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just-horrible-things · 2 years ago

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Whumptober Day 4: Dead on your feet / Hidden Injury

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Chewtoy AU, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Connor is rescuing Ariadne

Motel [ Prev | Next ]

“Oh my god,” says the woman on the front desk. “Is she okay?” “She’s fine,” Connor answers. Ariadne’s piteous, ragged gasping gives the lie to his words. “She will be fine,” he corrects. “Just… exhausted.” “She doesn’t look okay,” the receptionist argues. “I can call you an ambulance–” “No,” Connor interjects sharply. He lays a hundred dollar bill – Canadian – on the counter between them. “Just a room.”

“I can have Marie drive you to the hospital –” “Just a room,” he reiterates, “and no questions, please. We’ve come a long way.” Another fifty dollars on the counter. The woman bites her lip.

“She’ll be okay,” Connor repeats. “I promise. All she needs is sleep. So give us a room, please?” “Well… if you’re sure,” the receptionist allows, finally moving to book them into her computer system. “Would you like a double or a twin, Mr. …?” “Miller. Jack and Sarah Miller. We’ll take a twin.” “Okay. Well, you let me know if you need anything, okay? You won’t be a bother. It’s 237 to call reception, and the emergency services are 911 just like in the USA. If you go back the way you came and turn left at the end of the building, your room is on the right…”

The room is hardly secure, but Connor still feels a little better once the lock closes behind them.

His legs shake crouching down to set Ari as gently as possible onto the bed. She moans and shudders. Her fingertips grasp weakly at the sheets. “We made it,” he tells her, even though her eyes are fixed on nothing and he’s not sure if she can hear him. “We can rest now.” “M’sorry,” Ari whimpers between breathless sobs. “Ca-an’t, m’sorry.” “It’s okay,” he tells her. “You did great.”

She relaxes a little at that, sinking into the bed clothes, and cries quieter.

She must be relieved to know she doesn’t have to go any further. Connor tries to think of that, and not of Riven’s voice crooning good girl, you did good.

Connor wants nothing more than to lie down on the other bed and rest. He aches head to toe, his legs are trembling with exhaustion, and his feet throb in his boots. But he owes it to Ari to take care of her first. It’s not like she can take care of herself as she is.

Water first, for both of them. They’ve drunk the last of the gatorade already. Connor presses the back of a hand to Ariadne’s cheek to feel her temperature – a little warm, but nothing to be worried about. She’s sticky with sweat and tears and she doesn’t make eye contact even with his hand on her face.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises. “You’re going to be okay.”

He peels her shirt – his shirt – off her unresisting body and starts unwinding the bandages. He doesn’t have enough to redo them without finding somewhere to get more, but they’re brown and yellow with blood and sweat and they need to come off.

Underneath, her ribs are red and purple and black, rising and falling erratically. Her back has bled into the fabric and he doesn’t try to prise it away from the scabs. It’ll come off with water.

Boots next. Connor’s fingers are numb with exhaustion, but he unlaces them carefully. When he tugs on the first one she moans with pain, and when he pulls hard enough to actually get the boot off her foot, that sound pitches up into an outright cry.

“Oh fuck."

Her sock is caked with blood, sodden with it. The foot is swollen. Ari’s voice tails off into a juddering whine.

“Shit, Ariadne, what did he do to your feet?” He peels the sock off as gingerly as he can. “-- please –” Ari whispers into the covers “-- sir – please –” “I’m gonna help you, Ari,” Connor promises again.

Without the sock, the swelling is more obvious. The skin is black and purple with bruising – where it’s not slashed open and bleeding. The cuts look like whip marks, all deeper at one edge than the other.

“Jesus Christ.”

He made her run like this. They didn’t have another choice, but… Jesus. He’s sorry for dragging her back to her feet all the times she tried to say she couldn’t carry on.

He’s more careful taking her other boot off. She still cries. Connor unbuttons her pants and eases them down her legs, then threads her feet through with painstaking caution. “-- please –” she sobs. “Easy,” he tells her, “nearly done.”

He gathers her into his arms – legs and back twinging with the effort – and carries her to the bathroom. Thankfully there’s a tub, and he lays her down in it, on her side with her butt against one edge and her knees against the other. She looks at him with bleary, teary eyes. Connor tucks a folded towel between her head and the edge of the tub, and she settles her face against it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he tells her, “then you can sleep.” “Mmnh,” she answers, which is at least some kind of acknowledgement.

He runs the shower head into the sink until he’s satisfied that it’s running warm, then he plays the water carefully over Ariadne’s shivering body. The rivulets run red against the white porcelain. The bandages peel away from her back as they soak through, revealing the angry crosshatch of wounds beneath.

“Is the water warm enough?” “Mmh.”

There are places where the blood is streaked with pale infection, but all told it’s not too bad. Not bad enough that Connor is worried about letting her sleep before finding her a doctor. He washes the cuts out gently with the running water and – after scrubbing his hands – his fingers, and Ariadne doesn’t protest.

He’d rather not take her to a hospital. Not before he’s found a good lawyer, at least. The hospital will tell the authorities and the authorities could send them both straight back across the border.

He shuts the water off and wraps Ariadne in a towel to lift her out of the tub. Ari tries to cling to him this time, which has to be a good sign. She’s still shaking like a leaf and breathing in pained, choppy gasps.

He lays her down carefully in the bed, and covers two towels in her blood getting her dry. The motel can bill him for the cost of getting the blood out if they like. It’s not important. Ari watches with a hazy, uncertain gaze as he tucks a pillow beneath her swollen feet.

At least she is watching him now.

Connor’s starting to shiver as well, the sleepless night catching up with him. There’s a thermostat on the wall and he turns it up, but he can’t tell if the heater responds or not.

More ointment for Ariadne’s open wounds, and this time she doesn’t flinch from his hands. She trusts Connor that much at least.

“One more thing, then you can sleep.” He tips another dose of antibiotics from the bottle into his palm, and shows them to Ariadne. She opens her mouth for them like an obedient child, so after a second of surprise he drops them directly onto her tongue. She swallows without asking for water. Connor gets her some anyway.

“Need anything else?” She shakes her head no, just a twitch of motion against the pillow. “Okay. Get some sleep,” Connor advises. Ari nods and closes her eyes. A second later, she opens them again. “... are you… gonna go?”

He was. There are things that need doing sooner rather than later. But Connor looks into Ariadne’s eyes and sees the fear there. He breathes out.

“No,” he says. “Not yet. I’m right here.”

He can stay until she sleeps, at least.

So he sits on the bed beside her, and fishes under the covers for Ariadne’s hand. Her skin is cold, but her fingers curl around his. Connor brushes a thumb back and forth across her knuckles, and she closes her eyes again.

[Next]

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #hidden injury #oc #fic #my writing #verse: resistance #au: chewtoy #chewtoy!ariadne #connor thompson #what is chronological order I think I am allergic to it

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lovelilijazunde · 5 years ago

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Picking It Up Part 1

Hey guys! This is that [original work] that I’ve been talking about! It’s an ongoing multi-part story based off of a roleplay chat between me and @deafgirl-and-hercoven , who owns the AU that this and my two-part story And It All Fell Down takes place in. This series follows the events of And It All Fell Down, and I hope to update it multiple times a month! It all depends on how much homework/play rehearsal I’ve got.

Ships: Romantic Dukeceit/Demus

Warnings: Coughing/sneezing, roughhousing, Roman is a lil’ rude at the beginning

Word Count: 1051

Summary: Deceit is sick, and Princess needs a babysitter.

The Light Side Commons were warm and cozy, with a lovely lingering after smell of bacon and pancakes, left over from Patton and Roman’s late brunch. Patton had gone back up to his room about half an hour ago after finishing the dishes, and Roman had curled up on the large sofa to relax. There wasn’t any work that needed doing today, for once, and Roman was making the most of the brief rest period by binging all of the Disney Princess movies in chronological order. Propped up by several pillows, legs criss-crossed in front of him, the day could not have been better. He was half way through Cinderella when Deceit popped up right in front of him.

“Gah!” Roman shrieked. Deceit smirked.

“Why, Roman, was my entrance too dramatic for you?”

Remus, who had entered soon after Deceit, with Princess in tow, cackled. Roman wanted to strangle him, but he instead decided to level his glare at the Side who had caused the display of excessive alarm.

“What you want, Sir Slime-a-lot?”

Princess’s freckled face screwed up in defensive anger, and she leaped, feet first, onto Roman’s lap. “Don’t call him slimy!”.

Roman shrieked and curled in on himself.

Deceit lost his smug expression. “AAAH! Princess, no! It’s just a nickname! Roman, I am so sorry about her! She is very protective of those she loves. I WAS going to ask you to babysit her while I’m down with a common cold, but I’ll . . . I’ll ask someone else. Again, my apologies!”

Roman only made a little whimper. Remus was rolling on the floor laughing so hard that tears were smudging his eye makeup.

“I-” wheeze “I taught-” wheeze “I’ve taught her so well!”

“Remus!” exclaimed Deceit, appalled, before sneezing into his elbow. “I’m sick! She needs a babysitter!”

***

Thomas was lounging on his couch. It was a free day in his busy schedule, and he for once finally had time to sit down, relax, and . . . watch The Office bloopers for the 18th time. Logan would not be pleased. Nothing exciting was going to happen that day. Just him, pizza, the couch, and the TV . . . until Deceit popped up, coughing into his elbow, with Princess at his side. Thomas stood up quickly, letting the blanket he was holding drop to the floor.

“Deceit! Are you alright?”

Deceit looked touched at the concern. “It’s just a common cold, but I don’t want to pass it to Princess, so I was wondering if-”

“Hi, Thomas!” Princess interrupted. She was wearing a fluffy green tulle dress today, with ripped black leggings and raggedy sneakers. There was a blotch of blue paint across the knuckles of one hand.

“Oh, hi there, Princess! Um, hey, Deceit. While you’re here, I wanted to, um, ask you . . . something . . .”

Deceit stifled another cough. “Go ahead.”

Princess, ever one to derail a conversation, ran over to Thomas, beaming. She stretched her arms up. “Do you want a hug?”

“Oh!” Thomas hadn’t been expecting that, even though he didn’t know why not. Children were always either giving hugs or being held. Right? Right. “Yes, of course, Princess! I would love a hug!” he opened his arms, crouched down, and hugged her gently. “Deceit, I was wondering . . . well, if you’re not feeling good . . . and I’m here . . . and I’m free today . . . so . . . oh, Princess, do you want to spend the day with me?”

Deceit coughed again, but know, instead of looking completely apprehensive, he was smiling in the relief that Thomas had seen before on parents when a great burden was lifted from their shoulders - the sigh of thank goodness, a babysitter.

“Are you,” he coughed again. “Are you sure about that, Thomas? She has punched and stomped on the others, and just this morning she crushed Romans, er, dreams of ever having children, shall we say.”

Princess stomped her foot angrily on the ground, scowling. “He was calling Dee names!”

Deceit sighed. “Apparently, this lovely protective princess doesn’t quite understand the concept of a joke yet.” He gave the Side in question a loving but baleful glance before turning back to Thomas. “Anyhow, I was going to ask you to watch her while I have a cold.”

Thomas’s brain was lagging a little bit in the conversation. “She wha-” he snapped back into the present, “I- I mean, sure, of course! I’m so glad that you thought that I could do it!”

Deceit favored him with a rare smile. “If Me and Remus could do it for five years, I think you can do it for one day.” He summoned a pink Barbie backpack and handed it to Thomas. “Are you sure that you want to babysit?”

Thomas swallowed and nodded. He could do this. Absolutely. Maybe. The point is he wanted to, and he wanted the practice. Thomas had an intense desire to DadTM, but did not have any kids yet. Yet as the operating word here. “Yeah, I do.”

Gesturing to the backpack he had just handed Thomas, Deceit tried not to cough as he started giving out instructions. “Here’s her backpack, it has some of her toys and books in it.”

Thomas nodded in acknowledgement. “Okey-dokey! I hope you feel better, Deceit.”

“Hold on, I have more,” Deceit stopped him. “She absolutely can not have sweets. She’s allergic to carrots, she loves true crime stuff, she loves playing doctor, and no horror movies no matter how much she begs for them.” He paused to make sure Thomas was getting all that. “No Imagination without either Remus or I. Oh, and choose your words carefully. She sometimes reacts . . . strongly when words are arranged in ways that do not mean the same to her as what we think they mean to us. Also, she is highly afraid of r-a-t-s.”

“Nooooooo!” Princess whined shrilly. “I know that means rats, Dee! I’m five, not two!”

“How did you - you’re five!” Thomas exclaimed. He looked to Deceit in confusion. “Is she spelling already?! That’s advanced for her age!”

Shaking his head, Deceit replied, “Well, she can spell small words like that. Enough to get by. She keeps an adventure journal, you know.”

“Yeah!” Princess chimed in cheerily. “I don’t wanna forget anything! So I write it down!”

Deceit rolled his eyes lightly, and shook his head. “Just, make sure she doesn't die, okay?”

#deceit sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #character thomas #Princess Sanders #dukeceit #babysitting

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checkoutafrica · 4 years ago

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Manu Grace; the multi- insturmentalist

South African songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Manu Grace is one of the most striking acts to emerge from the South African alternative music scene. Her sound can be described as ‘Sensitive Pop’ — unguarded and groovy; appealing to both heart and feet alike. Raised in a creative family, Manu grew up with plenty of room for her imagination to thrive. For as long as she can remember, music has been her primary interest have always had a piano in the house, Manu begged and begged for lessons until her hands were finally deemed big enough. She later picked up guitar and bass, using her precious screen-time to print guitar tabs off the Internet. At 15, she wrote her first full composition the day her baby brother came home from the hospital. “It was a sweet tribute to the new little pipsqueak”. From there, songwriting became second nature and although she was shy in regular life, she had an innate drive to get on stage at any possible opportunity. “It’s weird how you can be so drawn to something with such a deep sense of knowing”.

No Room for Error. This EP reflects Manu’s inner and outer world over the course of an eventful couple of months of love, loss and visa runs. It trails her travels chronologically and the project reads like a story. No Room for Error is a bold unlocking of freedom and femininity — unabashed about desire; vulnerable and fierce. “I approached the process with a sense of freedom and fearlessness — no idea was ever too wild, and I really love working like that.”

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#fetchtheboltcutters (life is so wacky)

Sending love. Another offering later this week

A fun one ; can’t wait!

A post shared by MANU GRACE (@_manugrace) on Sep 1, 2020 at 4:19am PDT

For those that have never heard your music, how would you describe your sound?

That one is hard, hmm I don’t know? For a long time, I was allergic to the word pop but I think alternative pop is a good way to put it – there’s a lot of storytelling and maybe it’s too honest. I don’t know, I like to call it sensitive pop if that is even a thing ahaha.

You say you grew up in a creative family, so since you’re a musician, what do the rest of your family do?

My fathers an architect by profession but he’s an incredible poet and writer, my moms a novelist and screen writer, my brother is a film maker so we each kind of picked our niche! However, I do think that sometimes we can get a little over-involved in each others projects, like at the start of lockdown my older brother, myself and our two little brothers – we were all in our moms house, stuck at home and he’s a cinematographer so we shot a music video in the house with the children, the chickens and the dogs, so that’ll come out soon if we don’t change our minds ahaha.

What did you learn from being in a band – the Aztec sapphires”

It was a very short- lived experience but very fun. This was my first time playing with anyone, I did classical piano and my version of music was always me writing my own songs then playing base guitar by myself so they deffo taught me lot, especially in terms of performing.

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TikTok circa 2006 Try telling this kid that in fourteen years' time she'll have a single racking up tens of thousands of plays in just one week.

A post shared by MANU GRACE (@_manugrace) on Aug 11, 2020 at 2:41am PDT

No room for error what is it about?

I started on it last year may, I work with two collaborators – Russ and Robin and they were in cape town in may – whenever we’re in the same city we just cram. Then rob moved to berlin and Russ moved to London and we started working on a few tracks, I went to Italy to au pair in order to afford to be able to go to Berlin and record with them, with the intention of bringing the songs that we had already been working on. So we worked on it in Berlin, I spent every waking moment in the studio for like 10 whole days and it was really really fun, then i had to come back to cape town because of visa stuff, then I went back to London to finish all the vocal recordings. The intention was to move to London, i initially only came back thinking id be here for two, three weeks but thanks to lockdown I’ve been here ever since ahahaha

How does it compare to your debut ep June?

It feels a lot bolder, if i can say that. I just feel that over the course of making it I was growing a lot as a human and i think it shows. it’s also a lot less careful if that makes sense, I really love it, I don’t know if i can say that but I am really proud of it. It just feels really authentic. It feels more confident because I sound more confident

Do you have any expectations for your new ep, especially with how successful the last one was?

I just want to create music.

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World premiere of my new single 'Two Weeks' on @zanelowe 's @beats1official radio show in 30 minutes!!! Beside myself — I've been itching to have this music out in the world. Tune in on @applemusic at 18h30 SAST to be the first to hear it, and to get the scoop on my misadventures in Italy last Summer

Link in bio x

: @taofarren

A post shared by MANU GRACE (@_manugrace) on Aug 3, 2020 at 9:01am PDT

If you weren’t doing music, what would you be doing?

I think about that all the time. I have no idea because I feel like I have limited myself so much that there is no backup plan so this HAS to be my thing. But I don’t know, I mean I have done lots of things, I studied English at UCT and I have done teaching – teaching piano but I am realising now that whenever I have needed money, I have always gone for odd jobs that you can’t really turn into a career.

I saw that you used to be a shy person, over time have you gotten over this and gained more confidence?

I’ve always been quiet shy socially, but weirdly the performance thing has always come naturally and to this day I am still perplexed by it. It’s a very strange phenomenon

What valuable lessons have learned from Ross and Robin (of Beatenberg)

With them, it’s really fun because we’re really good friends and I just feel so safe with them and I don’t know, with this project especially, I was encouraged to have no inhibitions and I felt free to do what I wanted to do creatively. The whole process was really freeing and fun. I miss them!!!

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

Obviosuly the dream is for my music to go as far as it possibly can, I just want it to be heard, if i can sustain myself all my life from just doing music then that’s it. That’s literally just it.

Listen to her top tracks here;

The post Manu Grace; the multi- insturmentalist appeared first on CheckoutAfrica.

from WordPress https://www.checkoutafrica.com/manu-grace-the-multi-insturmentalist/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=manu-grace-the-multi-insturmentalist

#Interviews #Music #African music #african musician #alternative pop #interview #music #south african

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i-am-parsec · 6 years ago

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Unaddressed Letters - Part V

Leaving Jacksonville - part I

The night they leave is warm and quiet. End of the summer, the streets downtown are still fairly crowed after the sun goes down, Stacy has some costumers roaming around the thrift shop while Chase, just across the street, sweats in the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant, trying to leave no meat uncooked and no drink without ice.

During a brief moment of precious spare time, he checks his phone.

“Call me when you are done with the dishes, kitchen boy" reads the screen.

His heart skips a beat and he frowns. Of course she’s texting him, they are friends. They go back home together every single night after work. This is not something worth a heart-beat skipping, when the fuck is his brain going to get the memo?

He can’t continue his internal screaming - those burritos aren’t going to make themselves.

The young girl puts her phone away as an old man approaches the counter. Dark eyes, whitening short brown hair, a full goatee and about two heads taller than her. He doesn’t look scary per se, but neither does he look friendly and yet Stacy is invaded by an strange feeling of warm comfort when met by this unknown client and ponders, for a second, why. When it clicks, her hands freeze. She keeps her gaze glued on the light blue shirt she’s bagging, choking back the tears. It’s always like this, something ordinary, unimportant, pulls the trigger and the pain rushes to her eyes. She manages to snap out of it, but not without the man noticing.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?”

Fuck, even his voice is similar. She fails at smiling and looks away.

“Yes, sir, it’s just…you look a lot like...uh, my dad. Well, not a lot, it’s mostly the beard...I think…”

As she looks down, it’s impossible to deny the burn in her throat and the shaking of her hands. Not now, please, not here. Crying during working hours in a thrift shop that’s probably – totally – laundering drug money.

Well, that’s a new low.

“Did you lose him recently?” asks the man gently, prompting her to look up.

“No, I…I lost him when I was kid. He was shot…a robbery gone wrong…”

He nods, no trace of pity in his features, only compassion and understanding. Maybe he lives in town, maybe he also lost someone in the hands of the corrupted and greedy. Maybe he knows this pain too.

“I’m sorry to tell you, darling, that it won’t ever stop hurting, especially in your case, a loss so unfair, but let me tell you this…” the old man stops for a second, and then, with more conviction than Stacy has ever witnessed in her entire life “…you are strong enough to handle this and any other nonsense that life throws at you. You just gotta remember that, always."

Her phone buzzes for a long minute but she doesn’t pick up. She’s still holding her breath when he gives her the money. She wants to tell him to not worry about it, the shirt is on her, but with such a tight budget, every cent counts. All she can do is smile and thank him.

Another call. She tries her best to sound calm but Chase can tell something's wrong in the tiredness of her "hey". She explains quickly, hoping to ease his friend's mind - he's already anxious mess by default, wouldn't want to fuel it up - and after repeating at least ten times "yes, Chase, I swear I'm ok now", she sighs and then asks.

"Can we go down to the bar tonight?"

There's a second of silence. She hates drinking or, to be more precise, she hates seeing him drinking. She claims he likes it a bit too much for his own good. She continues.

"I'll hurry up and close this dumpster in a minute, and then we go straight down to Joe's, what do you say?"

He knows what his friend is doing, she's avoiding herself, avoiding the thinking, the pain and honestly, he can't blame her. He's been there, done that, and she always stayed by his side whenever he went into Emotionless Drunk Mess mode, so he has no problem returning the favor now.

"I say I'm covered in sweat, blood and other unknown bodily fluids so maybe we go home and take a shower first?"

When she laughs, he feels his heart become a little lighter.

"First of all: ew, gross; secondly: We take shower? Are you suggesting we take it together, Brody?"

And there it is, that's the Stacy he knows and loves - a teasing smart ass. This time though, he doesn't let her words fluster him - too much - and attacks back.

"Of course, Walters, we gotta do it for the environment's sake, you know? We gotta save water!"

"Oh, yeah, totally, that’s why, it has nothing to do with you dying to see me naked."

"I feel so insulted you would even dare to think that, young lady, I am a gentleman!"

"Oh, sure thing, perv. Okay, I'll finish here and meet you outside in a bit."

The smile on his face lingers all the way until he sees her walking out the store. He nods curiously at the bag on her hand. She smiles like a kid planning a prank and simply winks.

“I’m just borrowing a little something.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s called stealing, Stacy.”

She chuckles and then, as she usually does, starts a fire in his chest with just a short phrase.

“Don’t judge me, I just want to look pretty for our date.”

She’s joking, Brody, she’s fucking joking, like all friends do.

Just as they get to their stop, their bus arrives.

“This must be our lucky night” exclaims Stacy surprised. Once they are settled in their seats, she rests her head on his shoulder and grabs his hand. Chase simply does his best to not suffer a stroke.

“We have to get out of here, dude. Soon.”

“That’s the plan” stutters the young man, wishing he could sound a bit less nervous by something that they have been doing for years now.

“Yeah, I know, but we always talk about it as a goal in the future and I…I don’t know. I feel like we shouldn’t wait too long or we might end up never leave this town” mutters Stacy with a sudden grim tone.

“Don’t say that, dude, of course we are doing it,” says her friend as her grabs her chin, looking for her eyes, all awkwardness replaced by the imperative need to bring her smile back “we promised we would, didn’t we?”

She nods half-heartedly and snuggles up against him, like a lost dog hides from the rain under a frail tree. As he hugs her, bringing her closer, he whispers against her dark hair: “Let’s set a date.”

“For our wedding? Sorry, Brody, but you haven’t even proposed to me yet” she jokes dryly.

Ignoring the sudden rush of heat on his body, he replies: “No, dumbass, for our escape!”

She come out of her shelter and looks at him with a hint of excitement on her eyes.

“A date?”

“Yeah, a date. Tell me when you want to leave.”

She bites her lower lip - one of her many quirks that drives him insane - and inhales slowly. As she breathes out, she answers: “End of this year. That should give us enough time to save a decent amount of money, make a good plan and maybe find a place to rent.”

“Well, end of the year it is. December 31 we are getting the fuck out of Jacksonville.”

And when he laughs, she feels the whole world become a little lighter.

More info, previous chapters, tag list AND HEADCANONS under the cut

First and foremost, I apologize for any mistakes in the chapter. This one wasn’t proof-read either and on top of that I wrote it on a rush but hopefully it’s decent ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

All chapters in chronological order, here. Previous chapter, here. Next chapter, here.

SO, yes, this is a two-part chapter - truth be told, I’m only posting this now and not both parts as one since I’m quite busy and have no time to finish writing it but I still wanted to post something now as, idk, a christmas special???? whatever, I just wanted to post it, lol

Anyways, HEADCANON TIME:

* As you may have noticed in the last chapter, Chase and Stacy’s daughter - Esperanza (which, by the way, means Hope in Spanish) - has a VERY Latino name, well, that’s because my hc is that Stacy is latina! Well, half latina, her mom is latina, her dad is white and because Stacy is white-passing and her mom knew about the struggles of being a Latina woman in the US, Stacy’s parents decided to give her a very white first name, so she would have it “easier” in life. Spoiler alert: she didn’t have it easier in life. Like, at all.

* Despite that, she still has a very Latino second name - Dolores (which means Pains in Spanish *winkwink*) - that she loves just as much as she loves her Latino heritage, and that’s why she named her daughter like that - Chase 100% loves the name as well.

* This is kinda spoilerish (because I will explore this headcanon in far more depth later on the fic) but I still feel you guys should know: Before they were the best of friends, Henrik and Chase were penpals��- they met through an elementary school penpal project and kept writing each other all the way until adulthood, when they finally met face to face.

* Neither Chase or Stacy had pets - or were allowed to have any - by the time they became friends, but they both love animals and started feeding a cat they always came across on their way to school. They named the cat Sam.

* Stacy is allergic to cats. She loved Sam from a distance.

* Chase knows quite a bit of Spanish Stacy taugh him. She didn’t teach him just for funsies but because she ended up getting him a job in a Mexican restaurant and the owners didn’t speak English. She was very impressed by how easy it was for him to get used to the Latino enviroment and how good he turned out to be at cooking.

* Chase knows Stacy likes her second name better than her first, but sucks at pronuncing it correctly so he only call her Dolores jokingly andsometimeswhentheyhavesex

* They weren’t each others “first”, but Stacy told Chase after they did it for the first time that she had never enjoyed sex before him (and Chase almost cried because of such huge compliment).

* Esperanza is fluent in Spanish and English and knows a bit of German thanks to Uncle Henrik. Henrik is also Esperanza’s godfather.

I have way more headcanons but all of them are incredibly spoilery, so this is all you get for now. Now let’s move on to the next chap-

❤ Tag list ❤: @amyxmiaplay, @beck-pma, @closedworldofmathiel, @darktrash-drash, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @flyingfishflopsthings, @fruitycasket, @happysingingturtles, @hiimizzyxoxo, @hishex, @kitnkas, @mcomegalletas, @mijako98, @mjjau, @mysterious-cupcake-ninja, @mysticalanimallover, @novasingalaxies, @plutoandpolaris, @probablyghosting, @randomartdudette, @saltyweirdbi, @sassy-in-glasses, @scarlet--raven, @septicuniverse, @skyewardlight, @thevampireauthoress, @youllnevertaketheskyfromme

Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please reblog, that helps me a lot ❤

#Chase Brody #Stacy Brody #Unaddressed Letters #Jacksepticeye #Antisepticeye #Henrik Von Schneepletein #Dr. Schneeplestein #Fanfic #JSE #fanfiction #JSE egos #JSE community #therealjacksepticeye

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baneismydragon · 7 years ago

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Marichat Cliches Gone Wrong- #2 Cookies.

(This series will eventually be compiled into one story and put in chronological order, but for right now I am just posting the story snippets)

“Alright, Ladybug told me I was supposed to meet you here, what is this about?” Chat Noir asked warily as he landed on her balcony.

To be fair Marinette was a little shocked that he had come at all, Ladybug’s insistence or no.

“I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry I punched you in the face… again.” She held up the plate of macarons. “These are for you.”

“They aren’t poisoned are they?” Chat asked.

“What!? Why would you think-”

“Relax, I am just messing with you.” He reached out at took a macaron and popped it into his mouth. “Thank you, I appreciate the apology.”

“I mean, to be fair you deserved the first punch.”

“That’s debatable,” Chat glared, gobbling down another macaron.

Marinette sat down at the small table, putting down the plate of cookies and gesturing for Chat to join her. He stowed his baton and gingerly sat down as well. Marinette let out a small sigh of relief at his over all lack of hostility. To be honest she wouldn’t have blamed him at this point if he had just decided that she was back luck personified and decided to write her off all together. And she knew that hidden identity or not, she didn’t want her partner thinking ill of her.

“I really am sorry,” she said as Chat continued to munch of the treats in front of him. “It’s not like I hate you or anything.”

“It’s ok, Marinette. I have it on very good authority that you are a wonderful friend. I won’t let a few punches and an unfortunate near death experience mar my opinion of you.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said trying to look annoyed but unable to resist smiling at his own infectious grin. “Though I don’t think you were in any real danger of dying. Besides I have saved you from akumas before so I think we are even.”

“Hey, if you are going to start keeping score I can name a few times I’ve had to rescue a certain princess with a penchant for trouble.”

“I don’t see what your numerous Chloe rescues have to do with me,” she replied.

“Oh Chloe isn’t a princess, she is a queen. She told me so herself,” Chat retorted, his expression of complete seriousness, and Marinette couldn’t resist laughing.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying a companionable silence while continuing to devour the plate of macarons.

“These are really good,” Chat said snatching up another green cookie and gobbling it up in a few quick bites. “Did you make them or your dad?”

“My Dad. I don’t have the patience to make macarons all that often. Although I can if I want to.”

“I have no doubt. What flavors are these anyways? I don’t recognize a lot of them.”

“Well its a whole mix. My parents love to offer as much variety as they can, and they will change up flavors almost every week. So…” she examined the remaining cookies and pointed at the different colors, “that’s dragonfruit, lavender creme, apricot, honey and lemon, salted caramel, orange marmalade, black currant, and champagne.”

“What were the green ones?”

“Pistachio.”

“What?” Chat said, his eyes going wide and his face going pale.

“The green ones were pistachio with dark chocolate filling.”

“Oh no. Oh no no no…”

“Chat?”

“Oh this is bad, this is really... “ suddenly he put his hand over his mouth.

“Chat?”

He bolted up from his seat and ran over to one of her potted plants and without any more warning emptied the contents of his stomach into it.”

“Oh my god!”

“Sorry… I’m… oh crap…” Chat moaned dropping down to his knees and curling up on the ground.

“Are you ok?”

“No… allergic to tree nuts,” he moaned.

“Oh, oh god! You aren’t going to go into shock are you?”

“No… not that bad.”

“Will you be ok now that you’ve… uh…gotten it out of your system.”

Chat laughed mirthlessly. “I might need help getting to the nearest restroom. That was just the beginning.”

Two hours later Marinette sat helplessly against the side of the bathroom door as she listened to chat continue to moan in agony between round of vomiting.

“I knew you were trying to poison me,” he joked.

“I am sorry,” Marinette groaned for the hundredth time, “I swear I don’t hate you.”

“I know I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Okay. I am sorry though.”

“I know, I forgive you. But next time, maybe stick to chocolate chip.”

#Marichat gone wrong #my drabbles #humor #Marichat

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valleydean · 6 years ago

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3: What’s your favorite line of narration?4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?5: What part was hardest to write?6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics? for,the only moment we are alone 💫🌸 (wish i could give you flowers in person) (unless you're allergic then i'd give you something else nice 🌺🌸)

i think i can answer the narration and dialogue question in one. i’m really happy with the scene when merlin dies (i’m so mean to him hahahha). but like, seriously i am happy with it. i think i wrapped up all the ~~symbolism~~ that i had going throughout the fic nicely in it (to pat my own damn self on the back here). especially the line: “However, the rest of the sky above them was clear, and the stars blanketed the darkness, and Orion twinkled just for them.”

and the line of dialogue that stands out the most is when merlin is like “oh i do love you” like you just remembered it. i think that line had a lot of weight to it, so yeah. i was happy with that scene in general. i think i got my point across with it.

as for the part hardest to write? i mean.... the whole thing! like, not just emotionally, it was actually a hard fic to write. because i had to work with three different timelines at once. like, there was the here and now - and then there were the flashbacks. and i had merlin’s flashback’s going backwards because he was forgetting stuff and arthur’s going in chronological order because he still remembered everything. and i had to time them in the right way, or else some details wouldn’t make sense yet or some things were revealed when they needed to be in the fic as a whole. so it was pretty tough to juggle. took a lot of thought. as for an actual tough-to-write scene? maybe the one where they’re rescuing merlin from the hospital. i had to plan that out pretty carefully.

and i touched on this in my last ask - but this fic is different from all my others because it’s the most personal. it’ll always have a special place in my heart for that, and because it’s a topic i care about.

(ahhaha it’s chill i don’t really like keeping flowers because they remind me of funeral homes lmfao. except sunflowers and black eyed susans those are chill with me)

#ask #only moment we were alone #the only moment we were alone #my writing #ngl i had to open up ao3 for the first two questions hahaha #Anonymous

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contemporarycares · 4 years ago

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If you’re new here, please take the time to first read this post HERE before proceeding with the following post.

A note: These posts are in reverse chronological order and they should be read in that order.

Day 0 to day 1

Day 0

At 1130pm july 14 I wake up groggy.

Someone called around 8pm asking me about my symptoms. It was a nurse.

They asked about symptoms like a runny nose, vomiting fever etc. They asked if I am allergic to any medications. I say no. They ask if I’m pregnant I say no. Any past medical conditions? No. Do I have any anxiety or depression? No. They tell me they will call every day to ask about symptoms and mental health.

I think about how people who have issues with physical and sexual abuse. It may be hard for them because this situation is literally one where they 'lock you up and throw away the key.' Anyone working here can come in our room but we can't go out...

July 15 -- Day 1 begins -12am

I feel so groggy so I watch TV after speaking with my husband on the phone. It's late so he's going to sleep. I end up staying up the whole nice due to jet lag. I'm not doing much just writing stuff on social media, watching TV (sponge bob), movies on Netflix, a friends film she directed that's on vimeo. Shoutout Adriana Montenegro and Empty Pockets Entertainment in El Paso!

I realized when I woke up that I'd missed dinner. After calling reception I learn that they cannot leave the dinner there for food health safety reasons. 'It will get cold' he says. I order a Chicken kebab on Uber eats but it feels like a huge task because of my grogginess.

Throughout the night I wake up more. I do a bit of writing for the previous blog posts... Watch a podcast then open the curtains to watch the sunrise. Blue purple pink.

Groceries are delivered around 9am. How exciting. Things I like.

Breakfast is delivered. It’s a small pastry with egg cheese and mushrooms. Lunch is a Cesar salad with chicken. No carbs. But cake is always given with meals.

Later in the morning I talk to the family on a zoom chat.

During the zoom fam discussion I get another call on the hotel phone asking about symptoms and my mental state. She tells me how I can access psychiatric services. I tell her I'm okay, 'its good to know.' I mention that I'm talking to my family now.

I've stayed up all night and end up staying awake all day. In the evening I eat snacks, drink hot tea (from my grocery order) and watch a wild documentary on Netflix called Team Foxcatcher . Later I unpack at the end of the day... Set up an atomizer for essential oils (Luckily I had eucalyptus oil with me) and take out more goodies I brought from the US. New shampoo (from a beautiful black owned company called Shea moisture) , sentimental items, ooh eww dirty clothes.

This night I get dinner but really don't like it. Chicken tastes odd. I check out a new food delivery app my husband recommended. Door dash. I get my favorite -- idly sambar 😍✌🏽 then bedtime around 11pm. I stayed up all of those hours. I'm so surprised and so ready to rest!

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kristinsimmons · 5 years ago

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Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools

By HANS DUVEFELT, MD

I need the right information at the right time (and in a place that makes sense to me) to make safe medical decisions.

Here’s another Metamedicine story:

In learning my third EMR, I am again a little disappointed. I am again, still, finding it hard to document and retrieve the thread of my patient’s life and disease story. I think many EMRs were created for episodic, rather than continued medical care.

One thing that can make working with an EMR difficult is finding the chronology in office visits (seen for sore throat and started on an antibiotic), phone calls (starting to feel itchy, is it an allergic reaction?) and outside reports (emergency room visit for anaphylactic reaction).

I have never understood the logic of storing phone calls in a separate portion of the EMR, the way some systems do. In one of my systems, calls were listed separately by date without “headlines” like “?allergic reaction” in the case above.

In my new system, which I’m still learning, they seem to be stored in a bigger bucket for all kinds of “tasks” (refills, phone calls, orders and referrals made during office visits etc.)

Both these systems seem to give me the option of creating, in a more or less cumbersome way, “non-billable encounters” to document things like phone calls and ER visits, in chronological order, in the same part of the record as the office notes. That may be what IT people disparagingly call “workarounds”, but listen, I need the right information at the right time (and in a place that makes sense to me) to make safe medical decisions.

Another challenge is understanding the medication list.

According to the workflow in one system I used, medication reconciliation done at check-in appeared in the last section of the note, so that on top it would say that the hypothetical sore throat patient above, when I see him in followup, would still be on penicillin, and just below that reported to be violently allergic to it and at the bottom of the note, penicillin would be discontinued as part of the Plan.

In the system I am now trying to get used to, medication reconciliation is displayed on top, for example a hypertensive patient is on lisinopril.

He tells me he has developed a dry cough, so I decide to stop the medicine and mark him as intolerant due to an “ACE cough”. I mark this and the intolerance shows up just under the medication list that still has lisinopril in it.

Then, as I discontinue the drug, two strange things happen:

First, the drug disappears from the already reconciled list on top of the note. Second, the fact that I just discontinued the medication does not automatically appear in my note, the way it would have in the other systems I know.

I would have to freetext that I stopped the medicine in a note where the drug is already missing from the medication list. That would seem very confusing to the reader.

It looks like I have the option of discontinuing the drug as of a different date (tomorrow), but I would still have to freetext that I am stopping it. I’ll be playing with that in order to keep it in the check-in medication list, since the patient was still on it when he walked through the door. In that case my action will be documented, although with more effort on my part, and the medication will be gone from subsequent office notes.

This is another “workaround” I may have to use. Sorry IT folks but, again, I need the right information at the right time (and in a place that makes sense to me) to make safe medical decisions and keep my patient’s story straight. I am trying my best to be the keeper of that story.

Hans Duvefelt is a Swedish-born rural Family Physician in Maine. This post originally appeared on his blog, A Country Doctor Writes, here.

The post Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/

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lauramalchowblog · 5 years ago

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Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools

By HANS DUVEFELT, MD

I need the right information at the right time (and in a place that makes sense to me) to make safe medical decisions.

Here’s another Metamedicine story:

In my new system, which I’m still learning, they seem to be stored in a bigger bucket for all kinds of “tasks” (refills, phone calls, orders and referrals made during office visits etc.)

Another challenge is understanding the medication list.

In the system I am now trying to get used to, medication reconciliation is displayed on top, for example a hypertensive patient is on lisinopril.

Then, as I discontinue the drug, two strange things happen:

I would have to freetext that I stopped the medicine in a note where the drug is already missing from the medication list. That would seem very confusing to the reader.

Hans Duvefelt is a Swedish-born rural Family Physician in Maine. This post originally appeared on his blog, A Country Doctor Writes, here.

The post Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

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music-research-strategies · 8 years ago

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BLACK FIGHTING FORMATIONS: Simultaneous Multi-Dimensionality Part 1

(graphics version here)

“We all are Americans. But the thing is, to the extent that national oppression has been lifted on all of us - that’s not true. Now if they can raise up people, just like that could raise up Chiang Kai-Shek or somebody, who's’ a straight-out comprador, no connection to you at all - they can come out of the ghetto, they can come out of the suburbs, but they have no connection to the people whom they feign to represent. We've always had those folks. But now it's building up into a class. You can actually see that we have a comprador class, a comprador bourgeoisie, a comprador petty bourgeoisie - people who represent imperialism. They might look like us, they might look like whatever they want to look like. They can be anything.” “Home Rules: An Interview with Amiri Baraka: by Van Gosse “Radical History Review: Transnational Black Studies,” Fall 2003.

ALKEBULAN

The history of Black people, of African people, is an ancient one. Meticulous has been the work of Senegalese historian Cheikh Anta Diop. (“Cheikh” was his title, as in elder, noble, or knight, in the British since. Remember that the knights of Europe took their inspiration and skills from the Moorish sheiks.) Cheikh Anta Diop, born in 1923, was meticulous in his explication of the Negro origins of the formations of civilization in Alkebulan, or the Land of the Blacks, in the original indigenous Arabic language. Here is great video on Dr. Diop’s expertise: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xl7FKb4NPiI

The African Origin of Civilization: Myth Or Reality is not only a document that I believe everyone should own, as well as comparable literature, but it is the grounding reference necessary for my discussion on Music, black fighting formations, and the interpretations of signs I designate as simultaneous multi-dimensionality. In the Preface to my dog-eared version, Cheikh Diop writes, a year to the month after my birth, that he “felt that Africa should mobilize all its energy to help the movement turn the tide of repression.” Starting his research in 1946, he, for the English translation in 1973, declares that what interests him most in the meaning of his work is to “see the formation of teams, not of passive readers, but of honest, bold research workers allergic to complacency and busy substantiating and exploring ideas expressed in (this) our work. He, then, weaponizes a body of knowledge with ten bullet points of historical armament to protect the treasure of Africa’s past, present & future and broadcast revolutionary action. He declared:

Ancient Egypt was a Negro civilization.

Anthropologically and culturally speaking, the Semitic world was born during protohistoric times form the mixture of white-skinned and black-skinned people in western Asia.

The triumph of monogenetic (or, descendent of a single origin) thesis of humanity compels one to admit that all races descended from the Black race.

(1) The necessity to demonstrate possibility of writing a history of Black Africa free of mere chronology of events; and, (2) define the laws governing the evolution of African sociopolitical structures, in order to explain the direction that historical evolution has taken in Black Africa, therefore, to try to dominate and master that historical process by knowledge, rather than submit to it.

The necessity to define the image of a modern Africa reconciled with its past and preparing for its future.

That once the perspective accepted by official science have been reversed the history of humanity will become clear and the history of Africa can be written. (O)nly a loyal, determined struggle to destroy cultural aggression and bring out the truth, whatever it may be, is revolutionary and consonant with real progress; it is the only approach which opens on the universal. Humanitarian declarations are not called for and add nothing to real progress.

(In 1955, the time of publishing) How does it happen that all modern Black literature has remained minor, in the sense that no Negro African author artist, to my knowledge, has yet posed the problem of man’s fate, the major theme in human letters?

In The Cultural Unity of Black Africa: The Domains of Patriarchy and of Matriarchy in Classical Antiquity, (he and his colleagues) tried to pinpoint the features common to Negro African civilization. (I have just obtained this book and am tempted to read it through before for finishing this essay, instead I will offer but a glimpse. The work argues that “the profound cultural unity of Africa is the history of African matriarchy….The result is a blueprint for a comprehensive African social history.” I have seen this book priced from $850 to $2000. I have electronic copy of this book, available upon request.)

In the second part of Nations Nègres et Culture, we demonstrated that African languages could express philosophic and scientific thought (mathematics, physics, and so forth) and that African culture will not be taken seriously until their utilization in education becomes a reality. (In Nations Nègres , Dr Diop translates a page of Einstein's Theory of Relativity in to Wolof, the principal language of Senegal.)

I am delighted to learn that one idea proposed in Afrique Noire Precoloniale - the possibilities of pre-Colombian relations between Africa and America - has been taken up by an American scholar(s).

European Fighting Formations: An Origin of Bullshit!

“Origin of Negro Slavery,” Capitalism & Slavery by Eric Williams

“When in 1492 Columbus, representing the Spanish monarchy, discovered the New Word, he set in train the long and bitter international rivalry over colonial possession from which, after four and a half centuries, no solution has yet been found. Portugal, which had initiated the movement of international expansion, claimed the new territories on the ground that they fell within the scope of a papal bull (charter) of 1455 authorizing her to reduce to servitude all infidel peoples. The two powers, to avoid,controversy, sought arbitration and, as Catholics, turned to the Pope - a natural and logical step in an age when the universal claims of the Papacy were still unchallenged by individuals and governments. After carefully sifting the rival claims, the Pope issued in 1493 a series of papal bulls which established a line of demarcation between the colonial possession of the two states: the EAst went to Portugal and the West to Spain. The partition, however, failed to satisfy Portuguese aspirations and the in the subsequent year the contending parties reached a more satisfactory compromise in the Treaty of Tordesillas, which rectified the papal judgement to permit Portuguese ownership of Brazil.”

Underground Railroad Terminology

The fugitive slave escape network of pre-Civil War times existed for many years before people began calling it the Underground Railroad. By the year 1804, long before any railroads were built in America, there were people in the Philadelphia area as well as in other parts of the North who were actively helping fugitive slaves escape from their Southern masters. By the 1830s , when railroads began to appear in the United States, the complex system for helping fugitive slaves was so well developed the unhappy slave owners talked bou thow slave disappeared as if they had taken a ride on an underground railroad (the railroad bing the newest technical marvel of the day).

Those helping slaves escape to freedom quickly adopted the term as their own and began referring themselves and the roles they played in helping slaves escape by using railroad terms such as:

Station - any place where a fugitive slave could spend the night, find a meal, or get instructions, advice, and help for the next part of the journey.

Station Master - anyone who ran a station, often called a safe house.

Ticket Agent - the person who made first contact with a fugitive and brought him into the system.

Conductor - could refer to someone who organized a link of the Underground Railroad or to someone who accompanied an escaped slave or group of escapees along a stretch of the escape route.

Passengers - the fugitive slave who bought a ride on the Underground Railroad.

Tracks - trails and routes followed by escaping slaves.

An underground is only possible if (1) there is a segment of the population that sympathizes with those who want to flee and, among that group, a few who are willing to risk their property and lives to help others find freedom; (2) the general population must have a degree of freedom that makes it possible to evade the law with some hope of success; and, (3) those who will be passengers must either have avoided capture, or have succeeded in escaping from capture.

Visual Culture of the Underground Railroad

Tactical media refers to the use arts practices and temporary forms of cultural and political intervention, such as culture jamming and guerrilla communication. Historians believe quilts were made visible by station masters or other alles by being hung out to “dry.” The images themselves have were apart of the visual culture of everyday life and, thus, inconspicuous. Ticket agents, conductors, or passenger-turned-conductors would often sneak back “behind enemy lines” to educate would-be passengers on the visual nomenclature of this self-emancipatory project. They might carry something with looks like this image to your right.

Monkey Wrench: Prepare the tools you’ll need for the long journey, including mental and spiritual tools.

Wagon Wheel: Load the wagon or prepare to board the wagon to begin the escape.

Bear’s Paw: Take a mountain trail, out of view. Follow the path made by bear tracks; they can lead you to water and food.

Crossroads: Refers to Cleveland, Ohio, a destination offering several routes to freedom. It also signifies reaching a point where a person’s life will change, so one must be willing to go on.

Log Cabin: A secret symbol that could be drawn on the ground indicating that a person is safe to talk to. It also advises seeking shelter.

Shoo Fly: Possibly identifies a friendly guide who is nearby and can help.

Bow Tied: Dress in disguise, or put on a change of clothes. Fugitives could be easily identified by their tattered attire by slave catchers.

Flying Geese: Points to a direction to follow, such as where geese would fly during spring migration.

Drunkard’s Path: Create a zigzag path, do not walk in a straight line, to avoid pursuers in the area.

Tumbling Boxes: A symbol indicating it was time for slaves to pack up and go, that a conductor was in the area.

Star: Follow the North Star. Worked in conjunction with the popular song, “Follow the Drinking Gourd,” a reference to the Big Dipper constellation.

To quote quilt historian Xenia Cord, "Quilt research and quilt history often rely heavily on the oral anecdotes and oral memories of quilters, stories that link women with common interests to a body of shared information. This information, strongly buttressed by written memoirs, documented sources, pictures, tangible artifacts, and previously published research allows the historian to contribute to the body of knowledge that is American quilt history."

Thank you for reading. Part 2 is forthcoming.

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kristinsimmons · 5 years ago

Text

Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools

By HANS DUVEFELT, MD

I need the right information at the right time (and in a place that makes sense to me) to make safe medical decisions.

Here’s another Metamedicine story:

In my new system, which I’m still learning, they seem to be stored in a bigger bucket for all kinds of “tasks” (refills, phone calls, orders and referrals made during office visits etc.)

Another challenge is understanding the medication list.

In the system I am now trying to get used to, medication reconciliation is displayed on top, for example a hypertensive patient is on lisinopril.

Then, as I discontinue the drug, two strange things happen:

I would have to freetext that I stopped the medicine in a note where the drug is already missing from the medication list. That would seem very confusing to the reader.

Hans Duvefelt is a Swedish-born rural Family Physician in Maine. This post originally appeared on his blog, A Country Doctor Writes, here.

The post Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

Medical Records in Primary Care: Keeping the Story of Phone Calls and Medication Changes with Less than Perfect Tools published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/

0 notes