#I got fent in hospital and had a wonderful time

[i-eat-worlds]

What are your favorite medical drugs?

ID: An anon ask saying: TO WRITE! I’m not a cop trying to trick you into admitting opioid addiction *key board smash* End ID.

Thanks nonny lol

hmmmm. I’m not gonna lie pharmacology scares the shit out of me but:

Ketamine. Easily recognizable, lots of fun. I love it in a “let’s intubate you” and in a “let’s put your bone back” way. It’s really fun because it’s dissociative, not an analgesic, so you still get lots of grunting and crying and fighting.

Midazolam. This one is personal experience, I’ve been midazed and it’s something. Ultimate no thoughts, brain empty experience. Would love to see a half-awake, drugged up whumpee resting on caretaker…or whumpers…shoulder.

3. TXA. It’s a little niche. I like it when my whumpees bleed. A lot. I just think it’s neat.

[aquarianlights]

A tribute to a hero. You will be missed. 10.6.2017

PLEASE READ: This is a tribute to one of the best therapy dogs that ever lived who passed away today...

One of my all-time favourite dogs was put to sleep today. I was just informed he passed over the rainbow bridge. He was in liver failure, refused to eat anything, wouldn't climb the stairs to go sleep with his mom anymore, and wouldn't go out to play. He was still mobile and active, but........He's not...he's not here anymore....and although I am having a great day. . .I am extremely saddened by this loss. This dog was as much a part of my life as he was of his mothers. Albeit I only got to see him when I visited Virginia, he has been in my life since I was a kid. This dog was the most amazing dog and he contributed so much to this world. He was a therapy dog for patients in hospitals and he really had a wonderful gift. He knew exactly what to do. . .no one would have to tell him. Usually, the owner goes in the room with their therapy dog and tells them what to do or just monitors them while they lay with the patient or let the patient pet them along with a hospital staff member or the training instructor for the dog program there to watch. But not with Sketch. . .Sketch knew what to do without instruction. As soon as he reached a patients room, he could sense what was hurting on them. We don't know how, but he did. 

For instance, one example...a patient was in partial paralysis and could not move his left arm at all. It was dead weight. Sketch jumped up on the bed with permission, walked on the man's stomach and laid down, and began furiously licking at the man's left hand and went up his wrist and then to his forearm and back down. After a good 5-10 minutes of constant licking, no stops, the man slowly raised his left arm just a tiny bit....just enough to start slowly petting Sketch on the head...and scratching his ear a little bit...the surrounding family burst into tears as the man's paralysis was broken by Sketch. He had been partially paralyzed and fully paralyzed in his left arm for weeks. No amount of physical therapy or medication or splints/braces or time had helped. Nothing. But Sketch, knowing exactly what was wrong and what needed to be fixed, worked his magic. And that family has been sending him and his mom letters and treats ever since. 

Another example was a black man was in the hospital with such severe third-degree burns all over his body that he had received from a group of racist fucking white pieces of shit literally tying him up and taking turns spraying him with a make-shift flamethrower (aerosol can + lighter, I'm assuming). The burns had been somewhat treated by the time Sketch visited. And he was getting to a point where he could actually move a little bit. . .but he was in constant pain and would absolutely need reconstructive surgery after they finished with skin grafts. And if you don't know how painful it is to have third degree burns and to have to have the burnt flesh/anything else underneath that got burnt peeled off layer by layer with a tweezer-like metal object little by little each day, multiple times a day. . .I can't even begin to describe what it feels like. I can't even imagine it myself as I have only witnessed it and not gone through it myself. 

To give you an idea...The worst burn I've ever had was a 2nd degree and it was a small burn and that had to be peeled off, but I did not need a skin graft or reconstructive surgery because it was on my arm and it was small enough to heal on its own. I do have a small scar from it, but it's barely noticeable. But they DID have to peel that little bit of burnt flesh off of me like they would any burn victim and they had to do it in two sessions despite it being the size of a quarter, at the largest, with the same tweezer-like metal objects they used for third degree burns. Even with pain killers and numbing cream. . .that was one of the single most agonizing things I have ever been through. The pain killer they had me on was fucking fentanyl, too. A high dose of it. Which. . .is risky, yes, but burn patients definitely need it. Not the highest, but a high dose. I have only been given IV hospital-grade fent twice in my life. . .and the second time was for a severe optical migraine and it was a lower dose than this and it really fucked me up and took all the pain away. But this was a much higher dose and it started to fuck me up and the pain started to go away. . .but then she applied the numbing cream and I suddenly got this feeling of "Oh no. This is going to hurt." and sure enough, she looked at me and said "I'm sorry, but no matter what, this is going to hurt. Ready? On the count of three...I'm going to peel the first layer off." I nodded, thinking I would just bite down on my finger and bear it coz, I mean, I had the strongest pain killer available in the entire world in me at an awfully high dosage...AND there was numbing cream around and directly on the area. It couldn't be that bad, right? The second she dug in and got hold of the first layer, I let out the most blood-curdling scream I have ever screamed (other than my first and only and last ever pap smear, ofc, due to my vaginismus being so severe) and there were literally waves of sharp, electric pain coursing through my body like fucking fire followed by a wave of the coldest ice you can imagine. Ice that can burn your flesh off. That kind of cold. And then she had ripped off the first layer. . .I was in such severe pain that there were tears gushing out of my eyes uncontrollably, I could not make any sounds except gasps for oxygen, and I was shaking violently from head to foot from the adrenaline and shock I was in. I had to wait over an hour before we could do the second and final session. And that was just for a 2nd degree. A quarter-sized second degree. And, mind you, I have been a professional pain slut. I have a VERY high pain tolerance for things like this. Any sort of external pain is something that I have severely high pain tolerance for. Internal pain is what fucks me up. But, I digress. This man was covered from head (including his face...with all his hair burned off into odd, short, stubby patches) to toe. His entire body looked like an overcooked, completely burnt, piece of meat with lots of red, gooey blood-like splotches here and there. (That is what I was told.) I was also told that they had done almost the entire first layer with him over the past...I forget if it was weeks or a month. I wanna say weeks or even just one week. But they still had a LONG way to go with simply getting all of the burnt flesh/under-things off of him...in order to be able to place skin-grafts. And then when the skin-grafts were placed, they'd be able to start on reconstructive surgery. This was a long, long, long project...and he'd have to have tons of reconstructive plastic surgery for years to come to look even semi like himself again.

This man was in pure agony from a fucking brutal as hell hate crime. In Arlington, Virginia...a very diverse area. As a white person with white privelege, you think these kind of extreme versions of racism wouldn't happen in such diverse areas. . .so I was shocked. But in my ignorance, I am beginning to realize this severe of a hate crime can probably happen anywhere and everywhere. . .regardless of the diversity level. Even in a predominantly POC area. . .even if the whites are outnumbered. . .I bet it can STILL happen there, too. How sickening is that...

But Sketch came into this mans room...and could immediately sense how much agony he was in. Not only was this man in physical agony. . .but I'm sure he was suffering from emotional/psychological agony, as well. I'm sure he now has PTSD from this incident and he will live with that memory for the rest of his life and be reminded of it every time he looks in the mirror. Sketch could sense both sides of the pain. He knew somehow that he could not really lay or touch the man with how much physical pain he was in...but he still got on the bed, making sure to be careful where he put his paws, and positioned himself right by the man between his arm and his body, being careful not to touch either part. He tilted his snout towards the man's arm...and licked the air close enough to where he was SO CLOSE to touching the man's arm that he could probably feel the air pressure from the gentle licks. Sketch slowly wagged his tell and constantly stopped the licking for a moment to give the man a look and look into his eyes and just...connect with the man. And this man began to cry...such passion and love from this dog made this man cry...and realize there was still good in this world. Despite all the pain he was in and the contamination he could receive from touching the dog (strongly against medical advice), he hugged Sketch. He full on hugged Sketch. I don't know if it hurt; I'm assuming it did. But he was not crying or making any sounds of pain. He just shook and hugged Sketch and buried his face in his fur and cried. And Sketch just stayed as still as possible and licked the air close to his head so he could feel the air pressure from his licks. He wagged his tail rapidly...and leaned into the man's hug to make him feel more love... This man requested to see Sketch every time he was brought into the hospital...and he was inspired by Sketch to recover. Sketch helped him with physical therapy...Sketch was there for him when he was getting his skin grafting sessions. Sketch was always there for his patients.

And I say man....but this man was really a boy. Just...a boy who was over 18. Therefore...legally a "man" by societal standards, but...if I remember right, this "man" was only about 19 or just barely 20. Only just beginning his life...still a child...and scarred for life. Healed and given hope by this dog.

Sketch also worked for a children's ward for a while...and stayed with kids who had cancer.

And then Sketch went to schools and aided in his mother's educational programs about therapy dogs and hospital dogs. And then would allow the students to get to know him after the presentation/program/speech. Sketch did many other things, as well. He even went into juvenile detention centers to allow kids in juvie to get what they needed from a therapy dog for a while, each pre-allowed individual getting individual time with him.

He also gave his mother, Anne, hope. She is a single woman in her 60's...living alone...and retired. She is an artist. Sketch was her biggest inspiration and her best friend. Sketch allowed her to make new friends by walks and dog parks. Sketch was family. To her and many others, including me. Sketch is the only dog with poodle in him that I will ever love, as poodles are the only breed I cannot stand.

Sketch was a literal hero. He has saved so many lives. . .and given hope to people in their darkest hours. He has even assisted in nursing people who had attempted suicide back to psychological stability. He would be their rock while they were in the ICU before they were sent to the ward. He would give them hope and love and an ability to fight through the pain of whatever they were going through. He would lick them in the places they hurt the most, lick their tears, curl up on top of them and nuzzle them, wag his tail at their presence, "smile" at them, and allow them to do whatever they wanted with him. Lots of pets happened and lots of hugging. Many suicide-attempt patients actually decided they wanted to live specifically because of Sketch...and wrote letters to Anne (his mother) stating so.

He also went to Alzheimer's home and old people's homes in general and gave them love they desperately needed.

Anne received many, many, MANY letters telling her how Sketch had very literally saved someone's life. . .or helped them to see hope when there was none.

Sketch was a hero. Sketch saved so many lives and he was the best goddamn dog I have ever met. Echo and I have a very special bond that cannot even begin to compete with any other dog. . .but I knew Sketch long before Echo. . .and Sketch has actually helped me through some personal crises of my own. I was going through suicidal thoughts and self harming while I was there once. Sketch knew someone. He was downstairs and he knew. He came upstairs and pawed at the guest room door until I opened it. He absolutely refused to leave until I opened it. He jumped on the bed with me and curled up in my lap and licked my wrists where I had cut myself prior. I didn't want to give myself any aftercare. . .I wanted them to get infected so maybe I would lose my arm and that would push me over the edge to really finally do it. . .or maybe it would be such a bad infection that it would spread to my heart or lungs and actually kill me itself. And I had a bottle of pills beside me on the bed...ready to use... Sketch very literally picked up that bottle in his mouth, brought it off the bed, threw it in the small trash can in the room (which..I needed those meds so I fished them out later lol), and jumped back on the bed and continued to lick my wrist. He made me feel "Someone cares. This dog cares about me. This dog wants me to live. This dog loves me. He genuinely loves me and would be saddened if I died. He would be affected by my death. ...he would be sad if I weren't here anymore... And he is sad now because I hurt myself..." So I got up...he followed me to the bathroom...and I washed my cuts with warm soap and water, sterilized them with some antiseptic stuff that stung, put a layer of neosporin on them, and wrapped my forearm in gauze. And I continued to do so until they healed. And every time I have wanted/tried to overdose since that moment. . .the image of Sketch has popped into my head and I think to myself "...Sketch would care if I died. Echo would care if I died. I have to stay alive for them. I have to." But now he's gone.......Sketch is gone..... He was a hero to so many and affected so many lives and saved so many people... He saved /me/. And...he finally had to be put down. At the age of... over 14 years old (hes a labradoodle so this was a pretty good age for him). I'm not sure how far exactly over, but he was over 14. He would have lived longer if it were not for the liver failure. . .I don't know how he got liver failure. . .but the vet said he wasn't in any pain. And, of course, when you put a dog to sleep, you literally put them to sleep before you actually push the fatal drug in. And the fatal drug works so quickly and so gently that they do not feel it and it makes them go peacefully.

Sketch is now crossing the Rainbow Bridge.....and this is a very dark moment. I could not be anymore heartbroken by his passing.

This dog was very, very special to me and so many other people. I know none of you know Sketch. . .but please. . .regardless. . .keep him in your mind today. Or if you pray to any kind of diety/alien/higher power/yourself. . .please pray for him. Please pray and hope that a better place really exists for the pure, wonderful, kind-hearted, gentle, loving souls like Sketch.

You were such a good best friend to so many people, Sketch. Me included. You saved me. You have always been there when I needed you. And you will be missed. . .forever.