m sorry, Anakin. I’m sorry you’re stuck with…”

“No way! I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s expression crumpled a little, although he bravely tried to keep it straight. He was already picking that up from Obi-Wan. “I’m why everybody keeps looking at us weird...it’s all my fault. All the Jedi hate us.”

“Anakin, no. The Jedi love all sentient beings.” Judging from Anakin’s expression, Obi-Wan was speaking straight bantha poodoo and acting as if the Corellian moons were made of cheese. “It’s true. They’d - they’d all help you. You don’t need to rely on me.”

Wires hissed and sparked. Anakin was quiet for a moment, stripping some wires with a deft, chubby hand and tying them together. He reached out to grab a blowtorch, but at Obi-Wan’s dangerous expression he carefully retreated his hand. It was a matter of time until he was using his lightsaber to solder metal. Incorrigible. Finally, Anakin said, “What Mr. Quinlan -”

“Knight Quinlan.”

“Knight Quinlan was talking about how you’re just there to guide me and teach me the Jedi way for a few years. And they all acted like the master and padawan thing is so special and great, but…” His face crumpled a little, overcome by an emotion he couldn’t name. “When we had to leave Mom behind...I thought that meant that you were going to be Mom now. But they aren’t going to let us. They’re going to make other people teach me because they don’t like you, and - and - and!”

Fat tears were rolling down Anakin’s cheeks, no matter how hard he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Obi-Wan quickly sat up and moved closer to Anakin, wrapping him in a hug and letting Anakin press his head into Obi-Wan’s tunic. He would probably have to get this one cleaned with Anakin’s robe. He didn’t know why he was focusing on that instead of Anakin’s hitched breaths as he tried to control his tears.

“Nobody’s going to take you away from me, Anakin.” That wasn’t what he meant to say. That was far too possessive. That hadn’t come out right. But what had Obi-Wan meant to say? “We all just want what’s best for you. You might be happier with the others.” Obi-Wan faltered. “You could be a normal child here. Take lessons. Play with the other children. Learn and grow and be happy. My padawanship, Anakin...it was dangerous and isolated. That’s the kind of life I’ve always lived. I don’t want to expose you to that.”

Anakin separated from him, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “They aren’t strong! All the kids and the old people here - they’re weak! Nothing bad’s ever happened to them, so they think sad people like us are freaks. But you’re strong, Obi-Wan. I want to be strong and just like you. I’m not embarrassed to be your padawan.” He faltered a little, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s okay that you’re sad and that I had to make food for a little bit. Mom would get sad sometimes too. She couldn’t leave bed and stuff. I would take care of Mom and make her food. I don’t mind making you food. The slaves all had each other, we did, but...Mom and I took care of each other. We can take care of each other. It’s just you and me. Right?”

Obi-Wan embraced Anakin tightly, fighting to control his breathing. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the correct way to do this. He had to be more like Qui-Gon - professional and strong and affectionate. Qui-Gon would have never let Obi-Wan cling to him like this, swearing an oath that neither of them should ever make.

Nobody was going to help them. None of them had ever forgotten how Obi-Wan had been a failure as a child, and none of them were ever going to forget where Anakin came from. No matter what they all said, their bright smiles and helping hands - none of them understood what it was like. It was just Obi-Wan and Anakin from now on.

In some strange way, it felt as if it had always been. As if Obi-Wan had only been alone, because he had not met or loved Anakin yet.

This wasn’t the kind of master Obi-Wan should be. He should be discouraging this desperation and neediness. But he couldn’t discourage it in himself, and he had no idea how to quench it in either of them.

As the Rylothians would say - if this was a sin, then hell had greater need of him than heaven.

He would put in the request for active mission duty. If Anakin grew up like he did - in the midst of adventure and hardship - then he could attain the strength he so desired. That was all Obi-Wan knew how to offer, and that was Qui-Gon’s legacy.

“It’s just you and me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan swore, and damned himself. “It’s just you and me…”

#star wars #sw #star wars fanfic #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #bant eerin #siri tachi #quinlan vos #this is the first and last star wars thing you will ever get from me #please don't ask the rationale i have secrets #i like to think that nothing bad happens in this universe #(it's not an AU but it's not NOT an AU? up to interpretation)#because Obiwan in canon is on anakin's ass about everything #and here he's just one of those single parents who's like 'ok so long as you're fed and not on fire i don't have energy to care #about anything else'#I think this was written from joking about how comedically and weirdly terrible obiwan's childhood was #and from my own personal feelings about the weird way the sw fandom understands communal childcare #and nonattachment #It Does Not Mean What You Think It Means (Because George Lucas Is A White Guy Buddhist!)#if you're wondering if the behavior by the jedi here is realistic or nomal or if it's positive or negative #I have lived in a monastery and it is the most accurate thing you will ever see in a SW fic #my writing

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tirsynni · 2 years ago

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Ongoing from this rant because that entire situation and everything arround it continues to frustrate me.

In this specific case, the client failed to maintain employment, and it’s unknown how much of it was due to her and how much of it was because those around her failed her and enabled the negative behaviors/failed to provide appropriate support. It’ll probably remain unknown, because there is no policy in place to assess such situations. It is being dismissed as “it was just the client.” (IMO, assessments should always be mandatory to make sure nothing slips through the cracks.)

Previous post listed some of the ways the client was failed due to those around her not assessing her current supports and recognizing they needed adjustment to match the current situation. We’ll never know how much of that contributed to the failure.

But there was another side to it. The poisonous phrase from multiple people involved: “As a parent.”

No one is arguing that being a parent gives one specific insights and knowledge. However, despite the popular memes you see on Facebook, becoming a parent also doesn’t provide you with a medical degree or professional understanding regarding multiple situations. Thus, parents arguing that spanking is a good thing despite plenty of evidence pointing to otherwise and parents deciding not to vaccinate their children based on their independent research. When you raise a child, it doesn’t suddenly provide you with information and knowledge others need to go to school for years to learn and doesn’t provide you with information based on years of research. You don’t have a teaching license or medical degree. You just now have a child in your care.

In this case, the people responsible for many of the client’s needs and supports were her parents. There was no case manager or professional overseeing her and providing support. If so, I believe that person would have recommended an updated assessment long before I needed to suggest it. It would be the case manager’s job to do that. It didn’t occur to the parents at all. Why should it? They didn’t have the education or knowledge to recognize why it would be necessary!

The parents decided to take care of the client as independently as possible. Mental health and other appointments were independently managed and thus were largely disconnected from each other, lacking a unifying understanding of the situation and client. There was no agreement or communication among the parties working with her. From what I understand, there was no strong consistency, either, as shown by covid stopping her counseling appointments and the parents failing to look into alternatives.

To make matters worse, one of the professionals involved repeatedly informed me that she understands things “as a parent” and can communicate with the parents “as a fellow parent.” While this can increase empathy and positive communication, I believe this strengthened the parents’ convictions that as parents they had the abilities, knowledge, and skills necessary to independently care for their child’s needs. It lessened the need for professional support and strengthened the belief that as parents their insights were the most significant in understanding the client’s needs.

As parents, they loved and supported her. As parents, they didn’t understand her medication regime like a professional would and thus didn’t understand it needed changed. As parents, they didn’t recognize how counseling assisted her and how the lack of it contributed to the negative situation. As parents, they didn’t recognize which of her behaviors were not her disliking the situation but were symptoms of her diagnosis creating hurdles and that it was the hurdles she disliked. Just like other parents don’t recognize that, although they were spanked and it is normal for them, spanking their children is not helpful and will create long-term problems. Just like other parents are convinced that healthy eating and time in the outdoors is more effective in reducing illness than someone with a needle putting various chemicals in their child’s body. Loving and supporting does not provide this information, no matter how fiercely you do it.

The “as a parent” philosophy can be incredibly toxic. It enables parents to believe they have a better grasp of the situation than trained professionals, when in reality that lack of education and training can support poor decision making and create gaps in case simply because the parents would have no way of knowing those gaps existed. It can lead to emotion-based and biased decisions instead of decisions based on up-to-date information and what is actually needed. It can lead to an emphasis on tradition rather than the need for change, flexibility, and understanding. It can allow others to manipulate the parents because the parents don’t have the knowledge necessary to combat it. Most importantly, it can lead to the parents abusing and/or neglecting the person under their care.

As a parent, one needs to recognize that they don’t have all the facts and look into finding someone who has that information and can assist rather than doing it all on their own. It’s always “It takes a village” until someone recommends talking to the village doctor.

(Note for the person who will inevitably bitch about how doctors failed them: no, doctors are not perfect, yes, mistakes can be made, etc. Yes, we are all aware that sometimes doctors suck and can be bigots. Please don’t read everything on the ‘net and then complain about how it doesn’t apply 100% to your situation or how it isn’t universal. Thank you.)

(Bonus note: yes, social services, especially in the US, sucks sometimes, but that is unfortunately due to many people in power believing that social services is unnecessary and never requires funding or government support, thus resulting in overworked people, high turnover, and unqualified workers being hired. If you dislike it, remember to vote and push for more support for social service programs.)

#rant #social services #as a parent #i hate that line so much #and she says it all the time #one meeting i actually marked down how often she said it #you are a professional #why is your as a parent #more important than your experience #education #and training?#perhaps if there was more emphasis on the latter #and less on the former #then the client's failure wouldn't have been dismissed #especially so casually

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homoose · 4 years ago

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Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’ for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

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