#Diagnosis of Chest Pain

[3-aem]

universal healthcare is not broken and anyone trying to convince you it is is delusional and a dckrider for big health insurance. yes there are wait times but waiting for care is Not the same as being denied care.

in america your physician prescribes care and an insurer can still cuck you out of it because someone across the continent who has never met you can say: doesn’t seem medically necessary. Leaving you to handle a bill that is wildly inflated by the same insurers that just denied you.

let me drill it through your head you can pay thousands a year in premiums and still end up sick and financially burdened for years by One incident. no insurance company is Avoiding going broke by denying claims. theyre doing it to profit off your misfortune and your illness. Because healthcare fundamentally does not cost the amount that they claim it to be.

[fenrichaita]

Not only is having a mental health diagnosis in your records not neutral, but it is dangerous. Not just in the medical setting, but, yeah, including within the medical setting.

You are immediately less likely to be believed. You are immediately more likely to receive lower quality care, no matter what symptoms you're experiencing or whether or not it's considered a "physical" vs. "mental" issue. Everything will be attributed to your diagnosis, and depending on the nature of that MH diagnosis. Considering that most of these diagnosis are based in racial and gendered biases, among other things, they are "scientific" ways of declaring certain demographics less deserving of care in the medical setting.

A mental health diagnosis should not make you a second-class citizen during a medical emergency. The stigma is baked into these diagnoses, and it's killing people.

[jamiebluewind]

My arm hurts

I broke it 5 years ago and it still hurts. It's still weak. Sometimes when I pick up something, it would feel like my arm was breaking. I went to doctors. The xrays were normal. I've got enough movement. It's fine...

It wasn't

I went to my new pcp (primary care physician) after it was getting to me again. He sent me to a specialist on bones who then sent me to a SPECIAL specialist on just arm bone stuff. The specialists saw my flexibility and the normal x-ray, but also the pain, so they ordered a CT scan. I half hoped they would find something just to have proof that I wasn't crazy and maybe a way to go forward.

The CT scan results popped in my portal, so I looked.

Chronic fracture deformities (bone kept breaking and/or bone took a looong time to heal) post ORIF (the surgery they do to repair bones). Cortical lunacy along the radial aspect of the mid radial diaphanous (in the middle of the big bone in my arm, there's a line that the 3D x-ray went through that it shouldn't have been able to at that strength).

I see the specialist again in 2 weeks. It's been sooo bad the last month. I currently can't hold my phone in my left hand for longer than a minute without it hurting. I struggle to pick up my cat with one arm. I can't open child safe caps, so my roommate has to help. I use a cane for my sporadic left side weakness, so having my left hand be useless means I really can't do much while walking. I'm moving in a couple months and I'm struggling to pack. Just on and on and on...

I broke my left ankle a couple years ago. The scar is small, there is no pain, I often forget anything is in there, and I swear it's stronger than it was BEFORE the break. I never get to forget about my arm because on top of the pain and everything else, the doctor that did the surgery left a long scar down both sides of it. People assume things when they see the bigger one. I hate it. I'm tired of explaining it. I'm tired of people getting weird or staring at it. I was going to get a tattoo over it to make it a little less noticeable, but it hurts so much and the scars are so thick that I don't think I'll ever be able to.

- Pictures below break, followed by graphic details -

The other side isn't as bad but...

yeah.

You might be wondering what those dashes are beside the long scar. If you wanna know, be warned. This part gets graphic.

The original doctor used non dissolving sutures, wrapped about 2/3rds of the stitched area in a single layer of gause with a cast over it, and sent me home. I tried contacting them about my stitched catching in the cast and pulling. About my skin growing over the stitches.

They ignored me every time.

It wasn't until I told them that the knot of one got so stuck in the cast that I had to cut it with a pair of sanitized nail clippers. They had me come in and were actually SURPRISED that my skin had grown completely over all the stitches except for the knot of some of them. So what did they do?

They cut.

I was awake and just sitting in the office as they cut off my cast. They gave me nothing for pain as over two dozen cuts were made down my arm to get enough access to my arm to dig out the stitches with tweezers. On top of pain, I felt weak and this sick cold feeling as they worked. Then, the other side of my arm and more of the same. I was shaking from it all. And then? He just sent me home. Gave me a brace to wear. When I told him that the weight of my hand made my arm feel like it was gonna snap and that I still could barely move two of my fingers, he waved me off, saying it would get better with physical therapy.

It took YEARS of me working on my hand to get as much dexterity as I have now. And it hurts. It always hurts. I told him. I told so many. Something is wrong. I did everything they suggested and nothing helped.

Part of me wonders if this is all my fault. My father said it was because I was stupid (went to a sleep doctor and they had something slick on the floor that I slipped on and the ENT that came ALSO nearly slipped on it too). My mind says all of you will blame me for cutting the stitch caught on my cast. But... I don't know. Sometimes screaming into the void helps. Sometimes a stranger is even nice and/or helpful about it! I just... two weeks. Two weeks until I find out if anything can even be done for this. And all the while, I wasn't able to sue the place I fell and the surgeon that messed up my arm is still probably out there practicing. It sucks.

[gerbertphrog]

I fucking hate my GP service They open at 8:30, so I call instantly and the message is

{thank you for calling xxxxx medical centre, were closed right now our opening hours are 8:30-] (I hang up)

I call back instantly {thank you for calling xxxxx medical centre, unfortunately our safe daily capacity for appointments has been filled}

It is STILL 8:30

HOW in less than 60 seconds has every appointment been taken I need a regular appointment every 3 months they WONT prebook me i have to call on the day I have VERY passive aggressively filled out a form that will be seen in "up to 2 working days"

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

calling nhs 111 is great because in the first two minutes, youre told that you can do this online three times.

like buddy, i get it, ive tried 111 online and they tell me to call 999 immediately.

[snowjemmer]

When I recover from whatever flare up is happening rn I'm becoming a dog. Fuck being a puppyboy nah I'm a full puppy. No school. I'm smoking bowls and laying on mt back and wagging my tail and sitting in my bed and nothing else I was not made to exist as a human person

[radiodont]

it's that magical time of year again... the leaves are falling.... the air is getting colder.... sweaters are wearable..... and of course. i have to wear fluffy socks or my toes will lose blood flow and begin necrosis 🍂🍁🥧🎃🧤☕ i love fall 🥰

[in-a-ditch-somewhere]

I, i got to know people and now i feel like i might have been too much, once again.

The term "annoying" follows me, i'd say.

If asked to explain why, it's probably because i talk a lot. I want my friends to know what i'm interested in or what i am dealing with. I don't talk to strangers or acquintances almost at all, so mostly to people i care about.

Some people don't like it, when i talk to them endlessly about life, but some give as good as they got back (i love those).

I just hate those friends, who at first seem to like listening and talking themselves, but then start asking for me to stay silent. Or just imply that i am always annoying, and that is all i'll ever be. An annoyance.

I grew up in a family where my talkative moods were ridiculed as word vomit. And then told that me not speaking was somehow bad as well.

And during these years, i got better at listening to others as well. Conciously stayed mindful about my friends that were more quiet - i don't talk over people, it's incredibly rude. And i have wonderful friends that love to chat with me for hours at a time, and never keep meetings brief with me, and i love them for that. I truly do, they don't find me as something to be fixed.

Yet, the words "word vomit", "annoying" as well as "stop talking" have branded themselves into my being as sore wounds.

I love to talk to those i truly care about. I don't talk to people unless they are my friends. If a friend wishes me to always stop talking, they are, to me, repeatedly trying to not be my friend. It hurts, even if i know they might not mean it like that.

The need to tell my friends about the things i care about is impossible to ignore. I do control it, make sure i'm good at conversations, have some sense every now and then when it has been a rough day for either. Learnt to write some things on paper, the things i need to work out by myself. Learnt to walk away when it was the right thing to do.

But as always, it feels completely horrible when a friend rejects a very integral part of me - it's a part of what makes me me, and i refuse to bottle up my emotions, thoughts or feelings anymore. I am not always something that needs fixing, something flawed. And if i am, then so are you. Do we have to be perfect? Why am i less than you?

Aren't we all flawed in some way? Can a personality be flawed? How is yours any better than mine? Who made you believe that way? _who?_

~

I talked too much to you because i was too excited to see you. I'm sorry.

[nihilismhaver]

Fun fact of the day!

When I go back to school, I'm probably gonna spend more time in the counselors office than in any of my classes!!!

(I also might join track!)

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

i'm actually completely done with the side effects of my meds

i need them but i need to get them switched i'm not dealing with this

[kitsched]

so updates

90% sure that "lung infection" was covid because new fuckign strain and I'm dealing with the worst lethargy ever and brain fog (though this could also be me being a gd hypochondriac that I am when I google symptoms and I'm convinced I'm going to die and diagnosing myself)

I have the worst anxiety I've had in awhile for no reason! love that!

[another-punk-trans-woman]

Wishing all doctors a very

PERSCRIBE ME PAINKILLERS PLEASE IM IN AGONY EVERY DAY PLEASE LISTEN TO ME WHEN I SAY IM IN PAIN FOR FUCKS SAKE

Okay, now that I have your attention:

Let's talk about classism and chronic pain, shall we?

I work a very physically demanding job as an automotive technician. In the past year, I've been having more and more issues with the chronic pain I was told would 'work itself out' (direct quote from one of my doctors.)

I've been seeking a diagnosis for a long time now, and each and every 'specialist' or professional has the same thing to say:

"It's because of your job"

And then don't do anything to help me. Then, when I say "Yes, I deal with traditional muscle aches and pains as described by my coworkers, but also have different pain on top of that" They not only continue to refuse help, but go deaf and pretend I didn't say anything.

The 'physical labor causes joint pain in everyone' idea, combined with the stereotype of blue collar workers being 'tough' and able to push through the pain without help means that most doctors won't even be willing to help manage pain, much less look beyond the appearance of the patient to find any further underlying problems. A few months ago, one of my coworkers had a *stroke*, the day after he went to the ER complaining of intermittent chest pain. They told him it was likely he pulled a muscle at work, and didn't bother even hooking him to an EKG.

To make matters worse, labor industries pay isn't great, and insurance is usually even worse. So for every appointment, I am paying out the nose to be told to shut up and that I'm fine.

The absurd notion that blue collar workers are all looking for opioid painkillers (Something a doctor told me right to my face) or are just fine and exaggerating needs to die, before it kills more people.

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: No matter how hard you try to impress him, Agent Hotchner never seems to be satisfied with your work. And it all comes crashing down when you decide to confront him.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime. reader was injured (nothing serious). angst WITHOUT happy ending. hotch being a father figure. soo much angst (yes, again). father and rebellious daughter type discussion. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: He is so ❤️‍🔥daddy❤️‍🔥 but also 💔dad💔 for me, okay?

This was painful to write, so I loved it (I literally wrote it with I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski in the background).

Anyone who knows you knows that your lifelong dream was to help make the world a better place.

And from your day one at the BAU, you felt like your wildest dreams had come true. You were saving lives, reassuring victims, and helping to bring to justice those who tormented them so they could never do it to anyone else again. You were making a real difference in the world, even if you weren't the caped superhero you wanted to be as a kid.

But, as they say, nothing's perfect. And your job had more contradictions for your mental and physical health than there were fingers on your hands to count. The long and unstable schedule, the few hours of sleep, nightmares about the atrocities you saw, no social life outside the team...and of course, the constant disappointment you felt from Aaron Hotchner, your boss.

From day one, you had worked tirelessly to prove yourself. You craved the approval of your superiors, the respect of your colleagues. The job was demanding, yes, but you wanted to show that you could not only handle it but thrive under the pressure. And you had earned the trust and admiration of everyone around you, except for him.

Agent Hotchner was an enigma to you. There was something about him that both intrigued and intimidated you. He was always so calm, without showing much emotion, without so much as a smile for you. He was a wall you couldn't break through no matter how hard you tried. You had tried so hard to impress him, to make sure he saw your dedication, your work ethic, but you always seemed to fall short. His approval, or lack thereof, hurt more than anything else. You had gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make it any easier.

And now, here you were, in his office, watching him scrutinize your medical diagnosis. He had just glanced at the report from the doctor that had followed you back from the Utah case. Your shoulder, a minor injury, but one that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t thrown yourself headfirst into the danger in the way you did.

Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, you dared to speak. “What do you think? I am practically at my best.”

Deep down, you knew you were lying through your teeth and that you were not well with an injured shoulder, a concussion, and several bruises, but you refused to say so out loud. You were a brave girl, and he should know.

Hotch looked up from the report in his hand and stared at you. It was the kind of look that made your hair stand on end and gave you a feeling that something was wrong.

“No, you're not.” He sighs and closes the folder before walking over to the desk you were sitting behind. He leans against it as he looks at you, arms folded across his chest. “You disobeyed a direct order during the case. You abandoned your partner.”

“I didn’t abandon Reid,” you replied, your voice sounding more defensive than you intended. You straightened in your chair, wincing slightly as your shoulder protested the movement. “I simply suggested he wait behind me. And it worked, didn’t it? He saved the victim, and I stopped the unsub.”

Teamwork, as you liked to call it.

“It paid off this time,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But that doesn’t excuse disregarding protocol. You put yourself and your partner in unnecessary danger. That’s not the kind of decision-making we can afford here.”

Oh no, here comes the usual chatter you didn't want to hear this time. Normally, you would be quiet, listening and nodding at his every word, but this time there was something different. You just longed for congratulations. Was it really so difficult for him to tell you once that you did something right?

You stiffened in your chair, the ache in your shoulder suddenly more pronounced. “With all due respect, I evaluated the situation and made a hard decision. I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle themselves in the field.”

Even as the words came out, you felt very nervous. You didn't know if it was the drugs they gave you in the hospital to fight the pain or if it was just your shyness leaving your body completely for no reason.

“I’m not questioning your skills,” he replied sharply. “But you’re not operating at one hundred percent, and that affects your judgment. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for months—longer, maybe. And now you’re injured. You need time to recover and think about this.”

God, no.

“I don’t need time; I need to work,” you shot back, frustration lacing your tone. This job was your lifeline, your purpose. Without it, who were you?

“You know we work as a team. A unit. And when one part of the unit breaks down, there are consequences.” His voice wasn’t just firm; it was unyielding, like a warning. The way he said it almost felt like he was speaking to a child—a reprimand you didn’t want but knew you had earned. “No one is above the team, not even you.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it or the words he used, but it was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and you were tired of putting up with the situation. This was the first time you had made a decision on your own, the first time you had not discussed your ideas with the team only to have them ignored and then spoken louder by someone else. Finally, you had acted, and even that was wrong.

You were tired, fucking tired of being ignored and judged much more harshly than the rest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely audible but heavy with frustration. The ache in your shoulder seemed to flare as if your body was responding to the tension in the room. “And what consequences are you thinking of, sir?” you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. There was no hiding the venom now. “What’s worse than not being valued even when I do my job?”

His gaze turned hard as if your tone had cut him deeper than any physical injury could. He didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from someone who had otherwise followed his orders without question. You saw the shift in him, the quiet fury simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. If you were anyone else, the conversation would have already escalated. But you weren’t anyone else. You were someone he knew far too well.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” he bit back, his voice low and steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. There was no mistake now—this wasn’t just about the case. This was more personal. “You are suspended. Your gun and badge on the table. Now.”

Oh, oh, oh.

The words hung in the air between you like a guillotine, sudden and final. The room seemed to close in on you, the breath in your chest catching in surprise. You didn’t know if it was the shock or the disbelief, but your mind struggled to grasp the magnitude of his command. Suspended? Your world was spinning.

You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you with nothing but a hollow sound of confusion. “What? Why?”

“Agent, you disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself and your partner,” he said firmly. “I don’t take your actions lightly. Suspension is not a punishment—it’s a consequence. You need time to heal, both physically and mentally.”

The idea of being sidelined was incomprehensible. The thought of doing nothing—being stuck in your apartment, forced to be still—felt suffocating. No. You couldn’t accept it.

“This is ridiculous. I did my job! I stopped the unsub! Reid saved the victim because I made the right choice!”

You saved a life, even if it meant risking a little of your own. You did save it.

“And what happens next time?” Hotch shot back, his voice rising slightly. “What happens if your judgment falters again because you’re running on empty? What if next time, it’s Reid who doesn’t come back?”

Then, silence.

The thought of Spencer getting hurt turned your stomach and made you question your actions. If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself…His life did matter, a lot.

“Gun. Badge. Now.” Your boss talks again. He gestured toward the desk.

Your fingers trembled, betraying you as you reached for the gun on your hip. The cool metal felt foreign in your hands, like something that had never truly belonged to you. Your mind screamed for you to stop, to stand your ground, to fight this. But your body, exhausted and broken, refused to cooperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice cracked before you could get the words out. “I…I didn’t mean…I just…”

Finally, with a shaky breath, you placed your gun on the desk. The thud it made as it landed felt like the sound of everything you had worked for being shattered in front of you. You could feel the sting of unshed tears burning in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

It didn’t matter what you said. It never seemed to matter, not with him. You had tried so hard to be the one who did everything right, to be the one he could rely on, and yet all you had earned was this—this cold, final judgment. He wasn’t just your boss in that moment; he was the embodiment of everything you had tried to prove yourself against. A reminder that, no matter what you did, it still wasn’t enough.

The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them, the bitter taste of them already familiar. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” The tone you had intended to be defiant came out more like a desperate plea. “You think I can’t handle this, that I’m just some liability?”

He didn’t flinch at your outburst. His gaze softened, but just barely. “No,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle but firm. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not weak. But you’re hurting, and I can see it. You need time to recover.”

The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you tried to fight back the burning in your chest. You refused to let the tears well up, to let them gather where he could see them. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

“I don’t need time,” you said, your voice sharp, biting. But underneath the defiance was something raw and desperate, a quiet plea that you couldn’t fully suppress. “I need to be here. I need to do my job. I need to save lives.”

The last part came out as a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the fragile conviction you had left. You felt like you were slipping, like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and all you could do was cling to this one thing—the job. The only thing that made you feel like you mattered.

“The only life you need to save now is yours,” he said, his voice quieter but still heavy with authority.

You froze, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing tide. Your stomach churned, and you fought to keep your composure, to keep from lashing out, even though every part of you wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

A bitter, trembling laugh bubbled up from your throat, unbidden and full of venom. “If it had been Reid or Morgan, you wouldn’t be doing this,” you snapped, the accusation like a raw wound exposed to the open air.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, or something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tightened, his posture stiffening, and when he spoke, his voice was sharper than before, each word deliberate and cutting.

“No,” he said, the firmness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Because they would never have done this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. It slammed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every other sound. His words rang in your ears, echoing in the hollow space left behind by your crumbling defenses.

They would never have done this.

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your ribs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. He wasn’t just saying you’d made a mistake—he was saying you were the mistake. That you weren’t good enough. That you never would be.

“Is this because I’m a woman?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. There was a bitter edge to them, a question that had been gnawing at you for far too long. “Because Elle is too, and even she has more, or is it because of my age? Reid is younger, and you never doubt him.”

“It’s not about any of that,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. But it wasn’t reassuring. It only sounded like an evasion, like he was brushing your concerns aside, and it made your chest ache all over again. “It’s not about your gender or your age.”

“It’s about me,” you said, the words like glass shards scraping at your insides. “It’s about how you don’t trust me.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost like guilt, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth, but the words he spoke next were measured, controlled. Too controlled.

“No,” he said, his voice so steady it almost hurt. “That’s not it.”

You stared at him, heart racing, hands trembling, as the truth wrapped around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His words weren’t just dismissing your feelings—they were rejecting everything you had ever believed about your worth, about why you were here, in this moment, fighting so desperately for something you couldn’t even name.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t going to back down. Not anymore.

“Then what is it?” You whispered, voice breaking, tears finally threatening to spill. “What is it, Hotch? What is it about me that isn’t enough?”

“It’s not about you,” he said, but his voice lacked the certainty it usually held. “It’s not about trusting you…It’s about protecting you.” His gaze softened just enough for you to notice, but it only made the pain worse. “I can’t lose…I can’t let you lose yourself.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You were trembling, your pulse racing in your ears, but now there was only a terrible stillness. You swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness that rose up in your throat.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” you snapped, barely holding back the frustration that bubbled to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to act like you’re my father, making me follow some imaginary line, keeping me under your control. If you want to raise someone, you already have a baby at home.”

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—just the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes. The barest flinch. But it was enough to make you feel the weight of your accusation like a stone, sinking into your chest. The silence that followed was thick with it, suffocating, and you could feel the air growing heavier between you.

“I’m not your dad,” he said, the words low, the icy calm of his voice unmistakable. There was no anger in it, just a hollow, painful truth. But the sting of it was sharp enough to leave a mark.

You blinked, the sharpness of his response cutting through you like a blade. You wanted to fight back, to lash out with everything you had, but something stopped you. Instead, your voice came out quieter, almost hollow as you whispered, “I know…Do you know that?”

And then, just like that, you turned away, your breath ragged in your chest. You didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t wait for anything. You couldn’t stand the ache that had taken root in your chest, the fear that had begun to take shape in the corners of your mind.

And the door slammed behind you.

[jamiebluewind]

My arm hurts

I broke it 5 years ago and it still hurts. It's still weak. Sometimes when I pick up something, it would feel like my arm was breaking. I went to doctors. The xrays were normal. I've got enough movement. It's fine...

It wasn't

I went to my new pcp (primary care physician) after it was getting to me again. He sent me to a specialist on bones who then sent me to a SPECIAL specialist on just arm bone stuff. The specialists saw my flexibility and the normal x-ray, but also the pain, so they ordered a CT scan. I half hoped they would find something just to have proof that I wasn't crazy and maybe a way to go forward.

The CT scan results popped in my portal, so I looked.

Chronic fracture deformities (bone kept breaking and/or bone took a looong time to heal) post ORIF (the surgery they do to repair bones). Cortical lunacy along the radial aspect of the mid radial diaphanous (in the middle of the big bone in my arm, there's a line that the 3D x-ray went through that it shouldn't have been able to at that strength).

I see the specialist again in 2 weeks. It's been sooo bad the last month. I currently can't hold my phone in my left hand for longer than a minute without it hurting. I struggle to pick up my cat with one arm. I can't open child safe caps, so my roommate has to help. I use a cane for my sporadic left side weakness, so having my left hand be useless means I really can't do much while walking. I'm moving in a couple months and I'm struggling to pack. Just on and on and on...

I broke my left ankle a couple years ago. The scar is small, there is no pain, I often forget anything is in there, and I swear it's stronger than it was BEFORE the break. I never get to forget about my arm because on top of the pain and everything else, the doctor that did the surgery left a long scar down both sides of it. People assume things when they see the bigger one. I hate it. I'm tired of explaining it. I'm tired of people getting weird or staring at it. I was going to get a tattoo over it to make it a little less noticeable, but it hurts so much and the scars are so thick that I don't think I'll ever be able to.

- Pictures below break, followed by graphic details -

The other side isn't as bad but...

yeah.

You might be wondering what those dashes are beside the long scar. If you wanna know, be warned. This part gets graphic.

The original doctor used non dissolving sutures, wrapped about 2/3rds of the stitched area in a single layer of gause with a cast over it, and sent me home. I tried contacting them about my stitched catching in the cast and pulling. About my skin growing over the stitches.

They ignored me every time.

It wasn't until I told them that the knot of one got so stuck in the cast that I had to cut it with a pair of sanitized nail clippers. They had me come in and were actually SURPRISED that my skin had grown completely over all the stitches except for the knot of some of them. So what did they do?

They cut.

I was awake and just sitting in the office as they cut off my cast. They gave me nothing for pain as over two dozen cuts were made down my arm to get enough access to my arm to dig out the stitches with tweezers. On top of pain, I felt weak and this sick cold feeling as they worked. Then, the other side of my arm and more of the same. I was shaking from it all. And then? He just sent me home. Gave me a brace to wear. When I told him that the weight of my hand made my arm feel like it was gonna snap and that I still could barely move two of my fingers, he waved me off, saying it would get better with physical therapy.

It took YEARS of me working on my hand to get as much dexterity as I have now. And it hurts. It always hurts. I told him. I told so many. Something is wrong. I did everything they suggested and nothing helped.

Part of me wonders if this is all my fault. My father said it was because I was stupid (went to a sleep doctor and they had something slick on the floor that I slipped on and the ENT that came ALSO nearly slipped on it too). My mind says all of you will blame me for cutting the stitch caught on my cast. But... I don't know. Sometimes screaming into the void helps. Sometimes a stranger is even nice and/or helpful about it! I just... two weeks. Two weeks until I find out if anything can even be done for this. And all the while, I wasn't able to sue the place I fell and the surgeon that messed up my arm is still probably out there practicing. It sucks.

[thebibliosphere]

The fact that Mothman got scolded for not being more concerned about his chest pain while you got a lecture on anxiety should be grounds to start biting people, actually.

No jury would convict you.

For real.

I will say, these happened at different hospitals and the one we go to now is far better at addressing this kind of bias (the male doctor yesterday even acknowledged it when I told him about what our phones did)

But the number of times I’ve been dismissed in the past as an “anxious patient” and been left to sit in the waiting room for hours on end (sometimes with a literal perforation in my intestine) while yesterday we walked up to the check-in desk like “hey, he has chest pains and urgent care said to come here” and got immediately walked back into emergency triage was insane.

Like I was so, so, so grateful they were taking him seriously and were immediately on it.

But I’m also going to feel my feelings about all the times I’ve presented with the same symptoms and been handed an anxiety diagnosis sheet to fill out in the waiting room.

[exhaslo]

Day 19- Miguel x Reader (Sex Pollen)

       

*Requested by several readers ;) *

Another day, another mission. You had joined Miguel and Jessica on an anomaly hunt in a new dimension. All sounded simple at first, Jessica was in charge of finding the Spiderman or woman of that world and attempting to recruit them; you were going to hunt the anomaly; and Miguel was going to survey the new world. That was the original plan, but once the three of you actually arrived at said world, everything changed.

        Staring at the vast jungle before you, you rubbed your eyes to make sure it was true. There were no buildings in sight. They had already recruited some odd animal Spiders, was this going to be another one. Miguel was getting a diagnosis done by Lyla. In the meantime, you and Jessica observed your surroundings.

"Wow, I don't think I'll be able to leaf this alone for a while," You hummed, poking a large leaf.

"I'll pretend you didn't make such a horrible pun." Jessica crossed her arms as she looked up at the fifty foot trees, "Yeah, I'm calling this one off. Let me know how it goes," With a wave, Jessica returned to the Spider Society.

"Shocking," Miguel hissed, "Humanity went extinct in this world. So let's grab our anomaly before he messes with nature."

"Coolio. I'm sure the wildlife will think of us as giant Spiders." You chuckled.

        Miguel did not find it amusing as he led the way. You complained to him, wanting Miguel to cheer up. The man was the pinnacle of stressed out. You could feel his tension whenever you entered a room with him. Hell, his muscles showed it too. Speaking of muscles, you were staring at his for far too long now. Looking away, you huffed as you now stared at his ass. How was there a Spiderman this fucking fine? You couldn't help but want the man! 

"There," Miguel pointed towards the anomaly.

        You stood behind Miguel, staring at a very confused Shocker. Miguel was whispering a plan to you, but you were not focusing. His cologne smelled so nice. Flinching as Miguel dashed forward, you panicked and followed him. It wasn't your fault you were head over heels with him! 

"(Y/N)!"

"Oof!" You felt your spider senses tingle as you dodged an attack from Shocker, "Ah! The hell!?" You gasped as you fell into a cluster of veins.

"Ay dios mío. (Oh my god.)" Miguel spat as he went after Shocker. You hurried after the two,

"Sorry! I dozed off for the second!"

        Miguel ignored you as he easily caught the rouge Shocker. He tied Shocker up and threw him into the dimensional portal. You were about to join Miguel, but felt your spider senses warn you again. You webbed Miguel, bringing him towards you as a large bird attacked. The two of you fell towards the ground. For a brief second, Miguel wrapped his arms around you, protecting you from the fall. Luckily, you both landed on a large flower bud. Yellow pollen floating in the air.

        You sighed in relief and tried asking Miguel if he was okay, but felt him hold your head. His grip was tight as he kept your head pressed against his chest. It was almost hard to breathe.

"Miguel, I can't breathe." You muttered. Not that this was a bad thing.

"Fuck, just wait..." He groaned, "Something isn't....right."

        That was odd. Miguel sounded like he was in pain. You touched his chest to try and move but noticed him flinch. Suddenly, you felt something hard press against your stomach. Your eyes widen as your senses went off. Miguel was protecting you from this strange pollen. Trying to get his attention again, Miguel let out a low cry. This was defiantly bad! Forcing yourself away, you grabbed Miguel's face and pressed it against your chest while you held your breathe.

        The pollen was almost gone. You just had to hold on. You glanced down at Miguel and noticed that he removed his mask. Your fingers were now coiling with his soft hair. Miguel groaned again then moved his hands up your back. You shivered as his groans sent a vibration between your breasts.

"(Y/N), fuck...I need you," His tone was so needy.

"What?!" You gasped in shock.

        Your eyes widen as you inhaled some of the pollen. Suddenly, your body started to burn. You whimpered as you leaned back, rubbing your legs together as your pussy started to drip. Miguel hovered over you, his hands gently touching your sensitive bud. Your eyes widen as you let out a loud moan from just a simple touch. Miguel's suit disappeared and he used his talons to rip yours.

"M-Miguel, we...we shouldn't." You tried to tell him, but your body was burning up. Miguel kissed you feverishly,

"No, we shouldn't."

        His fingers started to pump inside your pussy as he kept kissing you. Your moans were being swallowed by him as you felt him satisfy the burning sensation. His fingers getting coated by a waterfall of your juices, desperate for more. Miguel broke the kiss, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you. Unable to wait much longer, you reached for him, grinding yourself against his hand.

        Miguel hissed lowly and removed his fingers, needing his own burning pain to go away. He used your juices to stroke his dick as a lube. Without much warning, he easily slid his dick inside of you, thrusting away his lust. Your mind went hazy as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Miguel's dick pounding your every so hungry pussy. Whatever this pollen was made you both so horny that you weren't thinking straight. All you wanted was his dick.

        Miguel held your waist, slapping himself into you like a madman. The lewd sounds of your bodies hitting each other echoed throughout the forest. Your moans growing louder with each thrust. A mixture of his cum and your juices pooling onto the forest floor. Miguel didn't even realize he had cummed inside of you. The immense pleasure you both were feeling was overpowering your own orgasms. All the two of wanted was to keep feeling each other.

        You weren't sure how long the two of you were fucking each other dumb for. One moment you were on your back, the next you were riding him, and so on. Your body kept moving on its own as your pussy kept sucking Miguel's dick. Each thrust of his tip against your cervix sent shivers down your spine. Miguel had you back against your back, needing to go deeper. Needing to have you scream his name out.

"M-Mig-" Your words were caught off as you arched your back in pleasure.

"Fuck, look at you. Always wanted to taste this pussy," Miguel started to babble, watching his dick form a white ring from your juices, "Make you mine. What a good girl you are, taking my dick so well,"

"Ah~ M-Mig...hah...R-Right....t-there."

        Your eyes rolled back as the burning sensation started to fade away. Now you were starting to feel your orgasm. You felt your body grow weak as you cam once more. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried to call out to Miguel. His grip was on your waist was so tight. The daze you were in went away, but was now being washed over by his dick bullying your pussy. You felt so full. His dick was pushing all of his cum deeper inside you. You brain was starting to get cock drunk as you moved your hips again,

"M-Miggy~"

"That's right, say my name." Miguel panted lowly. He thumb trailing over your clit to steal another orgasm from you, "Dime que tu estrecho coño me pertenece. Que te voy a joder tonto. (Tell me that your tight pussy belongs to me. That I'm going to fuck you dumb.)" He groaned.

        Miguel started to come back to his senses as he filled you once more. He took a moment to catch his breathe, hovering over you. He slowly pulled out, watching a river of his cum spill out of your bullied cunt. Another groan escaped his lips as his suit reappeared. You were still a panting mess, trembling from the overstimulation. Miguel reached out to you, pulling you into his chest,

"Are you alright?" He asked softly. You buried your head into his shoulder,

"Fucked out." You barely whispered.

"Yeah," He agreed and looked at his watch, "¡¿Qué carajo, llevamos más de una hora follando?! (What the fuck, we've been fucking for over an hour?!)" He nearly yelled out. Your eyes widen,

"W-What?! I only came to my senses in those last few minutes!" You coughed. Miguel held your head, glancing at the nearby pollen,

"Let's get out of here."

--------------

        Miguel took you straight to his place afterwards. He gave you some water and helped give you a proper bath. The two of you were embarrassed to say the least. Once you were washed and rested, Miguel sat against the edge of his bed.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat, "I suppose it's too late to say that I have feelings for you." He muttered lowly. You chuckled, scooting closer to him,

"I don't think that sex pollen would have worked if you didn't," You teased him. Miguel flinched,

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"That what Lyla explained it as. Pollen that acts out of the desire to mate with one's chosen interest." You continued to tease Miguel. Miguel's ears turned red as he cussed quietly about his AI, "I like you too. Also, you owe me a new suit."

"Ya estoy trabajando en ello. Asegurándome de que desapareciera como el mío. (I'm already working on it. Making sure it came disappear like mine.)" He said, hiding his smirk.

        You grew flustered and quickly asked him about where your old suit was. Miguel brought it out, keeping it in a sealed bag. You huffed your cheeks out, telling him that it has been hours and should be fine. Opening the bag, you flatted your suit out to see the damage. As you did, yellow pollen came out of the suit, causing Miguel to give you a slight glare.

"I'm sorry!" You coughed, inhaling the pollen. Miguel threw your suit to the side, the pollen already affecting him,

"No puedo explicar lo tonto que te voy a follar ahora. Especialmente porque no recordaremos la primera puta hora. (Can't explain how much dumber I'm going to fuck you now. Especially since we won't remember the first fucking hour of it.)" He spat, his body shaking as his dick started to harden. You had your legs spread out already,

"I promise it won't happen again!"

You fucking liar