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writing-whump · 3 months ago

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Why would you go through such pain?

Update about Isaiah's condition and Seline's flashback to their first date, when she got horrible blisters and Isaiah took care of her.

Seline was seriously considering calling Dylan back just to force Matthew home. The wolf in question was currently snoring in the chair next to Isaiah's bed. Head leaned back, a shade away from falling off. Sounding like a malfunctioning lawn mower.

Perhaps it was also a good sign. It meant Matt felt like he could relax, that Isaiah wasn't dying anytime soon.

Isaiah was already asleep again when she returned with the food and their phone chargers. Matthew described his state like a documentary movie, longer than it could have lasted in his efforts to be informative.

Seline really had no capacity to be angry right then. It would come later, likely, but not now.

Isaiah lay in bed surrounded by the soft hum of machines monitoring his every breath and heartbeat. His face normally relaxed and peaceful in sleep was scarily devoid of any expression, looking empty and pale, dark black circles under his eyes. She could count the veins in his cheek, thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

His normally thick black hair with a slight wave to them was tousled and thin from grime, sticking to the pillows from the perspiration. He would never let them get to such a state if he was awake.

The IV line snaked from his left hand, which she was glad for, cause his right hand was free for her to hold. His fingers were slightly curled as if he was reaching for something. The clip-like device on the finger tip of his forefinger measuring his pulse prevented her from entwining their fingers. It made her scared she would mess up something.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, steady breaths. The thin hospital gown didn't quite disguise the thick bulge of bandages where the surgeons cut his heart and mended his open chest.

The chair wasn't the most comfortable thing, so she leaned her elbows on the bed, tracing little circles on the back of his palm and forearm that disappeared into the gown.

What was he thinking? Not telling her? At this point of her emotional and physical exhaustion, it was more of an abstract curiosity at his thought process than anything else.

It got her thinking of their first official date after they confessed they felt something for each other. Barely a month into starting to live together, they were used to each other, but the new status promised to change some things.

Isaiah planned the day for her to enjoy and she felt a new set of expectations and pressure set on her. She even called her mother for tips about what dress and shoes to wear. Her mom, of course, insisted on a dress with a belt around the middle to highlight her slim build and basically forbade her from wearing her white sneakers. No, no, you have to wear the black leather sandals.

And Seline wanted to be pretty for Isaiah. Prettier than usual.

They took the tram to the center, took a walk around the park, ice cream on the programm before lunch, then the new city museum at Karlsplatz...what Seline didn't account for was Isaiah's enthusiastic insistence they could get everywhere on foot.

She never noticed how vehement he was about it. Isaiah was the only one with the car of the three of them and Seline loved Vienna was so well-connected a car was more of a burden on good days.

The central Ring in Vienna had all the exiting sights in one row, which was great and practical for a walk. Except nothing was actually near, every stop and every park good 700 meters away from each other.

And her sandals hurt.

At first it was just light stinging. It could as well have been the hot pavement, the day was particularly warm for late autumn. She didn't pay attention, tense as a string to focus on doing the right thing, to listen to him, but also talking but not too much.

Being with Isaiah was so fun she was scared to overwhelm him the way she sometimes did her friends. She could talk their ear off for good four hours at lunch and then not understand why they were asking her if she didn't want to catch a train home or something.

That's when you missed 10 different signs it was too much, her mother told her.

So she was very very careful about not letting her mouth run too much and be considerate. Paying attention way more to Isaiah since then than she did to Matthew, who she wasn't so scared of chasing away. Matt didn't care that much about her deep discussions anyway, zoning out or telling her to leave him breathe. She learned to accept that with humor.

So they kept walking and Isaiah walked with such confidence and had so many things to show her while entertaining her with most fascinating topics.

Is there a difference between thought and thought formulated in words? Is there an understanding that proceeds the language you are currently thinking or speaking in? What about the language you choose for your personal notes and to-do-lists, how do you choose it? What makes someone like to-do-lists in the first place? Is that a discipline attempt or a way for creative chaotic people to ground themselves in reality? Why did some people like chaos and some order?

Isaiah went all nerdy on her with his psychology classes and cited books and studies he read and she did hers and she was jittery with the happiness and excitement it filled her with.

Who cares about some stinging? She was normally not a fan of suffering for beauty ideals of others and she wasn't big on make up and prettiness, but she could take it today to not ruin the date.

They ate the lunch and made their way to the next stop when her feet started to really hurt. Like the break made it settle in more. What was going on? Maybe there were blisters—but forming so quickly?

Another problem was that she was too emberased to get the shoes off and inspect the soles of her feet in public. And looking at blistered sweaty feet in front of Isaiah on their first idealistic date? No way in hell.

It got to a point that focusing on anything else but her feet got impossible. They burned on four specific places, under her fingers and the small fingers on both legs and the pain spread over the whole soles that she couldn't identify the worst points anymore. Not showing the pain on her face had her looking all over the place and forcing smiles. She usually smiled when she was sad about something, so that was a natural mode to slip into.

In hindsight she could have just stopped on a bench in a park. Told Isaiah the shoes weren't good for walking and call it a day.

But then she would also have to admit she chose special shoes just to impress him and she was supposed to be more mature and knowledgeable about damn shoes and being beautiful as a grown woman than that.

Even worse, what if he thought she expected them to spend every date drinking coffee and talking? What if that seemed too boring?

She missed out on worrying over these things as a teen, having zero interest in the immature loud creatures her friends were crushing on in high school. It would be totally different for her, she would be herself and everyone else be damned. If he didn't like her, his bussienss, she wouldn't change for him.

Easier said than done when you already were in love.

And Seline was so in awe at the feeling, at the childish fluttery joy she felt around him. Being able to genuinely admire someone. The form of Isaiah's jaw from the side, his vibrant and lively green eyes and how his black curls fell into them, the thoughtful expression and the tone of voice when he considered her question and started explaining something...

It was her trap, her tendency to look down on people—she knew that and she hated that about herself—and then to hold on to them obsessively if she found them interesting. She could forgive and forget terrible treatment, ignoration, her own promises she wouldn't budge on who she was. Stinging feet were nothing in comparison.

As the day was ending. Isaiah's voice was zoning out on her and she yearned for a good excuse to send him away and go to the pharmacy for some band aids. Or to just walk barefoot on the sidewalk, cause she couldn't take one more step in those stupid sandals without crying.

"And I was thinking for dinner, we could go that sushi place you like so much-"

"We shouldn't leave Matthew all without dinner," she found an excuse! "Do you think you could take takeout from the place and I'll stop by-" where could she stop by? Think, think, think! "-the drugstore for some essentials missing at home?"

Isaiah frowned. "We can go together-"

"No, it's okay!" Don't sound so enthusiastic, girl. "It would save us both time and it's already late and I won't have time tomorrow...since it's Sunday and everything will be closed. And it's already late, if we don't go now, we won't make it."

Isaiah looked a bit suspicious but let her drag him into the scheme.

She let out a relieved breath once he was around the corner. Shaking off the shoes even though it was a rather nasty commercial street, she hurried to the pharmacy.

In the end she gave up on the stairs to her room. Her feet were passively burning and black from how filthy they were. She bought disinfection and blister band aids, but first she would need to get to her bathroom to clean them. And that was proving entirely impossible with how much they hurt.

Seline sat there, pouting and overheated, pained tears running down her cheeks at her own stupidity, when Isaiah walked in.

"I got enough sushi for tomor-" he froze in his tracks. "Sel? What's wrong?"

He put the bags down and crouched in front of her, his voice impossibly gentle. "Hey, Sel, baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Can you tell me?"

That was the first time he called her that.

She rubbed at her cheek in frustration and looked down. "'is nothing...my feet- it's just-"

Isaiah's eyebrows went up and he reached for her leg to lift it carefully. His breath hitched as he took in the giant blister burst on the side with bloody edges, covered in grime. "Aww, baby, why didn't you tell me? That must have hurt."

"Sorry- I didn't want you to-didn't want to ruin the date because of the stupid shoes and-" A sob interrupted her and she hid her face in her hands.

Isaiah checked the other leg that was in similar condition. He was taking those deep controlled breaths that told her he was supressing some kind of emotional response. "Okay, everything is okay. Would you mind if I carried you? Sel?"

Seline looked up at him from between her fingers shyly. Isaiah reached over to brush a lock of golden hair out her face. Something about his eyes shimmered painfully. "Can I help? Please?"

She nodded tightly, not entirely sure what he meant with that. Her feet felt like the skin got scorched off.

Isaiah scooped her up gently in his arms and took her to the ground floor bathroom - his and Matthew's. Carefully positioning her on the edge of the bath, he got the shower head going, checking the temperature.

He planed a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place. "Ready?"

Once she got her breathing under control he let the warm water spray over her feet. She moaned quietly, hands shooting out to hold on to his his elbow and he let her. "Shhhh, alright, you are doing great. Hold on a sec."

She watched the water turn darker as the worst of the filth flowed away, but she was scared to look down at the actual blisters.

"You took your shoes off outside?" Isaiah asked gently.

"Uhmmm." She hiccuped, trying not to cry anymore. It was ridiculous to have a meld down over blisters. Especially since she could have prevented this if she had half her brain working.

"Okay," Isaiah kissed the top of her head. He stood behind her back, one arm wrapping around her front, coaxing her to lean back against him.

"Think you can take some soap? I'll just clean it out, then we can disinfect it and put a band aid on it. Good as new."

He was lying. She was plenty sure she wouldn't be able to walk for a few days. Standing was totally torture and her feet were still on fire even under the water. She turned the faucet towards blue, the soothing coldness elicting a sigh.

When he reached for the soap, she took it from him. "I can do it," she said shakily. The idea of him touching the blisters had her mortified for him. "That's so gross."

Isaiah rolled his eyes, leaning his head chin lightly on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her neck. "It's a wound, baby. I can take care of it."

In the end she didn't have a choice. The soap had her clawing at her legs in pain so Isaiah took over smoothly, finishing massaging the soap before splashing it clean.

He balled her legs in a big towel and carried her bridal style again back to the sofa. Looking through the bag she brought from the pharmacy, he nodded approvingly and got the miniature scissors and a cologne.

"I think it will be less painful if we cut the moving parts away. The skin will heal faster that way."

"That's-" she gulped, looking at him spraying the tiny scissors with his perfume. "That's your expensive one, why don't you-"

"Strong alcohol. I'll desinfect the wound with the spray after, but I want to be sure with these." He leaned over to kiss her on the tip of her nose. "Don't worry about my cologne, silly. At least you will smell more like me."

She shook her head, eyes welling up again.

Isaiah held her feet carefully in his grasp as he cut the moving skin on the edges and then sprayed it generously with the disinfect.

Seline pressed her fingers into her heel, the pressure helping with the stinging burning pain as the spray worked its way through the germs. It was like he drove sharp needles deep into her foot.

"Let's leave them breathe for a bit and then we can use these blister band aids," Isaiah said calmly, studying the box with the guidelines. "Any other wishes?"

She ducked her head at his green eyes, now lased focused on her in concern. Like he expected her to flinch. She could take it though and she needed him to know she could, despite the pathetic tearful display from before.

"Sel? What is it?"

She nodded tightly, her eyes darting to the ceiling.

"Yes?" Isaiah said expectantly, not missing the look.

"Could you- would you..."

Isaiah sighed, leaning forward to take her hands in his. "Tell me."

"I have Aloe Vera spray in my bedroom-"

"I'll be right back," he squeezed her hands once and jumped to his feet.

Blisters safely covered and disinfected, they stayed on the sofa. Isaiah brought her a glass of water and after studying her stoic expression and the tears in the corners of her eyes, forced her to take ibuprofen for the pain.

She couldn't find a comfortable position, her feet up on the sofa but the armrest being much shorter than the backrest.

"Wait a second." Isaiah pushed her away like he was touching porcelain. He slid against the armrest in a lying position then pulled her into his arms. He propped her feet on his bend knee and closed his other around her. This way her soles were in the air, but she was cocooned in his warmth. "Still hurting?"

Seline hid her face, melting against his chest. An overwhelming sense of warmth and security washed over her, like a soft blanket that reached all the way to her insides. His arms around her were strong but tender, like she was something precious he wanted to protect.

The throbbing of her blisters was still there, but it faded in comparison to his steady breathing and face this close to her. It wasn't just physical comfort, it was like a balm for the soul.

"Just a little."

His arms went snuggly around her waist. "You can tell me stuff like that sooner, you know? I don't know why you would put yourself through such pain."

She felt her cheeks turning pink. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just tell me next time, okay?" He nuzzled his cheek against her.

It was the first time he was this affectionate. In the chaos she forgot about the first official day and date and pressure. It was only Isaiah and her feeling stupid she didn't feel like telling him. "Okay."

Blinking herself back from the memory back to the beeping machines and the hospital bed, she wondered.

Couldn't she make him feel the same comfort she felt around him?

#sickfic #hurt/comfort #crying #blisters #after surgery #hospital bed #sort of a flashback fic #wanted to set up something for later and got some real life inspo lol #my writing #werewolf wip

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bulldagger-bait · 2 months ago

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When it comes to hygiene tasks and self care with disability and chronic illness, its pretty much a constant case of: don't let perfect be the enemy of the good.

Basically: it's better to do something, than to do nothing at all.

TLDR: Just because you can't do something "properly" doesn't mean you shouldn't do it at all. Do it half-way. Do it shitty. Do it barely. Do it on a technicality. But do what you can. Just try, because doing something will help you.

If you don't have the energy to scrub your body with a sponge, just rub soap over your skin with your hands.

If you don't have the energy to wash your whole body with soap, just hit the places where sweat accumulates, or where you're smelliest.

If you don't have the energy to wash with soap AT ALL, just sitting in water is better than nothing. It will wash away dirt and oils.

If you can't bathe or shower at all, a warm wash cloth is your new best friend. If that's too much, then try bath wipes. They're a bit bigger than regular wet wipes, and a bit more heavy duty. They're designed to help keep bed ridden patients clean in hospitals.

If you don't have the energy to dry yourself after a bath or a shower, just put on a bathrobe and get into bed. If you don't have the energy to get dressed afterwards, just don't. It can wait until you can.

If you don't have energy to brush your teeth for two minutes, honestly, just a cursory scrub is better than not doing anything.

If you can't brush your teeth twice a day, brush in the evenings. It will help take away the build up of food from the day.

If you don't have the energy to brush AT ALL, honestly, just take a cloth and wipe the plaque off your teeth. Rinse with mouth wash after if you'd like. Something is always better than nothing.

If you can't floss twice a day. Try once. If that's too much, try a few times a week. If that's too much, try setting aside a day once a week as a goal. If you can't keep a schedule, do it when you're able to. Hell, I keep some floss next to my bed so that if I forget and don't have the energy to go get it, I can just reach over.

If you can't iron your clothes, don't bother. Wrinkles are fine. Wear jumpers over wrinkly t-shirts. No one will know, and honestly, most people won't even care. If it's really wrinkly and it's A Big Deal And It Needs To Be Ironed, here's my life hack. Step 1: take a spray bottle, and spritz the item of clothing (while you're wearing it is easiest) until it's lightly damp. Step 2: use a hair-dryer on the clothes until they're dry. It gets rid of creases like nobody's business, it's easier than lugging out the iron and ironing board, and you get to have nice toasty warm clothes afterwards.

If you can't fold your clothes, try just hanging them up. It's less commitment. It's quicker to do. Granted, you need to have the space in order to do this, but it is also good at helping you downsize, and lets you visualise exactly what you have.

If you can't put your clothes away, invest in a couple of laundry baskets, and then just keep your clean clothes in the baskets. You can then separate washed clothes into underwear, pants, and shirts baskets. You can just leave them like that. I'm giving you permission to never fold your laundry again if you can't. Just leave it unfolded. Who's going to care? Something is better than nothing. If you can, try to put those baskets into your closet so that you can keep the clutter out of sight, and give yourself a more restful environment.

If you can't separate your clothing out into different categories and wash them "properly" (whites, warm tones, cool tones, darks, delicates / switching between hot & cold washes / paying attention to laundry instructions on the label) then just don't worry about it. If you cold wash your clothes, colours won't bleed. Maybe gradually over the course of dozens of washes there'll be some changes in hue, but it's really not as high stakes as the One Red Sock In The Whites Turns Them Pink trope makes it out to be.

I've pretty much come to the point in my life where if a piece of clothing can't survive the washer and dryer, then it's just not meant to be. I colour separate my clothes, and if I have the energy/remember I'll take my bras and jumpers out of the washing machine to drip dry. But otherwise, I leave it to the universe.

If you can't separate out your recycling, then don't. If you have a large amount of rubbish you need to get rid of but the idea of separating it out properly is stopping you from doing so, then just don't worry about it. I know it's not ideal, but if you have garbage in your room/house and you need to get rid of it, please just get rid of it. Don't let the problem get bigger and harder to deal with. Don't let "doing something properly" get in the way of keeping your living spaces clean. Please. Give yourself understanding.

If you can't wash your dishes, get paper plates. Obviously, it's not ideal, but it is better that you eat food than skipping meals. It is better that you have a clean kitchen, rather than having dishes piling up and making it harder to look after yourself.

If you can't prepare meals for yourself keep making the tasks easier and easier. If you can't do recipes, then simplify. Use pasta sauce from the jar instead of making it. Eat canned soup. Buy food you can just stick in the oven. If you eat fish fingers and microwave veggies every night, it's better than not eating anything at all. It's better than having to fork out money on take-out. If you need ready-made meals, then get them. If you're literally just eating a raw cauliflower for dinner; 1) I see you, 2) me too, sis, 3) something is better than nothing.

These are the basic things you need to do every day to function as a person. They are your activities of daily living. Brushing your teeth. Bathing or showering. Using the bathroom. Getting dressed. Eating. Drinking. Sleeping. Keeping your environment clean. You don't need to do these things perfectly, but they need to happen in order for you to have a decent quality of life.

And it breaks my heart, because I know that so many disabled people can't do these things every day. I'm not saying this to guilt or judge, I'm saying that these are basic needs; you deserve these things. These things bring dignity. If a disabled person is unable to do these things, it diminishes their quality of life. It robs them of dignity.

If you need help to do these things, Its okay to ask for help. It's okay to need help. But if you can't get that help and you have to do these things by yourself -- or you just plain want to be independent and do it without help-- then don't hold yourself to standards you can't meet.

Don't let perfect be the enemy of the good. Doing something is always better than doing nothing. Even if it's not perfect. Even if it's not done well. Do what you can.

#lord knows that im still trying to pull myself out of the muck and into independence and dignity #i had to set a rule for myself that i need to wear clean clothes every day. and that i need to wear pyjamas to bed #that one's been hard. sometimes I dont have the energy to do it and i just stay in the same clothes for two days at a time #or i go to sleep in what i was wearing. but when i do follow that rule my quality of life is drastically better #not feeling dirty or gross goes a long way to making you feel more like a person #i also made a rule that im not allowing myself to look frumpy outside anymore. that means clothes that look nice #no more trackies and pj pants and all that stuff. i basically lived in perpetual pyjamas for four years and im over it #i still dress comfortably but the important thing is that i dress. i look put together. i wear things that make me happy #(and i didnt need to buy anything to do so. i just needed to start taking better care of myself)#and i stopped letting perfect be the enemy of the good. i started doing things shitty rather than not doing it at all #and the more i keep pushing with my ADLs the better i feel #what helps is now i dont have to contend with stairs and that has made a dramatic change to what im able to accomplish #ive also finally built up enough strength in my body that im able to go to the shops by myself. so i can buy things to make easy meals #and mum doesnt mind if i just put some things in the oven or air fryer for us for dinner.#i still cant really cook. i felt bad about that for the longest time. i didnt even try bc i knew what id make would be disappointing #or it wouldnt be up to the standards of what everyone else was making. i was so sick of feeling like a let down all the time.#now i just make what i can and my mum doesnt complain bc shes in the same boat.#and yeah. having help would be nice. it would mean id be able to do more than what i can do by myself.#and its great to see how far ive come. but im not a burden. and when i have the accommodations i need i can do a lot more #i do something rather than nothing and my life has dramatically changed since then. ive just gotten better and better.#chronic illness #disability #chronic pain #spoonie #one things for certain and thats that im never going to let myself rely on anyone else ever again.#i never want to be on the other side of that ever again. I don't want to be anyone's burden. i dont want that hanging over me #i do things by myself or i dont do them at all. and god fucking willing i'll never go back to needing as much help as i used to #i really didnt realise just how much of an obstacle living with stairs was in my life. it was the biggest barrier against everything #stairs stopped me from being independent. if i couldnt traverse them i just didnt go anywhere. my world shrank so much #and not having the proper wheelchair shrinks my world even more. im stronger than i used to be but im still severely limited in where i go

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