#I had an iron infusion -- and a lot of side effects which made me miss my flight to see my fiancee

[steorransaluki]

this was probably the worst long weekend of my life, tbh

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

[emoboijk]

jhs | carnations

“But carnations? Oh, what a beautiful flower. They come in every color. True, some are painted, but that doesn’t mean they are less beautiful, and they never wilt.” (Ruth McLeod-Kerns) or you fall in love with your fuck buddy—hanahaki disease au, friends with benefits au, flora & fauna series

2,510 words

p.cred

The waiting room is beige with a dark brown carpet, the kind that has either always been that color or is that color as a result of years of use. There are paintings (ironically) of flowers on the walls, and potted plants stationed randomly between the chairs. A receptionist sits behind a counter, typing on a computer and answering the phone when it rings. Aside from her, there are seven people scattered about the room.

You're wedged into a chair that's been pushed against the window, the sun hitting your back and making you feel warm for the first time in ages. The doctor said that might be a side effect of the blood loss; your circulation is less than stellar now that there's nothing to circulate. Your fingers and toes are practically made of ice now.

HOEbi: when r we meeting up? ;)

You frown down at the message. He sent it at 3 AM so you know he was drunk, out with some of the guys from his frat or his dance team. But it's the latest in a string of messages from him that ask the same question.

You're not sure how long you had expected to keep up this charade, but you had definitely hoped longer. There's no disguising it now. You can't be in the middle of hooking up, start coughing bloody carnations and expect to keep the momentum going. Bloody flowers sort of ruin the mood.

You run a hand through your hair, swallowing against bloody, petal-infused bile, as you try to come up with a response. Some subtle way of evading him yet again. But you're in the middle of thinking when the incoming-text animation appears.

HOEbi: sorry about that! :)

HOEbi: but really when am i going to see u?

HOEbi: i miss u :(

You roll your eyes, a smile coming to your lips despite yourself. You suppose that was really what you fell for; he's a good fuck, obviously, but that sort of sweetness and humility. He radiates warmth and friendliness.

I have an appt today

HOEbi: oh u sick?

HOEbi: i have a (meat) thermometer that might help ;)

Fucking hell. Is he still drunk?

Disgusting

HOEbi: if i promise to never say that again can i see u tonite

Maybe…

You're smiling at your phone like a dope.

A fourth person gets called in by the nurse when your screen changes. Incoming Call. Chaeyoung.

"Hey, what's up?" you wedge your phone between your ear and your shoulder, "I'm at the doctor's."

Your body goes stiff when you hear her crying. It's not a soft, gentle crying, it's violent sobbing and dry heaving.

"What happened?"

"I," she's stuttering, "I, I, I…I got into a car accident." She hiccups and cries harder. You run from the waiting room without so much as a look to the receptionist or the other patients.

You can see the accident from three blocks away; there are two police cars with their lights flashing and a tow truck backing into place. You don't spot your sister until you're closer; she's sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against a streetlight with her face in her hands. You pull into the grocery store parking lot nearby and race across the street.

"Oh my god," you breathe and Chaeyoung looks up. Your whole body relaxes when you see she's not injured, but Chae crumbles when she spots you. Her hug is nearly a tackle and her arms like a vice. You choke slightly as her grip forces flowers up your esophagus.

"What happened?" you whisper hoarsely.

Chaeyoung pulls away and you wipe her cheeks of tears. "I just," she hiccups, "I just looked at my phone for a second."

Your curse instantly. She knows how you feel about that. But one look at her expression and you know that totaling her car is punishment enough. You stroke her hair and say, "At least you're alright."

"But my car," she sobs.

You look over to where she's pointing, realizing that you hadn't actually seen the damage yet. "Fuck," you exhale. Her lime-green Dodge Neon is nearly half the size it used to be, the front end smashed into a streetlight, which toppled over and crushed the top of her car.

You rub circles into her back softly, "At least you didn't hit another car…"

Chaeyoung curls into your side and starts crying again. You squeeze her shoulder and pull out your phone, muttering about calling the insurance company, but you nearly jump when you see Hoseok's sent you another message.

HOEbi: srsly i need to tell you something important

It makes you cough; flower petals dance through the air to the pavement and blood runs down your chin.

The Emergency Room is bustling. And you want to leave because, honestly, it gives you anxiety.

"I'm fine," you tell your sister for the millionth time.

"People who are fine don't cough up blood for no reason," she replies for the millionth time.

You roll your eyes and go back to staring at Hobi's last message. You still haven't replied (what with your sister dragging you to the ER for no reason). (Well maybe a little reason).

A doctor appears beside the bed, almost as if from thin air, with his nose in a chart. He says your name as a question.

"That's me," you confirm, "But I really don't need to be here."

"Is that so?" the doctor says, putting on a pair of gloves.

"She coughed up blood," your sister interjects and you hiss profanities at her before you can help yourself.

The doctor chuckles and grabs a tongue compressor from a cart. "Say ‘ah'."

You don't.

"I won't let you leave until you do."

You open your mouth but you do not say ‘ah'. The doctor looks inside and frowns and you know what he sees.

"Yeah," he says, "I'm going to have to admit you."

Your sister is clutching your hand like she's the one who will have to stay in the hospital. "What's wrong!" It's a question but it comes out a desperate whine.

The doctor looks at you skeptically for a moment, trying to gauge how much you know. You roll your eyes and tell your sister, "It's called Hanahaki disease."

"What?" It's almost a shriek.

"And an advanced case at that," the doctor says, removing his gloves and scribbling on your chart, "I could see an entire carnation at the back of your throat. How are you not in pain?"

"I never said I wasn't in pain." You avoid looking at your sister because you don't feel like explaining yourself.

The doctor humphs in your direction and scribbles something else on your chart. He turns and barks at a nurse to admit you and to call Dr. Lee.

You lean against the exam bed you're perched on, giving in to your exhaustion. You close your eyes but can still feel your sister's gaze on you, full of questions. You don't have the energy; you pretend to fall asleep.

"How much pain?" the same doctor asks.

You still don't feel like opening your eyes; you hold up seven fingers. Chaeyoung's grip on your wrist tightens and you know she wants to yell at you but she's scared. Normally, you would woman-up and comfort her, but you're weak. You don't feel like taking care of her right now. You just want the burning in your throat and the stabbing in your chest and the iron on your teeth to go away.

"I'll give you something and a nurse will come to take you to a room."

You nod and wince as he gives you the medication. It works immediately, a comforting nothingness rushing through your body. This time you really do fall asleep.

You blink awake to a smart-looking female doctor shaking your shoulder; there's a crowd of younger doctors with clipboards standing behind her. She smiles when you meet her eyes.

"Hey there, sorry to wake you, but I need to do an initial check," she stands up straight, "I'm Dr. Lee."

You nod and push yourself up in the hospital bed. You're in a new room. There's a consistent beeping coming from one of the machines. Chaeyoung is passed out on an uncomfortable-looking loveseat that's built into the wall.

Dr. Lee asks you all the routine questions (how long and how much and who is it?). You answer them with a purposefully bored tone. Then, when your phone goes off halfway through the questions, your tone is not so much bored as anxious.

"Something you need to check on?" the doctor asks when you turn away from her for the third time. The phone goes off a second time and you realize it's in Chae's bag.

"No."

"It's okay," the doctor says, "We're done. We'll take you up for x-rays so we can see the extent of the damage and then talk about options."

"Fine," you nod.

It's almost thirty-six hours before you see Dr. Lee again (you've been counting). In that time you've slept, went through a battery of tests and scans, and ate four meals. Chaeyoung wouldn't leave for the first twelve hours until you insisted she go home and get your toothbrush at least (after promising she wouldn't text while driving your car). (Ugh, her car, you still need to deal with that).

You checked your phone when she left after her first visit.

HOEbi: c'mon u know i don't like to be serious

HOEbi: i gotta real talk

It caused another fit of coughing and the nurse told Chaeyoung to keep you from your phone. You were kind of relieved. His messages make you worried and uneasy, worst-case scenarios flying through your mind like locusts through a field of wheat.

And then, the strangest thing happens: the pressure in your chest dissipates.

When Dr. Lee does finally come in she's beaming. She smiles at you like she has a secret before turning and pinning two x-rays onto a lightbox.

"This," she points to the first, "is your initial scan, from when you were first admitted." It looks like an abstract painting. Black and white shadowy shapes, floral outlines imprinted on lung impressions.

"And this is your scan from this morning." This x-ray is significantly less cluttered. There's still a floral design in the way of the lungs but it's diminished.

"Am I getting better?" Your eyes scan the array of doctors she has behind her, "I was told that wasn't possible."

Dr. Lee leans against the railing at the foot of your bed. "Hanahaki is a tricky disease," she taps her fingernails, "Studies show that the majority of the cause is in the mind, with real, dangerous, physical manifestations," she shrugs, "Logic says that if you get over the mental part of it, the person on the other end of your unreciprocated love, you'll get better."

That strikes you. Get over him? You hadn't felt such a significant shift. You still thought about him, you still missed him...maybe not in the pining, desperate way of a few days ago... But you wouldn't say you'd gotten over him.

"Time away must be all you need," the doctor says, "We'll keep you here another day or two to make sure that's what's helping, and then you should be good to go." She pats your ankle comfortingly and turns to the others, leaving just as swiftly as she had arrived.

Your chest feels lighter but your mind feels muddier than ever.

Twenty-four hours later, you're actually smiling when Hoseok shows up while you're chatting with Chaeyoung. He knocks on the door before sliding it open and sticking his head inside.

It sort of takes your breath away. It's been almost a week since you've last seen him and whoo, he looks good. All tan and glowing, dark hair spilling over a headband and eyes like gemstones. His lips are pulled into a nervous heart shape and it makes your chest feel heavy (although it doesn't prickle with pain like it used to).

"Hobi?"

"Hey," he says and it's brimming with relief. Glass half full. He steps fully inside and his eyes scan down the length of your body. He chews on his bottom lip, "Alright?"

"I need a soda," your sister announces. Too abruptly. She stands and hurries out of the room, turning to wink at you before closing the door. It makes you roll your eyes.

"How did you find out I was here?" You tilt your head to the side.

"I, uh, kept texting you? Your sister responded."

You raise your eyebrows. You glance around the room and spot your bag; waving your hand at it you say, "Could you…?"

"Oh, yeah." Hoseok passes it to you. While you dig through it, he glances around before deciding to sit in the chair by your bed. He hesitates for a long moment before deciding to lean against the railing; he's missed being close to you.

There are over twenty missed text messages. A couple from your parents and your friends, but most are from Hobi.

From right before you were admitted:

HOEbi: did i scare u lol

HOEbi: it's not that big of a deal

HOEbi: honestly i don't even need to tell u

HOEbi: really it's ok let's just meet up

And then another the next day:

HOEbi: i missssss uuuuuuuuu

You smile at that one, scrolling to the next day's messages:

HOEbi: are u not texting me back cuz of what i said

HOEbi: cuz it's fine we don't have to talk

HOEbi: unless it's dirty ;) ;)

HOEbi: pls don't hate me

That actually makes you laugh. You can almost picture him texting and getting anxious. And then yesterday:

HOEbi: k i'm really worried

That's when your sister started replying.

She doesn't hate you. My sister loves you.

I'm Chaeyoung.

HOEbi: uh hey

HOEbi: wait! loves? really?

Duh

Anyway she's in the hospital

You're blushing. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he shrugs and when you look over he's giving you that smile. The one he gives everyone but that makes you feel extra special, the one that lights you from the inside. You wonder if everyone feels that way when he smiles. Maybe not. Maybe that's what makes it special. "You're in the hospital." He frowns, "Why didn't you tell me?"

You tuck a piece of your hair (stringy and unwashed) behind your ear, "We're not...anything. You didn't have to come. I...I didn't want you to see me like this."

He raises his eyebrows. His face is so open and vulnerable, soft and sweet. "I want to see you in every way." He runs his hand through his hair before lacing his fingers through yours. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to be more." He squeezes your hand.

On every single one of your anniversaries after that, Hobi gives you a bouquet of carnations. The note always says: We beat 'em.

author’s note—don’t ask me about hobi’s texting style because i have no answers

for more of my works check out my m.list

[celiacandsalty]

Kal Penn’s Nuts

Warning: the following blog includes strong language, references to gluten, and excessive whining.

When my brother Jeff got diagnosed with Celiac disease in 2014 (at age 34) I distinctly remember my first thought being something along the lines of, “oh god, that poor bastard.” Not only because many most of the best foods contain gluten, but because I was already imagining the inevitable day when he goes to some business dinner or something and the server mistakes him for one of THOSE people. You know, the people we all roll our eyes at because they claim to have a gluten “sensitivity” or “intolerance,” but we suspect they’re full of shit and make a mental note to mock them at a later date. It’s hard to say why I cared so much about what hypothetical Cheesecake Factory employees in Ohio might think about my brother’s diet but I DID.

(I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but on TV shows now if they want to quickly convey that a character is an annoying douchebag, usually all they have to do is throw in a line where that person orders a gluten free whatever and a vegan something or other. It’s been a “joke” (for lack of a better word) for at least a decade now and for some reason shows no signs of stopping, despite the fact that it is completely unoriginal, unfunny, and hacky. What I’m saying is, gluten free is the new Nickleback.)

Okay, now cut to 2018 when I, following in my brother’s stupid footsteps, also get diagnosed with Celiac disease1 and all those pitying thoughts I never would have verbalized to my poor bastard brother come flooding back, only now they apply to me too and I can hear them all because they’re in my head. I did not take the news well.

Now, it almost goes without saying that it is easier now than ever before to find decent gluten-free food, especially in Portland, Oregon (where I fortunately already happened to live), but I gotta say, it’s a colossal pain in the ass and it still sucks. It sucks that I have to spend so much of my free-time moonlighting as a gluten detective, looking at menus for places I might possibly be invited to eat at someday and reading every word on every food label and trying to get to the bottom of whether miso paste or Werther’s Originals are safe for me to eat.2 It sucks that I don’t even really WANT to go out to eat much anymore because it’s such a stressful experience that I barely enjoy it anways. It sucks that I once enjoyed traveling and now I’ve pretty much written off at least a couple of entire continents (and they were good ones too.) It sucks that I have frequent anxiety dreams about accidentally poisoning myself. It sucks that I only just discovered Shake Shack 6 months before getting diagnosed and now I’ll never again know the joy of a squishy hamburger bun. It sucks that I no longer get to be the easygoing person in a group or at the office who, when asked about dietary restrictions, could proudly say “Nope! I’m fine with whatever (aka I am a very cool and chill person).” I could go on and on, but I’d have to say the thing that actually sucks the most is the whole gluten-as-a-punchline thing because for me it is so terribly unfunny.

A couple of months ago3 I was at the gym, listening to one of my podcasts in which the guests, usually comedians, get a chance to rant for a few minutes on any topic of their choosing. That week, Kal Penn (of Harold & Kumar fame4) was one of the guests and he made the bold choice to rant about GLUTEN. My blood went straight to a solid simmer before he said another word. I considered shutting it off, but I thought to myself, “Easy does it, Jeanne! Maybe it’s not going to be what you think it is.”

Narrator: It was.

Kal Penn went on to say that as a person living with a severe allergy to tree nuts, it makes him very angry that people who claim to have GLUTEN allergies or intolerances are diluting the seriousness of his legitimate food allergy. The main takeaway being that GLUTEN allergies are FAKE and a FAD and they’re a PREFERENCE, unlike Kal Penn’s very real allergy to nuts.

Of course, Kal Penn included the caveat that there is a VERY small percentage of people for whom gluten issues are real, but I feel like that finer point may have been lost in the message of screaming FAKE FAKE FAKE for 3 minutes.5

The annoying thing though, is that Kal Penn is right. It IS a fad. (Especially in LA.) And I HATE that it is. One particularly annoying thing about this is that restaurants are catching on and more and more GF items items are popping up on menus everywhere. Unfortunately, they are often actually GF, unless you have Celiac disease, which makes my gluten detective job much harder.6

Now I don’t doubt that living with a nut allergy is hard. And I imagine that Kal Penn and I actually have a lot in common when it comes to anxieties and frustrations around food and eating out. I know that I shouldn’t say that I’m jealous of Kal Penn and his nut allergy, but in a way I am. Yes, I’m sure it is terrifying to go into anaphylactic shock and have to be rushed to the hospital, but on the bright side, at least people don’t think you’re a douchebag liar!

Speaking of being rushed to the hospital, here’s the funny story about how I found out that I can’t eat gluten. A little over a year ago, I ended up in the emergency room after dramatically collapsing in my apartment and completely losing all feeling in the entire left side of my body. After getting an MRI (and some other very expensive tests), I was informed that there were several areas of stroke in my 34-year-old brain.7

I spent 3 days in the neurology unit with puzzled doctors coming in every hour to scratch their heads and look at me with great concern. I didn’t find out for another full week that all of this was a result of undiagnosed Celiac disease. Apparently though I was asymptomatic in terms of gastrointestinal issues (very common in adults), I had become so severely anemic8 that I literally almost died. Malnutrition and malabsorption are common symptoms of Celiac, and at this point my hemoglobin was so critically low that I required a blood transfusion and 2 IV iron infusions.

Ok, so cool story, I know, but is stroke and near-death a common effect of eating gluten? Nope! I don’t think so!

So what’s my point? Fuck, I don’t even remember now. But I guess what I’m saying is...we all know the people Kal Penn is talking about. And I spend way too much of my mental energy worrying that when I tell someone I can’t have gluten9, they might, for example, still serve me a salad that they accidentally put the croutons on and then tried to pick them off but missed a few because they probably assume I’m just another asshole doing the Whole 30.10  

So, Kal Penn, believe me when I say that I am with you on the issue of THOSE people. But continuing to rail against them and their possibly exaggerated gluten sensitivities does nothing to stop them. (I suspect it might even make them stronger and more annoying.) It does however, continue to reinforce the already widespread belief that gluten is a made-up problem invented in the 2000s, by I don’t know, naturopaths and George Soros probably? And it’s this belief that is actually very dangerous to people like myself and my brother and the millions of other poor bastards with REAL incurable conditions, and, for what it’s worth, one that seems unlikely to change the way we treat someone with a nut allergy. And, last but not least, it is also a belief that occasionally ruins my workout/enjoyment of podcasts.

Anyways, thanks for letting me vent.

Oh, but sorry about your nuts, Kal Penn.

----

Cool family, right?? (Also my maternal grandmother had it too and was diagnosed in the 1980s.)

Still unclear

I meant to write this sooner. Fortunately, my New Year’s Resolution was to hold on longer to more grudges.

Among other things, like Obama’s White House?

I was also going to go back and listen to the podcast again to more accurately transcribe his rant, but just thinking about it made my heart hurt. If you want to hear for yourself, it was the November 9, 2019 episode of Lovett Or Leave It.)

Plus the pay sucks.

I think it could still pass for 28.

My blood’s solution to this problem was to produce WAY too many platelets, which I didn’t know and perhaps my blood didn’t know, are what make blood clot.

“Just tell them you have CELIAC.” Well guess what–some of THOSE people are co-opting our magic word too now!

Sorry if you’re doing the Whole 30 and not an asshole.

[youhearstatic]

Sandworms and Other Concerns - Barry discovers that Lup's presence can improve any situation, including having his arm torn off by a fifty-foot-long, carnivorous, burrowing, acid-spitting, hook-toothed, pinstriped Sandworm. (By @tanger-catnip & @youhearstatic - Also on AO3.)

 Lup blinked. Once, then twice. At first, she didn't know what had woken her up. The ship was perfectly still, aside from the faint thrum of the bond engine that she'd learned how to tune out decades ago. The interior lighting that simulated a day-night cycle was dimmed as low as it went which meant it was still 'nighttime.'

After a moment, Lup realised what it was. The steady pattern of breathing that lulled her into sleep was coming at its normal pace. Barry was awake.

Lup braced herself with one arm and lifted her head. Her pale blue eyes shone like lanterns, a side effect of her darkvision.

It was all in shades of grey, but she could see the whole room. The dresser with its drawers left open, the closet door with the two sets of robes hanging from hooks, the bookcase stuffed full to bursting, and her bra on the floor next to a pair of durable denim jeans.

"Hey," Lup murmured, once her ethereal gaze settled on the object of her interest. She moved the arm slung over Barry's middle and reached up to touch his cheek.

Lup licked her lips. They were painfully dry, on the verge of cracking. Gods, she hated the desert. It had been picturesque for about ten minutes before the Starblaster crew had realised there was nothing else to this plane besides sand, sand, and more sand.

The hand on Barry's cheek moved to his shoulder, careful to not touch the joint where his arm should have been connected. Lup was trying her hardest not to stare. She knew he was self-conscious about it and she could only sympathise.

Being grievously injured early in a cycle was almost worse than death. The pain hurt almost as much as having to deal with the steep reduction of your abilities. In this case, Barry's had lost his whole right arm, making even routine tasks like eating and writing that much more difficult.

Sometimes, when Lup shut her eyes, she still saw flashes of that horrible moment when the cartilage in his shoulder gave out, and his skin tore open.

"I'm going to fucking kill that sandworm, slit it open, and take your arm back," Lup growled under her breath. "I don't care if it's mostly bones by now."

Barry shifted awkwardly. He was still not fully adjusted to leveraging his body with one less limb. After a low grunt of pain, he gave up the effort. With two arms he could have tilted himself towards Lup without disturbing the snuggling that much, but until he got a lot more used to things, everything would be a huge production.

"I'd rather your bones didn't join them," he said. He bent his head to where her hand rested on his shoulder, rubbed his cheek against her fingers. "Pretty sure your fireball made my... uh, made it taste charbroiled anyway."

Lup cracked half a grin and a short snicker. Then her eyes narrowed as she looked Barry over closely, searching for any signs of discomfort. Something had to have woken him up.

"Do you need more painkillers?" She asked.

Barry went quiet, his thoughts drifting back where they'd been before she woke. Ever since the dull ache turned to a persistent roar, he'd been considering the meds. Merle had reminded him he needed to stay ahead of the pain. 'If you let it get out of hand - ha! - it's hard to catch back up. Then I gotta blow another high-level spell keeping your ass upright,' the cleric had told him. Merle had already done a lot of patching up when the three of them returned from that disastrous scouting mission.

On the other hand - ugh - the meds made him muddle-headed, and he was already down a considerable amount of usefulness.

"No painkillers yet," he told her. "I can't think with them."

Lup frowned. "It's the middle of the night? Why do you need to think?"

Lup wasn't going to push him on it though. She had a feeling if the roles were reversed, she'd be just as stubborn about taking her medication. Not being fully present when they were counting down days till the apocalypse was a tough pill to swallow.

Barry focused on her, squinting to make out details on her face in the dark. "What about you? Are you doing okay?"

The sand worm's teeth had gotten him, but only after it's mate had been split open by Magnus's axe. Both Lup and Magnus were coated in its caustic blood. Mags's chest armour had taken the brunt of it, but they were both freckled in nasty-looking, coin-sized burns.

Lup sighed and moved to kiss him. His lips were dried out from the heat like her own, but she hardly noticed.

"I'm fine, Cuddle Muffin. I've burned myself worse making pancakes."

That wasn't strictly true, the pancake incident hadn't gotten her in places covered by clothing like the acid, but the overall coverage was similar.

Now that she'd confirmed everything was alright, or at least was how she'd left it, Lup dropped down and nestled back into her preferred spot under Barry's remaining arm. She hugged him tightly around his middle, unspeakably glad to have him around to hold. It'd been touch and go for a few terrifying seconds. If Magnus's grip had faltered, or her fireball had missed, the worm would've dragged Barry under and ripped him to shreds.

"I hate it when you do that. You've had your arm torn off and you're worried about me? Like, seriously?" Lup thought that she'd worked out all her feelings on this, but they kept coming back. "Just, let me take care of you for once, okay?"

"You do take care of me." Barry squeezed her gently. "All the time," he promised.

They went quiet for a moment. Barry listened to her breathing beside him. The feel of her arms around him helped take his mind off his right side.

"Did I ever tell you I broke my arm when I was a kid? Three places. Had one of those casts that makes you look like a kid's stick drawing with the arm jutting out straight. At least now I'm not banging it on stuff, I guess," he added with a huff of laughter. "I probably told you already, didn't I?" The passage of time since he lost his arm was hard to parse. He'd probably told her the same story three times.

Try as he might. Barry couldn't stop coming back to that sickening noise right after Magnus had grabbed him and before Lup had started screaming. Afterwards, Lup and Magnus had taken one look at him and gone completely pale.

Gods, that noise. Everything else was a blur, but that noise stayed in his head.

Barry was both tired but not, and the clarity felt worth holding on to. Being out of it was worse than anything. He'd woken up at one point and thought it was all a dream. His arm was fine, but he'd never been on the Starblaster. No Hunger, but no Lup. Maybe he hadn't woken up. He's not sure. He didn't like having his thoughts messed with.

"Sorry," he said with another light squeeze. "Go back to sleep."

Lup didn't want to sleep, she wanted to stay up and listen to him ramble about anything and everything. If it were possible, she'd wrap herself up in his voice like a warm fuzzy blanket.

But, it did sound a little scratchier than it should.

"Not yet. You should have something to drink," Lup decided.

Lup paused to snuggle into his side and hug him tightly. Making up for the moments she would be gone in advance.

Then she slipped out of bed. Taako and her could move like quicksilver when they wanted (old talents from travelling shows they'd worked) and the mattress barely moved to mark her departure. She went to the door and opened it just wide enough to slide through.

Lup wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, but it was late enough she doubted that anyone else would be up to spot her and give her shit for it.

Once in the kitchen, Lup found a heavy cast-iron kettle and filled it with water. She took a pass on the stove and held the kettle over her open palm as she summoned a handful of flame. The flames licked the pure black metal, heating the water to boiling in minutes.

Lup rested it on the stove and went to go find the herbal tea. Davenport kept a stash of chamomile and lemon for when his headaches got bad. She filled up an infuser with two spoonfuls of dry leaves and shoved it in the pot.

The only part of this process she couldn't rush though was the brewing. So Lup tapped her fingers on her thigh and started to count to 300 in her head.

She gave up around 240 and poured out the tea into a large mug with the phrase 'I make horrible chemistry puns, but only periodically' on the side. Next, she dumped in four teaspoons of sugar, stirred it up, and cast Ray of Frost to cool it down to just the right temperature.

Lup carried the mug in both hands, moving slower, so she didn't spill. She nudged open the door to what used to be Barry's room but was now their shared one. She placed the mug down on the bedside table and flitted up to the bed again. Settling with her legs on either side of his hips. She helped him sit up. Shifting positions stirred up the roar in Barry's arm or lack of an arm or wherever... but how could he complain with a naked elf beside him bearing warm tea?

Lup collected the mug and pressed it into his fingers but kept her grip on both the mug and his hand. The last thing Barry needed right now was to have hot water spilt all over his chest.

Barry couldn't have stopped the smile if he wanted to. Lup helped him with the mug, and he drank. It was sweet, the way he liked it, and the sugary warmth of tea and knowing she had put such care into preparing it pushed away some of that persistent tug of pain.

After a few sips, she sat back to look at him. Probably trying to figure out what else he needed, he realised.

"Hey," he told her. "Did I ever tell you..." he hesitated and went for a joke instead. "...that I broke my arm when I was a kid?"

He waited for a beat then smiles. "Kidding." He leans forward, tilting his neck so he can kiss her forehead.

Lup fell right into his trap. Silly of her, but she'd had her guard down. She laughed, high and soft like the rustle of wind chimes.

Barry sat back and continued, "I was going to say: did I ever tell you that you're better than pain meds?"

Lup shifted and tilted her head to one side. "You sure it's me and not my tits?" she asked with a grin. She moved her shoulders back, showing off her chest. There wasn't that much to show, but she was damn proud of them.

"I'm sure they're a contributing factor," Barry admitted, giving Lup the long, appreciative look she always deserved. "But I really did just mean how you take care of me."

Lup dropped the posture and nudged a little closer to him. "If I'm better, then I shouldn't leave your side until you get your arm back, right?" She smiled wolfishly and tapped him lightly on the tip of his nose. "I bet you'd get sick of me eventually. You're going to deny it, you huge sap, but 24/7 Lup for a whole year is a lot to handle, even Taako gets breaks."

Barry shook his head slowly, to not disturb his shoulder. "Sap that I am, I'll deny the impossible. I'll never get sick of you, of this, of us. I signed up for the long haul." He made a face. "Though currently, you'll have to trust me on the signature."

He ran his hand over her knee to her thigh. His thumb edged around one of the circular burns. "I'd like to threaten the cause of these, but it's already dead, and I'm not sure my left armed punching would pose much threat."

Lup bit down on her bottom lip. Like most burns, they were still hot to the touch, even ages after the incident. They would probably scar over. She might have cared about that before, but thanks to the regen cycle any change to her appearance, positive or negative, was only transitory.

"I guess I'm gonna have to work on offhand casting, huh?" Barry mused. "And offhand writing and eating and everything else."

"I'll practice with you," Lup offered. "Then you can't trick yourself into thinking you suck at it, because I'll suck with you, and we can add being ambidextrous to our list of kickass skills. Something tells me this'll not be the last time someone loses an arm."

"True," Barry agreed. "Probably should have worked on it before, huh?"

Lup shrugged and said. "Before? Later? Our timeline is so fucked up, does it even matter?"

Barry was lost in thought for a moment. "I bet Lucretia can cast with both hands equally." His eyebrows pulled together in concentration. "But she usually uses both together. I wonder if there's a left brain/right brain component to casting? Maybe I should try offhand with and without a wand, too. Maybe a wand would..."

Barry reached his left arm to scratch the opposite side then stopped. "Dammit. Phantom itching. I read cases of that but..." He dropped his hand to his lap. Lup wanted to try getting it for him as if she might have more luck

"Maybe Magnus can carve an arm for me," Barry thought out loud.

"Wood is kinda heavy, Blueberry. You'd might as well tape a stick to your arm... unless."

Lup grew quiet, taking her turn to get lost in thought.

"Never mind. We have plenty of time to sort shit out. If anyone can figure out how to jury-rig a prosthetic arm while stranded in a planet-sized desert, it's us."

Lup glanced around her, remembering where they were. "Crap, I should have helped you lay down already." She vacated his lap and helped him settle back down in bed, adjusting the pillows to compensate.

"Babe, do you ever feel like..." Lup trailed off and shook her head. Better not. He was injured and tired. "Do you want those painkillers now?"

Barry looked over at the medicine container and made a face. "I guess I'd better before it really gets going. Half dose maybe? I hate to waste them. Someone else might need them before this cycle is over."

He let her get the meds and the tea. He wanted to see how much he could do on his own, but then she'd just have to help him up and get him back settled in bed again. His balance was still tough to negotiate. He'd slipped and knocked the still raw joint yesterday and had no desire to experience that again.

It was bad enough just to look at. He was ready for the stage where he could pin up the sleeve and not have to see it so much. But Merle had recommended leaving everything but the sutures uncovered. They needed to keep a close eye out for blood poisoning or infection since they didn't have a lot of information on sandworms. The sum of what they had learned was: bites, has caustic blood, resistant to fire damage, and susceptible to axe.

Lup carefully shook out a pair of pills from the bottle. It had originally contained 500 capsules and was still about 3/4th full. She dropped the second pill back in anyway and placed the remaining one into the palm of Barry's hand.

She let him take it on his own, waiting till he had it in his mouth before pressing the mug to his lips. He swallowed, which was maybe more difficult since she had laid him down before giving him the pills, fantastic planning Lup, Bt-dubs.

She distracted herself by readjusting the bedding. She'd arranged a pillow to help support the right side of Barry's body. Lup edged it back into place and tucked the blanket over it.

"Hey," Barry said, patting the space on the bed beside him, "Come here and finish that thought you had before?"

Lup looked up then over to the spot where she probably should have been. She nodded and checked everything was fine one last time before rounding the bed and hopping up. She was too awake to lie down, so she crossed her legs and pulled his left arm into her lap. She played with his hand, rubbing his fingers with her thumbs and gingerly tugging on them before letting go.

Barry watched her. These sorts of moments were his favourite. Watching her close and quiet while she lined up thoughts to share with him. The way she touched him when she was distracted and the way it soothed them both.

"It's not important; you should be resting right now," Lup protested. Having her brain directly connected to her mouth was helpful for witty comebacks, but it did get her into more uncomfortable conversations than she would have liked. Particularly with Barry, who paid her such close attention that no offhand comment would escape his notice.

But she knew the more she denied telling him, the more interested he would get. It was too late to take it back now.

"Okay, fine. The other day I remembered something. Y'know when we were stargazing that time, and my head was on your tummy, and it made that funny gurgling nose? You turned all red, and then I said it sounded like you had eaten a dinosaur, and then I tickled you until you promise not to eat any more extinct creatures?"

It was funnier to think about than to say out loud, mostly because Lup could still picture the abject horror on Barry's face before he realised she found it funny.

"Oh, no, not the dinosaur," he said with a quiet chuckle. It's been years, and his face still went red thinking about that. But with Lup, he had learned about a kind of embarrassment he hadn't known existed. One that was sweet - fond even - because it was something shared. Embarrassment probably wasn't the right word for it, though. Or maybe it was the right word, and the one he'd felt before was ashamed.

"Ha, yeah. But uh, that doesn't matter," Lup continued. "It's just I had that pinned in year 43, but like, two hours later I realised that it couldn't be because Legato was 47. The more I think about it, the more I see that I have no idea what order a lot of my favorite shit actually happened in."

Lup sighed and stopped fidgeting with his hand, settling for just holding it.

"Fifteen years... that's how long we've been, right? This is sixteen? It either feels like a few months or an eternity. Never like a decade and a half."

Barry squeezed his fingers around the hand beneath his. "I know what you mean. There have been a few times I've thought about asking Lucretia to figure out when something happened, but I never do. But, I sort of like that so many, uh, so many of my favourite memories aren't moments in the timeline anymore."

Barry hesitated a moment, considering his words. "They're, uh, like books I've reread so many times that I can't remember not knowing the story." He felt his cheeks going red again, knew he was being sappy but pushed on. "I just know how they make me feel," he finished, squeezing her hand again.

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of her palm. "But then, I don't know about elf lives. For a human, though, I've lost all perspective on time."

"See, that's the thing! This shouldn't be that long for me, right? But I don't... I didn't have this much stuff I wanted to hold onto before," Lup admitted. "Taako and I had our moments, obviously, but there was so much bad mixed in with the good, it was easier to just let it all go. Taako would still be there when I woke up the next day, and he was the only thing worth holding on to, so I didn't think it mattered... But, BJ, like about age 100 to 175? All of that is just a blur. I couldn't tell you anything about that if I tried. We were kids, then we were in college, then the institute, then this..."

Lup brought Barry's hand up to her face and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

"I tried to talk to Taako about it, but I think he'd still operating on the level I used to. He's letting it wash over him, and I'm just down here trying to catch water with my hands, and I..."

Lup shook her head. She bit down very softly on the side of Barry's pointer finger. Honestly forgetting that it was his hand and not hers as she tried to sift through her thoughts.

"If we were on normal time, you'd be... It would be half over by now. I don't have enough memories of us for it to be half over."

Lup looked down and noticed the faint pink mark her fangs left on Barry's finger. "Aw, fuck. Sorry babe. You know I get bitey when I'm anxious, but you've had more than enough teeth for one cycle."

Barry laughed. "Lup, if having your teeth on me was a problem it would have come up before now."

"-And I could never have enough memories of us. I mean, I don't want us running forever but..." It was impossible to think of what it might be like when time found them again.

"I know what you mean about trying to catch it all," he said, switching back to the other part of her topic. "Does Taako not...?" Barry stopped and considered the thought. "I really hate thinking of him... not having moments he wants to hold onto."

The more Barry thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. He suddenly wanted to go pull Taako out of bed and drag him out to the deck, get him to make up obscene constellations or work on a convoluted prank to pull on Magnus. But you can't force those moments. Like this one, even in the middle of living it, he already knew it was a favourite. Spun out of nothing but being awake at the same late-early hour.

It reminded him of how lucky he was. He'd woken up in pain, struggling with back and forth thoughts of how it should be dealt with. But even without medicine in his system yet, the pain was background noise for how grateful and lucky he felt to be with her.

"I'm glad you have more good memories than you can hold onto," he whispered. Dammit, he wanted to wrap her in his arms. "Miniature hug," he told her and closed his fingers around her wrist. He rubbed his thumb over her skin the way he'd rub his hands on her back.

Lup snickered and repeated "Miniature hug!" she took his remaining wrist in her hand and returned the squeeze. Then because she could, Lup flopped down, cuddled up to him, and tucked his arm around her hips like it was a blanket.

She groaned, just from the pure comfort of it all. She'd rather not have the actual blankets over her because of her acid burns, but Barry was better anyway.

"This is all your fault, you know," She muttered. "Before, I didn't know what I was missing. I thought I had everything I needed. Now I'm pissed the fuck off because some shitty worm deprived me of 5.3 percent of you."

"I'll accept that blame," Barry answered fondly.

Lup tucked beside him was wonderful. He'd never known anyone could be almost frustrated with an overabundance of contentment. But then, it wasn't something many people got to experience often, he thought.

He thought of them stargazing and his stomach interrupting the moment.

"But," he said and tapped his palm on her hip gently. "It's the worm's fault I'm half as handy. But now the worm can join the army. I don't have anything up my sleeve... Uh, there's probably something with 'will I ever play the piano again' but I'm blanking. I'd give my right arm to stop thinking of these," he finished apologetically.

Lup groaned, not out of contentment this time.

She held up a finger and pressed it to his lips. At first, it seemed like she wanted him to shut it, but then she proved that she'd only been buying herself more time to think.

"I think these puns are verging on self-harm. It might even be a cause for alarm. I'd hate to see you fall into an armpit of despair. If you don't stop soon, it could cost you an arm and a leg. Trying to avoid this is going to take some elbow grease."

Lup took a deep pull of breath and looked him dead in the eyes. "How does karma taste, cyan pants."

"Okay, you win, you win," he told her. "I'm glad you're on my side because you know Magnus and Merle will try to outdo themselves with those for the rest of the year."

Lup kissed him hard on the lips, then pulled back to whisper, "love you, you massive dork."

Barry decided that If karma tasted like Lup's kiss, he'd accept whatever it had in store.

He waited for her to settle back in place and tightened his arm around her. "I love you, Lup. You're the best, hands down."

Lup flinched. Anyone else in the multiverse and she would have come firing back, pun-guns blazing, but for Barry, she could let him have the last laugh.

She closed her eyes, hoping that if she pretended to sleep, he would join her.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Viridian Vanguard (Part 32)

Elsewhere in the Grove during the duels, Weiss was in her nest, Penny snuggled up to her chest, Cheese and Winter’s summons around her for company, menial tasks, and/or food as she watched holos through Penny’s projector. (The quality was far superior than her comm-crystal’s.)

“I feel it… the purity of their love…!” screamed the monster of the week. “This is it… the power, of YURI!”

A wave of purple-black miasma shot out of the monster, washing over the convention floor, reality itself beginning to warp and change as bright, prismatic energy was sucked out of them.

Hina gasped. “Akane, Aoi, look! All the couples, the anime and manga, even the doujins and the fan art—they’re all losing their gayness!”

“You monster!” Aoi screamed. “Do you know how long that slow-burn was between Diya and Nene?! This is an affront to all of Girls Love!”

“You’re going down, Yarama!” Akane screamed as she whipped out her spear, Hina and Aoi doing the same with their weapons.

“Piper, this show is so fucking stupid...” Weiss muttered.

“Would you like to change to something else?” Penny asked through an annotation on the holo.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it!” Weiss said.

A fight sequence began, the tables and displays being torn up and destroyed from the empowered monster, the heroes trying their best to spare the panicked, confused convention goers, and the merchandise, too, if they could help it.

“Face it, Spiral Hearts!” the Yarama cried. “The power of women loving women is just too strong!”

“That is true…” Hina replied “… but it’s not as strong as the true fans of yuri, those who make and support new content for fans everywhere, not filthy parasites like you! Akane! Aoi!”

“On it!” they both cried, before they all joined their weapons into one giant cannon. “For the love of all that makes our lives worth living… SPIRAL PIERCER…!”

The projection suddenly stopped, Penny’s eyes flashing green.

“What happened?” Weiss asked amid the disappointed growls and groans of the summons.

“It seems there was a serious accident during Jaune and Pyrrha’s training!” Penny replied, untangling herself from Weiss’ arm, then hovering towards the window. “I’m afraid my medical expertise is needed on-site, apologies, Weiss.”

“Don’t you just have first-aid equipment right now?” Weiss asked as she sat up.

“Yes, but I still have my treatment database, patient history, and high-precision scanners,” Penny replied. “I’ll inform you of any new developments as soon as I can!”

Weiss sighed, frowning as she watched Penny fly out the window and out of sight. One of Winter’s summons gently prodded her on the side, and gestured to her comm-crystal charging on a dock in the corner; she turned to them and shook her head. “You’ll have to find out what happens next later, I’ve got a hunch I need to investigate,” she said as she stood up. “Help me get dressed, everyone!”

The summon sighed, before everyone available either fetched Weiss’ garments from the closet, or helped her put it on. “Cheese, you’re coming with me,” Weiss said as she scooped what remained of him from his plate, now just a small blob no bigger than her hand.

c:

“I’m heading out to the training grounds!” Weiss said as she passed by Winter in the living room.

“Don’t try to squeeze in more exercise when you’re supposed to be recovering, I really did mean that was the only time I’d carry you back!” Winter replied, not looking up from the Nivian-Actaeon book she was reading.

“I won’t, sheesh! It’s been what, four years since that happened?” Weiss said as she opened the door.

“I know you, Weiss, it takes a long while for you to give up on something you’ve put your mind to,” Winter replied as she turned the page.

Weiss shook her head as she shut the door behind her, called for the elevator before taking a bite out of Cheese.

He was down to just his soulstone by the time she arrived, by which point Jaune was securely strapped to a spine board and being carried away by Taiyang and Nora, Ren and Penny following them with medical supplies.

Futher away, Yang was on a bench, comforting the rather glum looking Pyrrha sitting beside her. After a few moment’s consideration, Weiss stepped over and asked, “May I ask what the hell happened to Jaune this time?”

“We were dueling, and I accidentally threw him far harder and further than I intended,” Pyrrha replied. “His landing was… ugly.”

“Should I…?” Weiss asked uneasily.

“In short: he looked a human pretzel,” Yang said. “Just so you know, the un-pretzeling process wasn’t pretty, either.”

“Uh... huh...” Weiss mumbled. “Do you need me to stay, or should I just leave…?” she asked, thumbing behind her.

“If your brain is functioning enough again for Pit Fighter business, sure!” Yang said.

“I’ve made quite a lot of progress on the weapon choice front, it’d be a shame to waste this time,” Pyrrha added.

Weiss nodded, and sat down with them. “So how’s it going, exactly?”

“If we’re being thorough about it, I’m halfway through the process,” Pyrrha replied. “I still haven’t explored any of the Fae firearms that weren’t almost-complete replicas of AFA armaments, but now I know for sure that I have a solid idea of what I’m looking for in melee weapons.”

“And what would that be?” Weiss asked.

“Something versatile with reach, coupled with a shield and elemental mediums for an all-rounded offense or defense,” Pyrrha replied. “Weiss’ temporarily limited powers aside, both of you are highly specialized fighters, and I’d rather not lose a good chunk of our effectiveness, or expose glaring weaknesses in our defenses should one of you be downed, or otherwise indisposed. Whether it’s defending against attacks from any range, leading a charge into our enemies, or wreaking some elemental havoc, I’ll be ready for it.

“That being said, I haven’t seen what Fae ranged weapons can bring to the table, and if the melee weapons were any indication, they should be quite the learning experience.”

“You should probably join us at the firing range later, Weiss!” Yang said. “Get a feel for how the Fae deal death from a distance.”

“I’d rather not,” Weiss replied. “After all that training at the Terrace, my arms will definitely become too sore to even hold a gun as soon as I’m hit the recoil.”

“I meant in a mental, tactical sense, see what you might go up against in person!” Yang replied. “You’ve barely seen anyone really use a ranged weapon outside of all-out war where tracking who fired what was the least of your worries. Plus, the special ammo will give you a great idea of what happens when you mix elements up—nothing wrong with your using pure, but you miss out on useful things like Melty Wash that way.”

“’Melty Wash…?’” Weiss asked.

“Melty Wash,” Yang repeated, nodding. “It sounds just as stupid in Actaeon, don’t worry.” She winced as her stomach growled. “Ugh, all this drama made me forget how hungry I am—come on, let’s go get some grub and a nap, then on to lighting shit up!” she said, getting up.

Weiss shrugged. “Alright, fine, I’ll go!” she said as she hopped up. “I figured I needed to get out of bed and do something productive today, anyway...”

Jaune was left in the cabin he bunked in, Taiyang and Penny stayed behind to take care of him and keep him company. Everyone else had lunch and rested a while, before discussing Pyrrha’s firearms training.

As elementally-infused ammo, alchemical grenades, chemical weapons and the like needed to be specially ordered by and used under the supervision of a senior watcher or other qualified individual, and Qrow was far too drunk at the moment, they started out with the standard Fae firearms.

In contrast to the practical, sleek, and streamlined AFA guns Pyrrha was used to, the Fae practically made it a point to have their guns as flashy and embellished as possible. Every one of them seemed to have as many engravings, stylized components, and decorations as they could possibly add without compromising function too much, like an iron sight made out of some long-dead predator’s skull, the gun barrel coming out of its jaws

Metal and wood were the materials of choice for most of them, all manner of colours, grains, and sheen from the varieties, mixtures, and treatments, with the rest of the parts made from bone, rock, crystal, plant fibers, and whatever else the Fae could get their hands or hand-equivalents on. There was barely any built-in magitech to be seen, no small-form targeting systems, recoil adjusters, or ammo management systems, just physical springs, levers, hammers, revolvers, and whatever else.

And almost all of them were powerful, even the quietest guns having massive impact.

Thip. Crack. Thip. Crack. Thip. Crack.

Pyrrha fired her “Fang Gun” into a log target, each bone projectile lodging an inch or two deep into the wood, splinters flying out from the holes, the cracks clearly audible to Weiss even as she watched from well away to the side.

She stopped after six shots, putting her rifle down and massaging her arms. “Not the kind of gun you fire just for fun, is this?” she asked Ren.

“Not unless your idea of ‘fun’ is accuracy competitions, or clean hunting kills,” Ren replied calmly. “Shall we focus on lower-caliber weapons that are easier to fire for sustained periods, such as repeaters? Most every Fae firearm hits the user almost as hard as they do the target.”

“No,” Pyrrha replied, picking the gun back up, and aiming for a farther target. “I suppose I’ll just have to learn to make every single shot a hit from here on out!”

Ren nodded. “One well-placed bullet’s all you really need, most of the time.”

“And the rest?” Pyrrha asked.

Ren smiled. “Two bullets.”

After Pyrrha started getting used to the intense recoil, and firing far less frequently than she would have with human guns, they started planning which weapons she was to try out, how she was going to test them out, and who would be involved.

Everyone except Weiss donned a set of armour; a small arena was built by a copse of smaller trees with the help of deployable cover, ballistic shields, and the foliage; and several dozen crates of ammo were carted out of storage, their contents transferred to smaller boxes set around the area, or to loaded into all manner of belts, bags, and quivers just waiting to be strapped on.

Before Pyrrha’s first live-fire exercise, however, Ren wanted to demonstrate how Fae opponents would be using firearms themselves, exchanging his usual sickles for two “Shredders,” Fae-style SMGs.

“The first thing you need know is, except for heavy weapons like Hailstorm cannons or extreme long-distance weapons like Shardslingers and Farslingers, Fae tend to prefer shooting on the move, and most can shoot quite accurately and survive getting shot at also,” Ren said as he loaded one of his guns with a clip.

He dashed towards some training dummies, shredding their canvas coverings with short, accurate burts. He maneuvered around their cover and shot them from behind, slid on the ground to slip through tiny gaps and holes in defenses, even leaped off a ledge and fired the last of his clip in mid-air.

“Predicting your enemies movements and firing where they will be in a second is a helpful skill in lower ranks, and absolutely vital as you move up,” he said as landed, pulled out his second shredder and loaded them both.

“The second is that, thanks to our biology and engineering advancements, dual-wielding guns isn’t as stupid and dangerous idea to us Fae as it is to you humans,” Ren said as he adjusted the stocks, shortening them and fitting them over his forearms. “In fact, it’s actually quite popular inside the Pits, both as a stylistic choice and a significant combat advantage.”

He calmly crossed a bridge lined with target dummies, both guns blazing and ripping apart targets on both sides, casually bending his arms further and more dramatically than any human could to shoot behind his back, over his shoulders, and even under his leg.

“And the third and arguably the most important is: we Fae are far, far more mobile and agile than any of you are right now, or will be in the immediate future, so do consider any way your enemies can outmaneuver and flank you,” Ren said as he holstered one gun, replaced the empty clip with a drum magazine.

He moved towards one of the “bases” in the arena, a tight cluster of trees with platforms rising up two stories above him, a small sniper’s nest on the third. Several dummies stood behind cover, well-protected from any shots angled upwards, free to pump Ren full of bullets if they were actually armed and alive.

Then Ren started jumping from branch to branch, running up and along the trunk and the walls, swinging from the ropes or running on top of the ziplines, raining metal hell down on all of them from above and behind.

Ren zipped down from the base, gracefully landing back down to the ground. He unloaded the empty drum, turned over to Pyrrha and Weiss said, “Generally speaking, never forget to look up. Now, any questions or concerns?”

“None,” Pyrrha said, smiling as she put on her helmet. “Let’s get shooting.”

“Oh yeah!” Nora cried as she shot out of her seat. “We about to get all John Woo up in here!”

Note: Aside from the tendency for special ammo and the like to deteriorate over time, to the point of being unusable or dangerous to use, it’s also expensive to produce, and capable of causing severe injuries to folks and damage to property that oftentimes require urgent, specialized treatment, thus the many hurdles to legally acquiring and using them. Due to the nature of the Keeper and her team, restrictions are a bit looser and relatively easier, but not by much.

The shardslinger is the non-elemental version of the farslinger. Though they use many similar designs, the key difference is in the loading mechanism and the insides of the barrels, with the latter being specially treated and much, much, MUCH more expensive, to be able to handle the severe wear of high-power elemental mediums. It’s not unknown for substandard barrels to simply explode or melt during stress testing.

This chapter was coded “Shooty Shooty Bang Bang.” The next chapter is coded “John Woo-ing It Up In Here.”

[thesevenseraphs]

Bungie Weekly Update - 2/1/18

This week at Bungie, we deployed an update to Destiny 2. 

Update 1.1.2 went live on Tuesday, infusing the player experience with Armor Masterworks and Raid Mods.

Rewards have been restructured for Leviathan and Eater of Worlds completions, too! For a full rundown on patch notes, make sure tos ort through the bullets.

On Wednesday, part two of the Fall of Osiris webcomic series became available.

Right here on Bungie.net, you can follow the continuation of the story.

We’ve also mapped the road ahead, plotting a course through the coming months with a full schedule of updates. Christopher Barrett provides commentary for upcoming changes, with some insight as to what you can expect for the future of Destiny 2. Take a peek, and sound off with your thoughts. Something you’ve been talking to us about might be on the list.

With all that has been said and shipped this week, we have many new questions to tackle.

When’s the next Sandbox update? Have you heard our feedback about movement in Destiny 2? What about Shoulder Charge?

Read on if you want to know more.

Sand People

On the Development Roadmap, we forecast one update that players have been talking about a lot. We’ve been gathering lots of feedback about the Destiny 2 Sandbox, and seeing it on a deployment schedule sparks more questions.

Design Lead Josh Hamrick is here with the first of many rounds of answers.

Hamrick: Hello again!  We’ve been promising more details about our work on the Destiny 2 Sandbox, so here we are.  Before we get started I want to lend some context. The Sandbox Team is currently working on lots of updates for Destiny 2. Over the next several months, as those various delivery dates approach, there will be many visits from me or one of my teammates. Know that we’ll be chatting with you again and again to share more details with you as we acquire them. This meal will span many courses.

 Here’s the first… We’ve begun playtesting a series of changes that you will have in your hands in the next few months. Sandbox is lovingly begun to refer to this series of changes as the “Go Fast Update.” These are the changes we are currently playtesting. They’re not guaranteed to ship, but the outlook is good at this point.

 Our goals for this round are to provide individual players with more hero moments by increasing overall speed and mobility, increasing the amount of supers you charge to demolish your enemies, and increasing the frequency and impact of our most montage worthy power weapons, especially in the Crucible.Here’s what we’re doing:

All three glides plus Catapult and Strafe Lift have been retuned and buffed to make them more unique and faster.

The mobility stat has had its range expanded and been completely retuned as well.  In short, everyone gets faster and the high end is higher.

The players’ ground speed cap has been increased, allowing for faster total movement speed, regardless of how you may get there.

Arcstrider, Sentinel, and Striker all move faster, and at the same speed as one another, while in their Supers.

Arcstrider, as a whole, is performing well in PvP but mostly due to its neutral game perks. We’ve made the following changes in an effort to get the Super to be a more competitive option:

Faster Attack Animations.

Faster Dodge Animations.

Increased range of all attacks.

Supers recharge faster for everyone!

We’ve buffed several weapon archetypes (including, but not limited to, Hand Cannons, Pulse Rifles, Sniper Rifles, and Shotguns) and a few specific perks, as well.

A key goal here is to make Shotguns, Snipers, and Fusion rifles more prevalent in the game.

We’ve also been working side-by-side with our friends on PvP to increase the pace of PvP combat and the frequency of power play. Here’s a sneak peek at their hard work:

Player respawn times for all Quickplay modes have been decreased.

Power Ammo respawn timers for all Quickplay modes have been reduced ~30%.

Power Ammo respawn timers in Survival have been reduced ~40%.Power Ammo respawn timers in Countdown have been reduced ~25%.

Ammo counts have been adjusted in relation to these timers, and in relation to weapon type.Enemy players now drop their power ammo on death. 

The dropped brick is available to anyone until picked up or 30 seconds have passed.

Finally, the Shoulder Charge changes that went in a couple of months ago have been fully reverted. Shoulder Charge’s movement utility was perceived as more valuable than its damage utility, which made it feel bad to actually hit someone with Shoulder Charge. The movement was effectively a “free” dodge.

The goal of the untargeted distance nerf was to discourage using the ability as a movement mode by making it only effective when using it against enemies. In retrospect, we think this change was a mistake and we’ve heard you all say the same. We believe there are a number of gameplay atoms like this that perform or are used differently than we expected but are thoroughly enjoyed nonetheless. In the future, we want to embrace the state of gameplay atoms like that and balance around it, not against it. 

One final note that will be important to all the snipers out there. Many of you have rightfully complained that Snipers flinch too hard when you’re taking hits, especially as they are now power weapons. We have dug into this and found that somewhere along the way towards shipping D2, we acquired a bug that is preventing us from being able to successfully tune this to the values that we would all like. While the current batch of changes we are playtesting go a long way to bringing snipers back to where they should be, this bug will still prevent them from feeling perfect. That bug, which we are actively working on fixing, requires some deep changes to the art of each of the individual snipers in the game. That will take us a while to stomp out. We’ll get it fixed and pushed out to you as soon as we possibly can. 

Like I mentioned, this is the first part in a series of Sandbox Updates that we hope you come to enjoy. As these changes continue to solidify, we’ll have more to say. The next items on our agenda after these changes include the mod system rework (which we plan to use to buff ability cooldowns) and the Exotic balance pass. We’re also continuing to evaluate Destiny 2’s weapon slot system and how all the different types of weapons in Destiny fit into the game, how they are being played, and what we can do to improve that experience.  Expect to hear more from us about that in a future update. Until next time, -Hamrick

Iron Support

When downloading and installing updates, Destiny Player Support is on tap to keep you on course. From the moment we open the floodgates after a maintenance period, associates on the team begin monitoring the forums for rising issues.

This is their report.

XP Issues (Resolved)

With Destiny update 1.1.2, the amount of XP required to earn a rank up was changed from 160k XP to 120k XP. Shortly after deployment, an issue was discovered where the Bungie.net API was displaying incorrect XP gains and totals.

After communicating our findings, players continued to report odd XP earn rates in-game. Through quick investigation, an errant server flag was discovered in the live environment, which was throttling XP rewards. While our test teams had verified the incoming XP changes in a test environment, this did not properly reflect the player experience due to the missing flag. The errant flag was immediately removed, and the issue was resolved. We would like to thank all players who reported the issue and provided screenshots/videos. If you experience any other oddities in XP gains, please post a report to the #Help forum detailing your experience.

Destiny Update 1.1.2 Vital Information and Known Issues

Shader Previews: An issue was discovered shortly after deployment impacting Shader Previews. If a player attempts to preview a shader, the tooltip will automatically change to display the first page of shaders in inventory. The issue has been escalated to the appropriate team for investigation.

Lost Sector throttle: A short-term solution was shipped, reducing the throttle timer from 10 minutes to 5. We have a Hotfix planned for mid-February to fully address this issue, but we wanted to deploy this change sooner than later to reduce impact to the player experience when clearing multiple Lost Sectors in short amounts of time. Stay tuned to @BungieHelp for announcements on when to expect this Hotfix.

Future XP Balancing: Destiny Update 1.1.2 has reduced the required amount of XP for a rank-up from 160k to 120k XP. Additional balancing for Crucible XP rewards are currently in development, planned for a future Hotfix. Both Quickplay and Competitive playlists will receive an increase to XP rewards. Additional information will be shared when available.

[thebeckychronicles]

Post 20: change of plans, explaining chemo and does cancer define me?

I first noticed I was sick in early November 2016. January 2017 I started a series of test that took about a month and a half to determine what was causing my symptoms. February 14th, 2017 I was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma- severity of it unknown only I was told that we had to “treat it aggressively.” My port placement took place in the first week of March, a few days later on March 7th, 2017 I had my first chemotherapy session. My last chemotherapy session is scheduled for August 9th, 2017. Yesterday was my last session for cycle 4. I have two more chemotherapy cycles meaning I have four more sessions (2 session/cycle). Friends, I am counting down the days to August 9th, which is 56 days if you were wondering. I’m 2/3 of the way done.

So since my last chemo session two weeks ago, there’s been a bit of a change in plans. Which fucking sucks. Every Tuesday all of medical oncology/hematology, radiation oncology, social workers, people who work in oncology, etc. get together to discuss different patients, their cases and treatment plans to get the opinion of others. The Tuesday before my last chemo session, my oncologist brought my case and treatment plan which was set at the time for 4 cycles of chemo and then 3 weeks of radiation- meaning yesterday would’ve been my last chemotherapy treatment. She had wanted to get the opinion of other oncologists, hematologists and radiation oncologists, on my choice of treatment plan. The radiation oncologist who originally did our consultation for radiation had said that the risks of reoccurrence (getting cancer again) if I continued chemo or chose radiation were the same. I mentioned before that I’m READY to be done with chemo. Getting that news that I didn’t run a greater risk of reoccurrence regardless of my treatment plan, hell yeah I chose radiation with the less- shitty side effects. Back to the big cancer meeting with all the people. They discussed my treatment plan in more detail and my oncologist asked them to give her solid numbers on the risk of reoccurrence, especially breast cancer. Well the numbers are in and when I went in for treatment two weeks ago she gave them to me. If I were to pursue radiation instead of continuing chemotherapy my risk of breast cancer would go up BY 25%. So I’d be pushing around a 30-40% or reoccurrence. Which doesn’t sound like a fun time and seems like a risk I don’t want to take. There’s a bump in risk is because there’d be no way to avoid a lot of the radiation going through breast tissue, since the areas they’d target would be from my neck to about the middle of chest where the tumors are. Continuing chemotherapy would keep my chance of reoccurrence where it was, much to my dismay.

God, did that feel like a punch in the gut. It felt like being told my diagnosis for the first time all over again. My oncologist said that one of the radiation oncologist straight up said, “I wouldn’t radiate.” The general consensus of the meeting was that chemotherapy was the way to go. Honestly this broke my heart. It’s like I could clearly see the finish line so close to me, and all of a sudden it got pushed back painfully far. I was ready to start treatment that didn’t make me hurt for weeks. In truth, I still considered going forward with radiation, increased chance of reoccurrence or not. Discouragement does strange things to you friends. I think my oncologist could sense that I was struggling with giving her a decision on what my treatment plan would be and in an effort to help me think a little more clearly she told me. “I know treatment has been really difficult for you, and I know another 3 months of treatment seems like a long time- and it is. But I want you to think about how your treatment is temporary. I want you to think long term.” I’ve said before that I’m not doing this again. I don’t think I could. So after a few minutes of silence and staring at my mom I made the choice to continue treatment not because I thought I could tough it out another 3 months of this bullshit but because I’d rather finish this treatment once, with the hopes that in doing so I’d never have to think about another cancer diagnosis and starting treatment all over again. And maybe you think this decision should’ve been an easy one to make but it wasn’t. I made the decision then to continue chemo with a lump in my throat and a resignation in my gut. So as stated before, I just finished my fourth cycle of chemo. Two more cycles to go, ending on August 9th and I AM FREE. It’s gonna be difficult and it still kind of breaks my heart to think about but this too shall pass.  

What’s ironic is that had the cancer gone unnoticed it would’ve eventually killed me. Either suffocating me to death or just killing me the way Hodgkin’s Lymphoma can kill its patients. So I chose to get chemo, to get treatment not in hopes but with the resolve that I would beat this. What’s ironic is that treatment is a choice. You don’t have to get it. Strongly encouraged but again- your choice. So I did the smart thing, I started chemotherapy in order to stop my cancer from killing me. Only, and maybe this was ridiculously naïve of me, I didn’t expect treatment to feel like it was killing me. Again, chemotherapy is a tough regimen. It beats up your body and a lot of the time you feel like you got in the boxing fight of your life and just barely made it to the other side. People ask all the time what does chemotherapy feel like? For me, it’s constant discomfort. My body feels like its aged 50 years because everything hurts. My bones hurt. My nails are turning black. My hair is falling out. My insides feel like they’re rotting and on fire and not just when I get hot flashes (thank you chemotherapy induced menopause- not like I’m only 20 or anything). My oncologist said once I’m done with treatment things should pick up where they left off. Ha. I don’t sleep well. Other things it feels like is guilt and shame. Sometimes it feels like I’m sucking my family and friends dry. Chemo is a lot of things, I don’t think you ever get used to it. You just kind of learn to manage the symptoms a little better and even that is hit or miss. Sometimes the pain meds work, other times they don’t. Sometimes the natural remedies I use work. Sometimes the anti-nausea meds are a god-send, others they fall flat. Sometimes you bottle what you’re feeling and don’t tell anyone the ugly, frantic things you’re thinking. Other times you feel selfish crying on your sister’s shoulder telling her you don’t want to finish treatment, that you don’t think you’re strong enough, that you’re never doing this again. You feel selfish for telling her because you know this scares her and she hurts too. Chemo is a lot of things, but you deal with it and you have your selfish moments because what else are you supposed to do?

Quick side note- during this appointment a major factor as to why my case was discussed at this meeting was because I’m getting hit hard by the side effects, harder than most apparently. So my oncologist wanted to make sure that holistically radiation was the better choice for me. One thing she mentioned to me, that was confirmed to me by my other nurses and my infusion nurses was that the younger and healthier you are typically chemo hits you the hardest. They don’t know why but it does. Regardless of what age you are cancer- any disease- fucking sucks. It sucks. There is no at least about it. So please- do all of us who are young and sick a favor and leave out comments about how lucky we are to be strong and young. It really doesn’t help. I don’t need the reminder that I’m stuck at home a majority of the time, that I don’t get to socialize without thinking about how out of place I feel amongst my friends who have largely not faced a life-threatening disease. Age, being young isn’t a consolation prize. It doesn’t help. If anything is adds more confusion to the whole debacle. I’m young and I’m sick and my body is tired. Hearing, “it’s fine, you’ve got so much life to live,” which is true but right now I’m living this. And it’s not fun. I’m not even at the place where I can regret not doing something because I haven’t even been presented with taking or leaving a chance/choice. Rant over

My oncologist was treating another Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patient who is a year younger than me, we’ll call him J. He had also had a difficult time with the side effects of chemotherapy, and she asked me at that appointment with the change of plans if I would meet him to commiserate over our shared experience, and because J wanted to meet someone around his age also going through treatment. I said sure, why not? Needless to say after my appointment with my oncologist and during my chemo session right after it I was in a shit mood. At the end of my treatment that day, my nurse walked me over to J’s station. I think they were surprised to see me walk in alone. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this but out of respect for my wishes my parents only stay with me during the appointment with my oncologist and at most to see me get hooked up to the drugs, then they leave and I take a nap or read. I don’t think that’s very common since I see most other cancer patients have at least one other person with them during their treatment session. J had his parents, two siblings and grandfather there with him. I learned in our conversation that that session was actually his last. Which made me really happy to hear and strangely enough made me feel a lot better. It’s like I have actual proof that there is an end. I’ve had so many changes to the end date to my treatment that it’s made it slightly difficult to really trust that this recent change will be the last. Seeing J, smiling and on his last treatment session made me joyful for his and his family’s sake but also for me because I can see the end of this. It’s not some tentative promise, a date akin to smoke and fragile. One day soon, I’d get to J’s position, I’ll be okay. Another bright spot to that week was the next day after 28 years in this country my mom got her work permit; and God-willing my dad’s should be here sometime between August and October. (They’re got visas coming too.) Sometimes things don’t go the way you want them to. I’m trying to accept that. Other times, it takes time to process and be patient for what you want to come to fruition. But God is good. Always.

When I first started this blog, it was done so more for you who read it. That way I don’t have to repeat myself over and over again because that’s draining. As time has gone on- I’ve realized how much I’ve been writing this for me. Another thing I didn’t anticipate with a cancer diagnosis is how it’d crack me wide open. In an aching, painful way filled with a weird type of anguished relief. Cancer has pushed me to be honest. About what I want. About who I am. About what I’m feeling. I’ve always been pretty honest- that is when I’m actually sharing what I’m feeling and thinking. Cancer has cracked me open in a way I think only it could have. If I was a fortress before, now I’m Troy after the horse got in. I think that’s what this blog has become, this isn’t me just detailing my diagnosis and treatment but me embracing this new painful honesty. So here’s some more of that.

A big fear of mine was that cancer would define me. That there would be no piece of me, of pre-cancer Jenni¸ that would survive this experience and that when it was over I’d be left feeling a lot lost and kind of like cancer dropped me in the middle of the ocean to never be seen again. I’m not afraid of change. But I worried cancer would change me in a way I didn’t love or would be able to accept. But that’s kind of a ridiculous wish isn’t it? Hoping that the cancer wouldn’t define me, or alter me in some pronounced ways. Yesterday, I was really feeling the side effects of chemo from my treatment. Every time I tried to eat, it’d come back up, and because of this regardless of how absolutely hungry I was, I just didn’t eat. My stomach ached and felt like it was boiling and it was kind of hard to breathe. My legs felt weak and tingly and numb. My mouth tasted like chemo and chalk and that made me nauseous and made everything taste disgusting. Even potatoes. The smell of the drugs/hospital on my skin wouldn’t go away with a shower and also made me nauseous. I was in bed all day yesterday and only started feeling a little bit better at night. It’s not news but I’m just feeling sad. I don’t feel okay. I’m just sad. And I was telling Brianda about it as we were sitting on the floor in our room that I’m just sad. (What else is new?) I told Brianda that I was scared that cancer would absolutely define me for the rest of my life. Because you hear stories about cancer patients being brave and strong and not letting cancer define them. And I know I am brave and I am strong but I’m also scared and fragile and weak. So that’s something that I’ve been struggling with. Brianda’s response to that really helped me, she said, “You can decide whether or not cancer defines you when you’re done with treatment. You don’t have to decide now. But you are more than just Becky.” I really needed to hear that.

Life doesn’t just happen to you. But I’ve come to the realization that when it does, as in the case of an illness, you get to choose what you do with that. Life’s one big reaction. Sometimes those reactions include curling up in a ball on your bed with the lights off. Other times it’s saying fuck it, I’m going to that Panic at the Disco concert even though I just had chemo 4 hours ago. Sometimes it’s saying yes, right now cancer defines me and this time in my life, but I’ve still got a lot of life to live and it doesn’t define me forever. It can redefine me in a way that changes me for the rest of my life, but it’s not the only thing that’ll redefine me. Life happened to me hard this year. And right now I’m choosing to be okay with the fact that since November 2016 cancer has defined me. This illness is a main character in my life right now. Accepting this doesn’t minimize me, dehumanize me or make me weak. It’s just the honest truth. But once all this is said and done, I know Becky will always be a part of my story, but maybe she’ll only be a chapter in my life, relegated to a footnote in those to come.

Romans 12:12:  “Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” 

[xhostcom]

20 Best New Portfolios, December 2018

It’s December, which means it’s officially carol season. Oh well. Whether you’re a curmudgeon about these things like myself, or are even now feeling the heat rise in your elf ears and Santa hat, we can all agree that portfolio sites are cool, right? Let’s see what those wacky designers have come up with now. There are quite a few modern, as in pre-post-modern designs here. You know, classic, business-friendly minimalist sites. I must say, sometimes my writer and designer sides clash, and I worry about what design trends make me do to the English language. (Also, I’d like to take a moment to thank Hubert Gałczyński from the previously-featured K2. He has directed me towards Wappalyzer which is a tool that’s helping me more accurately figure out what platforms and CMS everybody is using.) Note: I’m judging these sites by how good they look to me. If they’re creative and original, or classic but really well-done, it’s all good to me. Sometimes, UX and accessibility suffer. For example, many of these sites depend on JavaScript to display their content at all; this is a Bad Idea

, kids. If you find an idea you like and want to adapt to your own site, remember to implement it responsibly.

TJ Dhillon

TJ Dhillon’s portfolio starts as the rest of this article will probably go on. It’s simple, it’s clean, it works. It’s got some nice little drop shadows on hovering over certain elements, and is it weird that I’ve actually missed those? They were never a bad thing in moderation. Moderation might be the key to this whole site design. There are frills, but they’re not overdone. Platform: Static Site

Matt Kevan

Matt Kevan’s portfolio looks a little bit like a prototype, though it’s obviously polished. As he is a UX designer, the aesthetic certainly works thematically. He’s also elected to put his writing front and center, rather than his more visual work. It’s certainly one way to demonstrate your expertise, but I wish I had some kind of analytics Platform: Jekyll

Daniel Spatzek

Daniel Spatzek’s portfolio will take us, just for a moment, to the world of the ultra-modern. You know how I feel about sites that are this JS-heavy, but I’m still a sucker for that grid-based aesthetic, especially when it’s properly using the full width of my desktop screen like this. Platform: Static Site

Undersight

Undersight has that clean-and-modern look, but with a little bit of artistic flair provided by the work itself. It feels like the portfolio pieces are almost as much apart of the overall aesthetic as any other element of the site. In a world where so very often the design and content almost feel like separate parts of a website, this is an improvement. Platform: React

Sei Yamazaki

Sei Yamazaki’s portfolio is focused on art. With this comes the classic “art gallery style” which includes lots of white space, and text that’s perhaps a bit too small at times. Still, the layouts themselves are beautiful, and the featured installation has some of the finest video presentation I’ve seen in a while. Platform: WordPress

4POR4

4POR4 is a rare breed indeed. Normally websites that use this much space-related imagery have darker layouts. But here we have lots of literal white space mixed with astronaut imagery, illustration, and photomontages. It’s a bit bandwidth-heavy, perhaps, but the overall effect is stunning. Platform: Static Site

Your Creative Copywriter

Your Creative Copywriter is, as a website, the very picture of business-friendliness. The layout has elements of post-modern asymmetry while maintaining a clearly businesslike look. The illustrations are classic, and even the stock photo of the hand holding the pencil is perfect for the market. Sure it’s a little cheesy, perhaps, but far from the cheesiest stock photo we’ve ever seen. It’s always interesting to see a site so clearly made with modern tech that feels like something from another era. It doesn’t hurt that this is probably exactly what their clients are looking for. Platform: Static Site

Niccolò Miranda

Niccolò Miranda’s portfolio is one of the most “presentational” sites I’ve ever seen. It’s dark, it’s got animated illustrations, and even the blog is animated to an extent. This is only possible because every blog post is a YouTube video tutorial, with accompanying practice files. It’s not the most accessible site I’ve seen, but it is beautiful, and it takes an interesting approach to ongoing content. Platform: Custom CMS (I think)

Pixavio

Pixavio is another highly presentational site with a “modern” look so old it reminds me of old fashion magazines and, weirdly enough, a lot of the barber shops I went into as a kid. It’s something about the typography and gradient use. The site shows off the flexibility of this aesthetic by using a different color scheme for each portfolio page. It feels like a blast from the past, but it still works today. Platform: Static Site

Eleken

Eleken brings me back to a time when everyone was doing design “like Apple but with thicker headings”. It’s pretty classic minimalism, mixed with a little background video, and workplace photography. Platform: Gatsby

Kobu

Kobu is a rare beauty. It’s sleek, stylish, and makes wonderful use of curves in its illustration and animation. The animations run smoothly, and aren’t altogether too distracting. The color palette is strong, and the headings are thick. And it does all of this without scroll-jacking. Can you even believe it? A fancy site that performs well and lets me scroll normally. I’m in love. Being a bit more serious, it’s a lovely looking site. Just wish they had more fallbacks in place for all of the JS stuff. Platform: WordPress

MOXY

And we’re back to the scroll-jacking. But I can forgive MOXY for this because it’s just that pretty. It’s sites like this that remind me why—even though I dislike how JavaScript has become the new Flash—web animation is a discipline and an art form all its own. It’s an art form worth exploring, and MOXY does that beautifully. Platform: React App/Static Site

Trajectory

Trajectory is doing it all wrong! If you’re going to use a monospaced font, your site either has to be an ironic brutalist meta-commentary on web design or a post-modernist artsy design. None of this pleasant, business-friendly stuff with smooth illustrations and gorgeous gradient use. Using monospaced type for all the body text might be a bit much, but it certainly does stand out when combined with everything else. Platform: Craft CMS

Soap Media

Soap Media is hitting all the right buttons for me, personally. It’s bright with bold colors, it’s playful, and it’s got a huge rubber ducky. This is an entirely subjective point, but I just like rubber duckies. The whole site feels creative and whimsical in that “we’ll playfully make you a lot of money” sort of way. It’s genius. Platform: Static Site

Nate Denton

Random chickens are equal to rubber duckies if you want to be silly and playful. Nate Denton’s portfolio went with a big one, contrasted by a relatively soft and warm color palette. The resulting aesthetic is a combination of professional and artsy that is overall pleasing to the eye, but less likely to scare away the more straight-laced potential clients. Platform: Static Site

Crema

Crema is this month’s site that isn’t mind-blowingly experimental or anything, but is here because I admire the craftsmanship. Plus rounded corners. We don’t seem them as much as we thought we would, do we? Platform: Custom CMS (I Think)

NoBears

The amusingly-named NoBears agency goes with wackiness, combining striking photomontages and background video with a comparatively subdued dark design. I’m still a sucker for those semi-visible grids as part of the design, so of course this one’s on the list. Platform: Silverstripe

BAUNFIRE

While many other sites are going for bold and bright aesthetics, BAUNFIRE keeps it soft and pleasant with a pastel-infused, and fairly minimalist design. It’s a calming and soothing experience from an agency that presents itself as easy to work with. Platform: Craft CMS

Friends

Friends’ website presents a fusion of that near-postmodern, element-overlapping aesthetic with some more classic-feeling minimalism and typography. That fusion works quite well. Platform: Craft CMS

Daniel Kusaka

Daniel Kusaka’s portfolio gives me some of that good old magazine feel that designers wanted to do for years. Well now we can, and I can’t get enough of it. God bless Flexbox and CSS Grid. Platform: WordPress

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20 Best New Portfolios, December 2018

It’s December, which means it’s officially carol season. Oh well. Whether you’re a curmudgeon about these things like myself, or are even now feeling the heat rise in your elf ears and Santa hat, we can all agree that portfolio sites are cool, right? Let’s see what those wacky designers have come up with now.

There are quite a few modern, as in pre-post-modern designs here. You know, classic, business-friendly minimalist sites. I must say, sometimes my writer and designer sides clash, and I worry about what design trends make me do to the English language.

(Also, I’d like to take a moment to thank Hubert Gałczyński from the previously-featured K2. He has directed me towards Wappalyzer which is a tool that’s helping me more accurately figure out what platforms and CMS everybody is using.)

Note: I’m judging these sites by how good they look to me. If they’re creative and original, or classic but really well-done, it’s all good to me. Sometimes, UX and accessibility suffer. For example, many of these sites depend on JavaScript to display their content at all; this is a Bad Idea, kids. If you find an idea you like and want to adapt to your own site, remember to implement it responsibly.

TJ Dhillon

TJ Dhillon’s portfolio starts as the rest of this article will probably go on. It’s simple, it’s clean, it works. It’s got some nice little drop shadows on hovering over certain elements, and is it weird that I’ve actually missed those?

They were never a bad thing in moderation. Moderation might be the key to this whole site design. There are frills, but they’re not overdone.

Platform: Static Site

Matt Kevan

Matt Kevan’s portfolio looks a little bit like a prototype, though it’s obviously polished. As he is a UX designer, the aesthetic certainly works thematically.

He’s also elected to put his writing front and center, rather than his more visual work. It’s certainly one way to demonstrate your expertise, but I wish I had some kind of analytics

Platform: Jekyll

Daniel Spatzek

Daniel Spatzek’s portfolio will take us, just for a moment, to the world of the ultra-modern. You know how I feel about sites that are this JS-heavy, but I’m still a sucker for that grid-based aesthetic, especially when it’s properly using the full width of my desktop screen like this.

Platform: Static Site

Undersight

Undersight has that clean-and-modern look, but with a little bit of artistic flair provided by the work itself. It feels like the portfolio pieces are almost as much apart of the overall aesthetic as any other element of the site. In a world where so very often the design and content almost feel like separate parts of a website, this is an improvement.

Platform: React

Sei Yamazaki

Sei Yamazaki’s portfolio is focused on art. With this comes the classic “art gallery style” which includes lots of white space, and text that’s perhaps a bit too small at times. Still, the layouts themselves are beautiful, and the featured installation has some of the finest video presentation I’ve seen in a while.

Platform: WordPress

4POR4

4POR4 is a rare breed indeed. Normally websites that use this much space-related imagery have darker layouts. But here we have lots of literal white space mixed with astronaut imagery, illustration, and photomontages. It’s a bit bandwidth-heavy, perhaps, but the overall effect is stunning.

Platform: Static Site

Your Creative Copywriter

Your Creative Copywriter is, as a website, the very picture of business-friendliness. The layout has elements of post-modern asymmetry while maintaining a clearly businesslike look. The illustrations are classic, and even the stock photo of the hand holding the pencil is perfect for the market.

Sure it’s a little cheesy, perhaps, but far from the cheesiest stock photo we’ve ever seen. It’s always interesting to see a site so clearly made with modern tech that feels like something from another era. It doesn’t hurt that this is probably exactly what their clients are looking for.

Platform: Static Site

Niccolò Miranda

Niccolò Miranda’s portfolio is one of the most “presentational” sites I’ve ever seen. It’s dark, it’s got animated illustrations, and even the blog is animated to an extent.

This is only possible because every blog post is a YouTube video tutorial, with accompanying practice files. It’s not the most accessible site I’ve seen, but it is beautiful, and it takes an interesting approach to ongoing content.

Platform: Custom CMS (I think)

Pixavio

Pixavio is another highly presentational site with a “modern” look so old it reminds me of old fashion magazines and, weirdly enough, a lot of the barber shops I went into as a kid. It’s something about the typography and gradient use.

The site shows off the flexibility of this aesthetic by using a different color scheme for each portfolio page. It feels like a blast from the past, but it still works today.

Platform: Static Site

Eleken

Eleken brings me back to a time when everyone was doing design “like Apple but with thicker headings”. It’s pretty classic minimalism, mixed with a little background video, and workplace photography.

Platform: Gatsby

Kobu

Kobu is a rare beauty. It’s sleek, stylish, and makes wonderful use of curves in its illustration and animation. The animations run smoothly, and aren’t altogether too distracting. The color palette is strong, and the headings are thick.

And it does all of this without scroll-jacking. Can you even believe it? A fancy site that performs well and lets me scroll normally. I’m in love.

Being a bit more serious, it’s a lovely looking site. Just wish they had more fallbacks in place for all of the JS stuff.

Platform: WordPress

MOXY

And we’re back to the scroll-jacking. But I can forgive MOXY for this because it’s just that pretty. It’s sites like this that remind me why—even though I dislike how JavaScript has become the new Flash—web animation is a discipline and an art form all its own. It’s an art form worth exploring, and MOXY does that beautifully.

Platform: React App/Static Site

Trajectory

Trajectory is doing it all wrong! If you’re going to use a monospaced font, your site either has to be an ironic brutalist meta-commentary on web design or a post-modernist artsy design. None of this pleasant, business-friendly stuff with smooth illustrations and gorgeous gradient use. [/sarcasm]

Using monospaced type for all the body text might be a bit much, but it certainly does stand out when combined with everything else.

Platform: Craft CMS

Soap Media

Soap Media is hitting all the right buttons for me, personally. It’s bright with bold colors, it’s playful, and it’s got a huge rubber ducky. This is an entirely subjective point, but I just like rubber duckies. The whole site feels creative and whimsical in that “we’ll playfully make you a lot of money” sort of way. It’s genius.

Platform: Static Site

Nate Denton

Random chickens are equal to rubber duckies if you want to be silly and playful. Nate Denton’s portfolio went with a big one, contrasted by a relatively soft and warm color palette. The resulting aesthetic is a combination of professional and artsy that is overall pleasing to the eye, but less likely to scare away the more straight-laced potential clients.

Platform: Static Site

Crema

Crema is this month’s site that isn’t mind-blowingly experimental or anything, but is here because I admire the craftsmanship. Plus rounded corners. We don’t seem them as much as we thought we would, do we?

Platform: Custom CMS (I Think)

NoBears

The amusingly-named NoBears agency goes with wackiness, combining striking photomontages and background video with a comparatively subdued dark design. I’m still a sucker for those semi-visible grids as part of the design, so of course this one’s on the list.

Platform: Silverstripe

BAUNFIRE

While many other sites are going for bold and bright aesthetics, BAUNFIRE keeps it soft and pleasant with a pastel-infused, and fairly minimalist design. It’s a calming and soothing experience from an agency that presents itself as easy to work with.

Platform: Craft CMS

Friends

Friends’ website presents a fusion of that near-postmodern, element-overlapping aesthetic with some more classic-feeling minimalism and typography. That fusion works quite well.

Platform: Craft CMS

Daniel Kusaka

Daniel Kusaka’s portfolio gives me some of that good old magazine feel that designers wanted to do for years. Well now we can, and I can’t get enough of it. God bless Flexbox and CSS Grid.

Platform: WordPress

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[braindamageforbeginners]

Cycle 3, Day 27

So, recently, as occasionally happens with these diseases, I got to see my own reflection, in a way. As some of you may know, Dad has Grade III bladder cancer (believe me when I say that it is an act of will that would humble Nietszche not to spend every waking moment thinking of tasteless jokes about that). He’s getting immunotherapy, which is always delivered in a, ah, method guaranteed for maximal discomfort (which, come to think about it, is probably somewhat ironic, given the way he looks at me on infusion days). Anyway, Dad’s up for another year or two of treatment - that’s fairly standard, I think - followed by an annual bladder-oscopy for the rest of his life.

I guess Dad was hoping for a more lenient parole period (I think he was hoping for a less-frequent inspection), and was a bit down after his most recent treatment. This is another moment where I had to wonder how much better I’ve done than the average, brand-new cancer patient because I’ve had to deal/prepare with this my adult life. Or, rather, I’ve had to deal with the fact that, for better or worse, you’ll be in a highly-qualified physician’s office waiting for the latest news about your very own body every 6-12 months. And that’s unpleasant, as I believe I’ve mentioned, but I’ve had sixteen years to get comfortable with the idea; I’m still not happy about it, but you figure it out.. There’s something to be said for doling out pain of any sort in smaller, more-digestible doses over a longer period (that’s the exact reason for my weird chemo schedule, I’m certain), because seeing Dad go through that realization over the course of an afternoon was a little disheartening. There must be some German term for recognizing your own pain/dread/crushing of hope in someone else (albeit on a much shorter time scale). I’m dramatizing it somewhat, because he really was just upset, sulked on the couch for a bit, and went to bed. Still, it made me realize what a drag that whole “chronic disease” label is. Suddenly, whatever you thought your life would be - even if you’re a 70-year-old man only hoping for a few more years - is completely gone. I guess I should be happy - sort of - that enough of my brain and humanity is still intact to be empathetic. Not that it’s a big fear (right now, it won’t even crack the Top 40 Phobias) that I’d lose that, but surviving something like this is still extremely depersonalizing and exhausting in a way that’s hard to convey - and, as I’ve mentioned, I’ve had to become far more aggressive and assertive than I normally would be, and I’m no longer worrying about kicking someone out of the MRI line, so we’ll chalk up “recognizing and responding appropriately to someone else’s psychological state” as a win, of sorts. For those of you wondering if I’ve been replaced by a pod person (to all my sci-fi nerd threads, I’ve been thinking that John Carpenter’s “It” would be an intriguing cancer metaphor), my sense of compassion didn’t stop me from putting Nazareth’s “Love Hurts,” and REM’s “Everybody Hurts” on the stereo (also, those are great songs).

Speaking of winning (in a much broader sense), I’m still hitting the gym far more frequently than at any previous point in my life; and I’m eating a misery-inducing amount of raw vegetables (there’s also some beer and assorted animal chops, but those tend to get lost amongst the 20 kilos of greenery now making their way through my system). That’s another thing I’d highly, highly recommend to all future cancer patients. I know it seems extraordinarily counter-intuitive to think, “Well, Stage IV; time to bulk up and be in fighting trim whilst enduring this,” but I’ve heard lots of horror stories from other patients who can’t get certain treatments because it (the treatment) will burn out some lesser organ, like their liver or heart. I have way too much invested in this “survival” business to be held back by that sort of thing. We discuss “self care” like it’s some sort of pleasant five-minute break from reality, when it’s really just carving in the time to remain healthy. And it is not relaxing or pleasant (unless I missed something and double-checking prescriptions, doctor’s appointments, and undergoing various tests and exams got more glamorous). It’s the equivalent of vehicle repair, but far more aggravating.

WEIGHT: 211 lb. CONCENTRATION: Not too bad, but I’m not getting very much sleep (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I try to make sure I can get at least 10 hours of sleep a day, but I’m starting to worry that the Temodar diurnal schedule might become permanent, as I’m frequently waking up after only seven or eight hours and can’t get back to sleep)(I realize that sounds weird and elitist, but at this same time after surgeries #1 and #2, I was sleeping - not in bed, sleeping - 12-14 hours a day, which is kind of important for recovering from a severely invasive procedure) APPETITE: Well, it would be better if I wasn’t forcing myself to eat things I hate until I hate myself. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Surprisingly good. Even with a building sleep-debt, I’m up and alert for all important tasks.. SLEEP QUALITY: Lousy. I never thought I’d say this, but I almost miss the weird experimental serum nightmares/hallucinations, because that at least helps create the illusion of time passing; now, I close my eyes at 10:30 and open them at 7:00. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Fantastic, if you goose my adrenals first. I made from the ground floor table to my prescription box upstairs in 1.7 seconds (it feels like it, anyway)(also, when I do develop superpowers and conquer the planet, the nitwit who thought it was a good goddamn idea to put a 3-second menu pause/replay on an automated line catering to sick people will be fed to rabid badgers). The downside is, after that impressive display, my left leg was wonky for the rest of the day. MEMORY: Pretty good overall, although I’m still hazy about recalling exactly when a memory happened. Still, important stuff - like the property manager’s labradoodle’s name - remain quite intact. PHYSICAL: I’m tired. So tired. Still, it’s a step up from exhausted. EMOTIONAL: Still very, very much upset and frightened by ongoing smitings, but I’m also going in for another MRI tomorrow before getting cleared for the next cycle, which is always nerve-wracking. Sense of sarcasm is still intact, though, so, as Radiation Oncologist might say, I’m doing well. SIDE EFFECTS: none other than those listed above.

So, assuming all goes according according to plan, I will get another MRI, neurological test, and blood test to clear me for the next cycle, and I get a week off, which I plan to spend hibernating. Then, back to the grind. Oh, and if anyone reading this notes a certain “Flowers for Algernon” aspect to typos or half-thoughts, I’d like to point that I’ve been awake for 13 hours (I like to think I’m helping science in a small way by being a unique and uniquely qualified/cooperative lab rat/specimen, but I also might unintentionally conclusively establish a link between coffee and cancer)).

[andrewdburton]

Purpose and the Value of Money

I mentioned the other day that my financial philosophy has changed a bit since I left Get Rich Slowly in 2012. One of the biggest shifts is where I believe we should place our focus.

In the olden days, I thought money itself was a fine focus. I wanted out of debt. To achieve that goal, I needed money. Today, I view debt reduction as a side effect, not a goal.

After I got out of debt, I wanted to build my savings. To achieve that goal, I needed money. Today, I view savings as a side effect, not a goal.

After I built a modest nest egg, I wanted to gain greater wealth. To achieve that goal, I needed money. Today, I view wealth as a side effect, not a goal.

After I gained greater wealth, I realized something. I’d been chasing the wrong thing. What I really wanted was happiness, and happiness isn’t something you can just go out and grab. Just as debt reduction, savings, and wealth are side effects of certain choices, happiness too is a byproduct of our choices and the lives we lead. Happiness comes when our actions are aligned with our purpose.

Gradually, I came to understand that purpose was actually my goal all along. Truly, it’s the goal for each of us. When we have a purpose, and when we’re able to pursue that purpose with passion, everything seems to fall into place.

A big reason I returned to writing about money after three years away? I realized it’s part of my greater purpose. That’s also part of the reason I bought back Get Rich Slowly.

None of this is new, really. People have been thinking about this and talking about it for centuries. For millennia. But each of us needs to come to this realization on our own.

Some folks never have this epiphany, and that’s fine. But for those of us who do experience it, it can change our lives. It changes how we view our work, our play, our relationships — and our finances.

The Real Value of Money

This is all on my mind because a couple of weeks ago, I read an article from Mark Manson on the real value of money. Money, Manson says, is merely a store of value — one of many stores of value in our lives. It’s not that money is intrinsically valuable; it’s that it represents value.

He writes:

Money is a touchy subject. That’s because most of us, to a certain degree, associate a lot of our self-worth and identity to our job and how much money we make. It is, quite literally, a market valuation of our skills and competence as a person, and therefore we all get a little bit testy and scooch around uncomfortably in our chairs whenever money is brought up. But money is merely an arbitrary store of value. It is not value itself.

Manson spends some time discussing the nature of money: its nature, its fluidity, its effects. He describe how money creates what he calls “experience cycles”, some of which are positive, and some of which are negative. “People who fall into these experience cycles with their money soon become slaves to earning a buck,” Manson writes. “They begin to see money as the singular purpose of their life. It becomes the whole of their motivation.”

I think you can see where he’s going here. Like me (and millions before us), Manson is arguing that true wealth isn’t really about money.

To Manson, true wealth only occurs when the way you earn your money is aligned with your values. True wealth only occurs when the way you spend your money is aligned with your values. And true wealth only occurs when your earning and spending are aligned with each other. “Money is often a means towards success,” he writes, “but it is rarely success itself.”

Here’s the key takeaway:

The real value of money emerges when we leverage it as a tool towards our success rather than making it success itself. When we channel it towards the experiences and values that we find more important. When we use it to build an innovative business, when it fuels our creativity or infuses our community, when it supports our family or shares love with our friends or adds to our personal health and satisfaction.

In short, the real value of money comes when it helps you pursue your purpose.

Instead of simply reading the handful of quotes I’ve posted here, I encourage you to read the entire article at Manson’s always excellent site: The Real Value of Money.

Do What Works for You

And here’s the key takeaway I want you to get from my article: Purpose is powerful — but there’s no single right purpose for everyone. Each of us is different. Each of us has unique strengths and weakness, unique value systems. What’s right for me may not be right for you.

Over the years, I’ve met a lot of folks who are passionate followers of certain authors and speakers. Sometimes these authors and speakers focus on money, sometimes they focus on religion, sometimes they focus on politics. Their followers like what they say (or, sometimes, how they say it), and without realizing that it’s happened, they gradually adopt the value systems of these gurus. In effect, they adopt the guru’s purpose as their own. I think this is a mistake.

The path to purpose is different for each of us.

Instead of adopting a guru’s purpose (and belief system) as your own, you ought to sift through what he writes or says to find the bits that ring true to you, the elements that are applicable to your life.

The thing is, most of us never consciously consider our purpose. In fact, a lot of folks think this sort of talk is a bunch of new age bullshit. It isn’t. (Or it doesn’t have to be.) Taking time to consider what you truly want out of life is an excellent way to help steer you in a direction that makes you happy, a direction that brings you true wealth. (Coincidentally, it often leads to monetary wealth, as well.)

Who Are You? — and What Do You Want?

The first thing I ask readers to do at Money Boss is to to create a personal mission statement. I think that’s a great exercise, and I encourage you to do that too, but I don’t intend to fully promote my Money Boss agenda here at Get Rich Slowly.

Instead, I hope you’ll set aside a few minutes to answer three simple questions, questions that can at least prod you toward thinking more about your purpose — and how that purpose relates to money. These questions come from The Seven Stages of Money Maturity by George Kinder. (He, in turn, seems to have borrowed them from the work of time-management guru Alan Lakein.)

Here are the three questions Kinder uses to help his clients get clear on their values:

Imagine you’re financially secure. You have enough money to take care of your needs, both now and in the future. How would you live your life? Would you change anything? Let yourself go and describe your dreams. What would you do if money were no object?

Now imagine that you visit your doctor. She reveals you only have five to ten years left to live. You’ll never feel sick, but you’ll have no notice of the moment of your death. What will you do in the time you have remaining? Will you change your life? How will you change it? (Note that this question does not assume unlimited wealth.)

Finally, imagine your doctor shocks you with the news that you only have 24 hours to live. Nothing can be done. At this time tomorrow, you’ll be dead. What feelings arise as you confront your mortality? What did you miss? Who did you not get to be? What did you not get to do?

Answering the first question is easy (and fun). There are many things we’d do if money were no object. But as the questions progress, there’s a sort of funnel. They become more difficult to answer, and there are fewer possible responses.

According to Kinder, the third question usually generates responses that follow five general themes:

Family and relationships. Ninety percent of responses to the final question contain this topic.

Authenticity or spirituality. Many responses involve leading a more meaningful life.

Creativity. Surprisingly, a large number of respondents express a desire to do something creative: to write a science-fiction novel or to play guitar like Eric Clapton.

Giving back. Further down the list are themes about giving back to the community, about leaving a meaningful positive impact.

A “sense of place”. A fifth common theme (though nowhere near as prominent as the top three) is a desire to have some connection with place: a desire to be in nature, to live someplace different, or to help the environment.

Kinder says that some people — the facts and figures people — look at these questions and ask, “What does these have to do with money?” They have everything to do with money. When you understand what you want to do with your life, you can make choices — financial and otherwise — that genuinely reflect your values.

All of these questions are meant to cause the participant to ask herself, “Who am I as a person, stripped from what I do as a job every day? Is it possible to derive meaning and satisfaction with this stripped away?” Inevitably, the answer is yes.

From my experience — I’ve used these questions in workshops for several years now — your answers can also be like a roadmap to help you discover true value of money.

The first time I wrote about Kinder’s work here at GRS was in February 2009. I’d just attended a conference where he presented his three questions. Answering them had a profound impact on my life, changing its course entirely. I didn’t see my exact purpose all at once, but I did see that my life wasn’t congruent with my values. I made changes — one of which was selling this site. (Ironic then that re-purchasing Get Rich Slowly is congruent with who I am in 2017!)

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