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talesofstyles · 4 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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veterinaryrambles · 4 years

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What it’s like to be a veterinarian

This is a very thoughtful discussion of some of the challenges we face in our field. I was sitting here starting the video with my heart rate at my resting 67 BPM. By the time she finished talking about her morning -- full of dying patients, angry clients, squeezed-in appointments, missing lunch, decision fatigue, student loan debt -- my heart rate increased to 84 BPM as if I was doing light cardio.

Just sitting there. Thinking about it.

youtube

There are so many things I love about my job:

Putting together the missing puzzle pieces in diagnosing illness

Improving the lives of my patients

Improving the lives of their families by keeping them healthy

Improving the human-animal bond

Camaraderie with my teammates

Learning new things like pathogenesis of new diseases or seeing a strange diagnosis for the first time

Helping a client "get" it and become a real partner in their pet's care

Sweet clients who genuinely love their pets and like us too <3

Snuggling kittens and putting tiny puppies in my pocket

Gently thumping a happy big dog on the chest while petting them and having the dog just go wild wagging their tail

Getting a shy cat to poke its head out and take chin scritches

Developing enough intuition to be able to ping certain diseases from twenty feet across the room

Helping a beloved pet pass peacefully and in comfort, finally free from their frailties

Sharing silly pet stories with clients and team members

Seeing gross stuff explode

No two days are ever exactly alike

I am always learning more, whether it is medical or emotional, in this field

And there are things about my job that terrify me:

Clients yelling at me that I'm in it for the money, that I don't care about animals, that I'm trying to scam them

Clients demanding that I discount things or do unethical practices to save money

Clients furious that I can't see all of them in one day and being furious about having to wait for an appointment, even though every appointment I do squeeze in means my day goes from 9 hours to 10 to 12

Clients threatening to sue

Clients threatening to use social media against us

Clients threatening board complaints

Clients threatening violence or self-harm (one client grabbed me by the arms and shook me like a doll, another we worried would kill himself after we had to euthanize his dog)

Especially when clients threaten these things over small mistakes or not even mistakes, just things they misunderstood

The fear of making a surgical error

And even though I do more surgery now than ever before, it still scares me, sometimes even more than it used to

The fear of making a medical error or missing a diagnosis

The fear I'll refer something to the ER and the vet there will think I'm an idiot and tell the client so

The fear when an emergency patient comes in that if a better vet had been there, their pet would do better

The fact that I owe $435,000 in veterinary school loans and while I did pay off my undergrad loans, I will never make enough to pay off these ones at $1250 a month... I will never touch the interest at 7.4%

And there are things about my job that wear me down:

That aforementioned 12 hour day when it was scheduled for 9

Callback after callback to clients who think I have all the time in the world and that it's easy as pie to squeeze in a 20 minute phone call to them in between rooms

Calling clients to explain again things we already talked about in extensive detail

Clients wanting all of their relatives to hear the exact same discussion we just had

Clients complaining about cost when I don't set the prices and can't do discounts

Clients wanting extremely complex tasks like traveling with pets to Hawaii instantaneously and inexpensively

Clients complaining bitterly about their last veterinarian while somehow expecting me to be their new best friend

Knowing I will never be perfect

Knowing I am going to make mistakes

Knowing the consequences those mistakes can carry

Having nightmares about performing surgery badly

Having nightmares about angry clients demanding to speak with me at 5 in the morning in my bedroom

Having nightmares about pets dying because of me

Worrying about a big surgery weeks in advance

Worrying about angry clients days or hours in advance

Lying awake worrying about angry clients or sick pets

Reaching states where I cry at every small stressor

Burning out and not being able to cry when I should cry

So... what I mean to say is... It's my career. I love it. And it's hard, and it's not for everyone, and it's unsafe for many. I'm usually okay with it, but sometimes, I'm not.

It's a good video. Check it out.

#vetmed #vetblr #veterinary medicine #vet med #veterinarian

383 notes · View notes

quackeroos · 4 years

Text

spring day pt.2 | p.parker

Pairing: peter parker x Stark!Hanahaki!reader, peter parker x michelle jones

Summary: peter discovers the truth about y/n’s condition. y/n had already accepted the inevitable, but peter wasn’t. he came up with a plan that could possibly save her, now all he has to do is get her to agree with it.

Warnings: all through out this story there will be mentions of blood, death, and will contain pining and angst.

Words: 5.6k for everyone!

A/n: your positive feedback from part 1 inspired me so much while i was writing this, so thank you guys so much! i didn’t expect Spring Day to reach 300+ notes in a week ‘coz my past works didn’t... well before. so thank you so much! i forgot to mention this in the first part, but the the idea of naming this series came from BTS’ song “Spring Day”. you guys can listen to the song while reading it! but if you’re not into kpop, that’s fine. why did i name this series “Spring Day”? you’ll find out at the end of the series.next update will hopefully by next week. my birthday writing challenge is still on-going, so everyone is still welcome to join! ARI’S BIRTHDAY WRITING CHALLENGE!

*gif is not mine

General Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Hanahaki. It’s a disease caused by unrequited love, wherein flowers grow inside your chest and cover up your respiratory system, making the host cough up petals and blood until you die.”

Peter was silent for a moment. He was sitting beside her. Mask in hand, his head hung low, just looking at the pile of petals and blood. Everything was still a blur for him, so he replied with a low tone. “How long have you had this?”

“A few years.”

Peter winced at her reply. She had been hiding her disease for years and didn’t tell him? Peter tried to remain cool, hoping she could explain more. There had to be a reason why she hid it from him and their friends. Everything she does after all was for a reason. “Why didn’t you tell any of us you’ve had this for so long? We could’ve helped you.”

She sighed. “Peter, even if I told you guys, there’s nothing you can do.” Even though he couldn’t see her face, the sadness was laced in her voice.

“What do you mean that there’s nothing we can do? There has to be a cure for that!”

“It’s isn’t that simple, Peter.” She stood up from her bed facing him, making Peter look up at her. “It’s either I get surgery or… or my love gets requited. And surgery doesn’t always work.”

He scoffed, “So you plan on giving up?”

“I’m doing the surgery. Pepper has already talked to Stephen and Christine about it. I’m getting the surgery by the end of the week.”

“But you said it yourself that the surgery doesn’t always work! Y/n the best chance you have is getting your love requited.” As if that wasn’t the most obvious answer. Y/n almost laughed, if only he knew. There was a time she did thought of that. Try and come between MJ and Peter to save herself from the heartbreak and the disease. Maybe she could do that? Be selfish for once. After all, all her life she had been used to giving, sharing, putting others before herself. But the little voice at the back of her mind was keeping her from doing so. She couldn’t do that to MJ. Most specially, she couldn’t do that to Peter. She had always been at the side, watching him pine over MJ ever since she became more open to their little friend group.

“Who is it then? Who did you fall in love with?” his tone was cold, and it chilled Y/n to the bone.

“You knowing who it is won’t make a difference. He’s already in love with someone else.”

“Then maybe he’ll listen to reason. Y/n, you’re dying!” he stood up, there was a glint of hope in his eyes and Y/n’s heart ached. If anything, she didn’t want to see that hopeful glint in his eyes. It would only hurt more to tell him the whole truth. “Maybe if me and the others can talk to this guy, we can – “

“Pete.”

“—We can try and make him fall in love with you! Then-then you’re cured! You’ll be back to normal.”

“Pete.” She whispered softly, begging him to stop. But Peter continued to ramble on, walking around her room in a quick pace.

“Or we can try and introduce you to some suitors! Speed dating, you know? You’ll fall in love with someone else and maybe your love gets requited back!”

“Peter! It doesn’t work that way, okay!” Y/n finally found her voice. She couldn’t take it anymore. If Peter continued with his hopeful rambling, it’ll become harder and harder to tell him the truth. The despairful truth is better revealed than hiding it behind a hopeful lie. “Hanahaki doesn’t work that way. Love doesn’t work that way! You can’t just beg someone to fall in love with me!”

He turned hot on his heel. “Then what am I supposed to do? Watch you die?”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“Then what, Y/n?! I’m trying to give possible options that might work and-and you just turn them down!”

“That’s because it won’t work!” Her tone matched his. The two were overlapping each other in the heated argument, the loud voices in their heads are all over the place. “Peter, the only solution to this is the surgery. The guy is too far gone. He’s in love, Pete. And the one he’s dating is in love too. I can’t ruin what they have. They’re too good for each other.”

The air between them became calm, a bit more relaxed because of the sincerity in Y/n’s voice. He can tell that she truly loves the guy. Y/n was willing to sacrifice herself and her love for the sake of the two. And it didn’t matter if she was the one who has to suffer just so they could be together. But Peter isn’t having it.

“Tell me.” He gave her a hard look. “Tell me who the guy is.”

Y/n shook her head, “Pete—”

“I’m not letting you die just because of some stupid guy Y/n! I won’t have it! You deserve to live just as everyone does! You deserve to be loved just as they do because I know how much you have given to them - to everyone!” Peter was tearing up. “And the world hasn’t been kind to you too! If anything Y/n, you deserve a lot more because the world has taken a lot from you.”

The pain, the grief, the sadness, everything washed over her. It was like a tsunami of every bad feeling hitting her, and she was in the strike zone, all of it was because of what Peter had said. She didn’t want to feel it. She’s already tired of crying. Wasn’t it already enough? The silent sobs came out of her mouth and the tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes, slowly rolling down in a hot trail.

“If I tell you, everything won’t be the same again.” Her voice was soft and quiet, but it was enough for Peter to hear. His expression changed into confusion. He could feel her heartbeat increase in pace and her anxiety was waving off her.

Peter carefully asked, “What do you mean?”

She bit her lip, anxious to speak out to form the words that’s been sitting in the back of her mind for the past three years she had known him. It took a lot of courage to meet his eyes. She had thought she was would ready to do this, but let’s be honest, since when was anyone ever ready to confront the person they’re in love with? It was a great risk, but Y/n had to let it out now.

“You.” She replied hoarsely. “Ever since sophomore year, it was you.”

It felt like the wind knocked out the air out of Peter. Was he hearing this right? He had to be imagining things. He couldn’t possibly be the one that’s killing her, right? Everything Y/n felt for him was purely platonic.

It had to be.

The new discovery sent Peter in a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, guilt, sadness, and regret, all rolled into one. He didn’t expect to feel anger, but he did. Though he wasn’t exactly sure who he was angry with. He was angry at himself, for not recognizing what his best friend felt for him all this time and being the cause of her pain. Angry at the disease, because it’s consuming her, and now her time is numbered. He was angry at her, because she didn’t tell him about everything sooner. But Peter didn’t have the heart to be mad at her, even after everything. Because in the end, she made the choice not to tell, and she cared for him and MJ so much that it didn’t matter if her own happiness and life was at stake. Y/n was only human after all. And she was too good for this world.

He lets out a heavy breath. It was still hard to grasp what Y/n just said. It felt like he was going to have a sensory overload. “W-Why? Why? Why didn’t you tell me this before?” his voice was slowly starting to break. The weight of guilt pulling him down to the ground.

“Because this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to you to blame yourself for this, Pete. It’s not your fault, it never was.” She put a hand on his shoulder, but it burned him to feel her sympathetic touch.

“How can you say that this isn’t my fault?! Y/n you’re dying because of me. You got this disease because of me! How can you not blame me for this?!”

“Because it’s mine Peter.” She replied calmly. “It’s my fault. I was stupid to fall in love with you and keep it to myself. But I did, Pete.” She took his hand in hers and held it tightly, hoping it might console him. “I fell, and I don’t regret doing so.” A sorrowful smile grew on her face, and instead of giving Peter comfort, he felt bad even more. Y/n was smiling despite the pain. “I never blamed you for this, and I never will. You never even knew in the first place, and I didn’t tell you about it.”

No matter what consolation Y/n would say or soothing gestures, Peter still blamed himself for it. But he didn’t have to tell her that. He didn’t tell her anything, just let her speak out the thoughts that ran in her mind. She was caught off guard when he pulled her in, instantly wrapping his arms around her, and holding on tightly. She could feel her shirt become wet and the silent sobs that came out of his lips. He holds on tightly to her; he feared the coming future. He was scared of losing her, he couldn’t handle losing another person in his life.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner. I’m sorry.” He spoke in a hushed voice, and in between the sentence, hiccups would escape his mouth. She circled her arms around him and return the hug, though hers was gentler, made to soothe Peter. The scent sends her heart into a frenzy and it hurt when she realized how this may be the last time she was ever going to be this close to him. “Please, don’t take the surgery. You said it was risky right? That most of the time, the surgery doesn’t work.”

“There’s a 20% chance I might survive. It’s risky, but I’m willing to bet on it.”

“Don’t take it, please. There has to be another way.” He begged.

Y/n shook her head in his shoulder. “I’m taking the surgery, Pete. It’s for the better.”

Peter’s silent sobs echoed around the room, and he held onto her even tighter. He refused to accept it. He doesn’t want to the fact that he was about to lose Y/n too. She rubbed soothing circles around his back, and Y/n can tell it was working. His breathing was slowly becoming steady.

“You should go back to the apartment, Pete. You’re tired, you need rest.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Pete.” She sighed, “You have to go home. May will be wondering where you are. And you need sleep.”

“I’ll sleep here with you.” His voice was muffled by the cloth of her shirt.

“Stop being so stubborn, Pete.”

“I’m not- “

She pulled away from the hug, holding both shoulders in her hands with a hard look on her face. Her eyes were still red from crying and was sniffling a bit, but the authority she held in her voice made her look so strong. “You are going home. That’s final Peter. Don’t make me fly your ass back to the apartment.”

If this was a different situation, Peter would’ve laughed at her. She always found Y/n’s foul mouth entertaining. She was a bit smaller than he was and watching her curse with a hot head made her look like an angry puppy, punk-ass sprites from that one Pixar movie. But it wasn’t. The air still held the same tension, and both still couldn’t stop themselves from crying.

Although he didn’t approve of leaving, he had to comply. Peter nodded and broke away from the hug. She ushered him to her window and Peter settled himself on the wide window ledge. He took a moment and stayed for a bit. He didn’t want to leave just yet. But the pleading eyes Y/n gave him made him sigh.

Peter pulled his mask down and jumped off, swinging into the night. Y/n stayed watching by her window, making sure he was heading off back to his apartment. Once he was out of sight, laid back in her bed and lets out a heavy sigh. The memory of Peter’s sob and the feel of his arms wrapped tight around her made her remember the time when Tony died. It was painful, and everything reminded her of that awful memory. Minutes later, Peter’s message lit up her phone, notifying her that he was back at the apartment safe. She typed back a reply, only keeping it short.

Okay. Get some rest.

And placed it back on her nightstand. She didn’t want to type out anything longer as it just be harder for her to fall asleep with the already heavy feeling in her chest. She turned on her side and switch off the light.

***

The next day, Y/n woke up to the sound of giggling and bouncing. The high-pitched voice very familiar to her. She immediately recognized the voice that belonged to her little sister, Morgan. All though she had only met her on the day of their father’s funeral, she became attached to the five-year-old in an instant. She loves the little girl to bits, and almost everything she did reminded her of her late father.

“Y/n! Y/n, Y/n, Y/nnnn! Wake up!” she bounced on the bed, shaking her sister’s body. “Mommy is making breakfast!” to the little girl’s dismay, the teen only groaned and covered her head with a pillow. The young Stark huffed and went to Y/n’s side, opening one of her eyes. “Big Sis, wake uuuupp!!”

She sighed in defeat, sitting up on her bed. “All right, all right. I’m up.” A sweet smile makes its way on little Morgan face and she squeals when her sister picked her up from the bed as they make their way downstairs. “Are you feeling better now Y/n? Are the petals and blood gone?” Morgan asked sweetly, looking at her with her doe-like eyes that were always full of curiosity and mischief. It was a trait in the Stark family, and like Y/n, Morgan had inherited their father’s eyes.

“A little, but I’ll be fine soon.”

“You were crying last night. Did something happen?”

Y/n shakes her head. “Just a bad dream Mo. Nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe I can sleep with you next time. That way you won’t get bad dreams!” her face light up at the idea. Morgan had grown to love sleeping in her sister’s room, and vice versa. Something about having someone to tell her stories until she falls asleep, to keep the nightmares at bay, and to wake up beside her big sister. She could only mirror the smile Morgan had on her face and agreed with her.

Once they reached the common area, Pepper was already setting up a plate of pancakes and a bowl of berries on the kitchen table. Sam and Bucky were settled at the living room, watching the television as they ate their breakfast, Rhodey was already finished with breakfast and was making his way out to who knows where, while Wanda was settled on a stool, eating the pancakes Pepper had made beforehand.

“G’morning Mommy!” Morgan bellowed at the strawberry blonde who walked towards them and kissed both of their heads in greeting, ruffling Y/n’s hair to wake her senses up, along with the smell of freshly made pancakes to make her stomach grumble. “Y/n was hard to wake up. But I did it! So, mission accomplished!”

“That you did, sweetie. Great job!” Pepper cooed.

Y/n groaned as she held the sides of her head, “My head is pounding. I’m gonna go make coffee.” It was a daily ritual for her. Every morning she would wake up to Morgan bouncing on her bed and make her disoriented for a bit and leave her a bit wooly. She excused herself from the kitchen island and made her way towards the coffee maker. She doubled the amount of coffee since Sam and Bucky would want some too. Too engrossed with the smell and making her cup, she didn’t notice the presence of her Stepmother standing her.

“Your eyes are red. Did something happen?” she asked, worry laced in the tone.

“Yeah. I just had a bad dream is all.” Y/n shook her head.

“I heard Peter’s voice. Both of you were crying at dawn, Y/n.” She held her breath. Of course Pepper heard. She slept at Morgan’s room last night. Y/n can’t exactly lie to Pepper, nor can she keep a secret from her for a long period of time. The woman had a knack for knowing what’s running through Y/n’s mind, what she was hiding and when she was hiding it. It made Pepper look like she was her biological mother after all this time.

Y/n chuckles jokingly, the infamous smirk slowly appearing on her lips. “Alright, you got me Pep.” She didn’t reply at her. Only kept silent with an expectant look that tells her to continue and share what had happened in the middle of the night. She lets out a breath, “I had another episode that night. While I was in the bathroom, Peter came into my room, and he saw… everything. I told him about the Hanahaki and the surgery. He didn’t take it too well.” Y/n didn’t want to elaborate everything. Peter’s cries and pleads were still fresh in her memory. If she stretched the story further, it’ll start over again. And she already had enough for one day.

Pepper took her in for a hug and place a comforting hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly. “He was gonna find out sooner or later, you know that Y/n.”

She sighs, “Yeah.”

Pepper kissed her forehead lovingly and held both her shoulders, “Peter cares so much about you. He’ll understand.” Y/n could only hope he would. Deep down, Pepper didn’t really want her to do the surgery. She had thought of another possible way, but it was too much to ask for. Stephen had already said the operation would be very risky, so that was already crossed out of her list… But she then thought of Tony. If he was still here, he would’ve taken the chance on getting Y/n to go into surgery, pull all-nighters every day, just so he could save his daughter. So, Pepper agreed to Y/n’s choice.

The morning continued with the usual routine; Wanda playing her guitar, learning new songs or writing whenever inspiration hit her, Sam taking rounds around the compound to make sure there were no intruders, and Bucky would be training for hours in the gym. Y/n used to go with Bucky to train more on her physicality and fighting techniques. But ever since she came back from the trip, Stephen and Pepper had banned her from stepping foot in the gym.

So she went to her lab. Tinkering her suit and sketching some ideas that would randomly come into her mind. Morgan kept her company most of the time. The little girl would wear the prototype helmets for her suit and would impersonate her and their father (she mostly did Tony), play with Dum-E, or sit beside her and observe to just pass the time. Y/n felt like having a tail, and she didn’t mind Morgan’s company, not one bit. She needed someone to get her mind off of Peter after all. And for the past few weeks of keeping her distance from the arachnid, Morgan had replaced the hole that Peter left in her heart.

***

By the time the sun went down, Y/n’s stomach began to rumble. She told Morgan to go fetch some snacks for them so they can eat it in the lab. But too engrossed in her work, Y/n failed to notice that her sister had already been gone for an hour. She looked at her watch. It was time for dinner anyway, so she left her things and journeyed back to the common living room. She could hear her sister’s giggles from the stairs and another voice that made her heart feel unsteady. Her feet stopped moving when she saw Peter, happily playing with Morgan who was on his back and arms looped around his neck. They were running around the living room and Peter made horse noises to make the roleplay believable. It was a sight to see, something that would warm her heart and swell.

Morgan’s eyes lit up when she noticed her big sister in the room. “Y/n!” She exclaimed, and Peter stood up straight as the little girl brought his attention to Y/n. Both of their eyes read the same expression. His eyes were better than before, no red and not puffy anymore. He looked well, compared to Y/n’s tired one’s.

The little girl climbed down the teen’s back and ran towards her sister, pulling at her arm to meet Peter in between. “Mommy told me to keep Peter company while she cooked dinner! He’s the horse while I’m the princess.” her giddiness showing in the little hops that she does. Morgan didn’t know about the feelings she has for Peter, but ever since he first saw him at the funeral, then his visits to the compound, she loved seeing her sister and her friend together. And more often than not Morgan teased her with Peter. The little rascal had a glint in her eyes and Y/n could only pray that Morgan doesn’t do her teasing in front of him.

“You should join us Y/n! You can be the Queen and Peter will be the Knight.”

As if on cue, Wanda called from the dining table for dinner. She was helping Pepper set up the table with the dishes they made. Bucky was already on his seat and Sam was making juice in the kitchen. It was rare for the Avengers to be sitting in the dining table along with the Starks. They mostly ate take outs and Wanda’s cooking if she wasn’t too lazy. They were lucky enough to have Pepper to cook for them when she wasn’t working late, and today was one of those days.

“You should join us Peter. We have an extra seat left.” Pepper came in with a pot in her hand as sets it down on the table.

Peter glances at Y/n, looking for signs of defiance, or anything that tells him not to stay. But she doesn’t say anything, instead, she jerks her head towards the table and led Morgan, he followed shortly after.

Shock flashed in everybody’s eyes when they saw Y/n coming in with Peter in tow but was quickly masked with a warm smile. “Here Peter, saved you a seat.” Rhodey patted to the one next to him. Y/n sat on the other side of the table, and it was obvious she wasn’t meeting Peter’s gaze. Thankfully, the adults knew how to keep the tension at bay. They included them in the conversation every once in a while. Peter tried to be more social to try and lighten Y/n’s mood, but she was still and quiet as a statue.

When she finished, she pushed off her seat and kissed Morgan’s temple. “I’ll be up in my room. Goodnight everyone.” She quickly made her way up the stairs. Something about Peter’s presence set off her mood. She thought she had already figured everything out in the past few hours she’s been cooped up in the lab, turns out she hadn’t. She had been avoiding it. And now that Peter was here (again), she didn’t know what to do. She was positive there was something he wanted to discuss. And handling another talk about her condition and their friendship was something she doesn’t want to do for the second time this day.

She heard a rap on her door and the person behind it didn’t mind waiting for a reply. Peter turned the knob and entered, closing the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing else to talk about, Pete.” She avoided his eyes. “I told you, there’s no other way. I’m taking the surgery whether you have a say in it or not.”

“But there is a way.” He took a step forward, the same glimmer of hope in his eyes when he held her hand. “Y/n, I figured it out. You don’t have to take the surgery.”

She looked at him cluelessly, not following on what he’s getting at. “You ‘figured it out’? Peter, I don’t understand.”

“I wanna learn how to love you.”

Her eyes slowly widen, and she pulled her hands towards her and slowly backed away from Peter. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I’m not Y/n. I want to save you.”

Y/n gave a bitter laugh. She had a hunch that Peter would think of that, she just didn’t believe something like that could happen, until now. “Peter, you can’t learn to love someone.”

“But what if I can? You’re not hard to love after all.”

Her hands ran through her hair, pursing her lips. “It doesn’t work that way Pete! And I’m not gonna let you ruin your relationship with MJ for this.” She started pushing him towards the door. It was already enough that he found out about her condition, but offering such a thing just to save her? Y/n’s already had it. She wanted to do it, deep down. But she decided against it. Peter was better off with MJ anyway. And if the surgery’s a success, she wouldn’t have to feel that pain anymore.

It was a win-win for the both.

Peter stood his ground and remained in the same place. “Why are you being stubborn? I’m trying to save you from this Y/n! I got you in this and I want to get you out of it!”

“Peter, it’s not your obligation to do this.”

“But it is! It is Y/n! I look at you and all I feel is I-I just have to, okay! Why won’t you just let me?”

“Because I don’t want you to!” She yelled out in frustration.

Heaves of heavy breaths fall from her lips, and the hard look she once had soften. “I don’t want you to force yourself to love me, Peter. It all comes out naturally, you know that. And I deserve more than that.” She took a step forward and was hesitant to take his hand in his. She decided to shove it in the pockets of her sweater instead. “Look, I’m content with what we already have Pete. Really, I am. I’m happy knowing that you finally have MJ as your girlfriend, I’m happy that you’re becoming better and better every day with your new suit, and I’m happy to see you becoming the man Dad had always seen in you ever since you first met. I’m happy with the thought of you as my friend, Pete. That you love me and care for me, just as how Dad did. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with everything.”

It was silent for a moment, until Peter spoke breathlessly. “But is it enough to save you?”

The air got caught in her throat. She wanted to tell him ‘No. It wouldn’t.’. But if she did, Peter wasn’t going to let his option off the table. Tears started welling up in her eyes and when the hot trail rand down her cheek, she quickly swiped it away with her thumb. She didn’t notice Peter was slowly inching towards her, the distance between them becoming dangerously close. His breath fanned over her face and Peter lifted his hand to push away the baby hairs that stuck out of the unkept bun she made. He could feel her heart spike and her anxiety radiating off. He held her hand and place the other on her cheek in hopes to keep her calm at the proximity between them. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, but he kept the same eyes trained on her, and behind it was something Y/n couldn’t read. As she was about to step back, Peter had already caught on and pulled her in before she could walk away.

Peter’s lips were soft. It looked soft even if she eyed it for a few moments, every time he pursed it when focusing, or wetting it with his tongue when he feels nervous and awkward. The feeling of his lips on hers made her body buzz and eyes cloud in haze. His lips felt soft, but this kiss was hard. Although Y/n’s heart was pounding, she didn’t feel any affection through the kiss. His features had already displayed the feeling; desperation, anger, sadness - all of it in a mix. His brows were furrowed, and Y/n could see a tear peeking underneath his eye.

If it were a normal setting, she would’ve kissed back. If she didn’t have the Hanahaki, If Peter did love her truly, if he wasn’t dating MJ, she would’ve melted in the kiss and loop her arms around him and play with the baby hairs on the back of his neck.

But it wasn’t. This is wrong.

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him forcefully, making him tumble. Shock and hurt painted on her face as she grazed her lips with her fingers. Her lips still buzzed with the feeling of Peter’s lips. She raised her chin and connected her eyes with his. “Why did you do that?” her voice was pained, soft, and regret laced in it.

“I wanted to.” He spoke truthfully.

He took a sure step towards her, taking out his hand to reach out but she pushes it away. The soft and pained look in her eyes transitioned into a hard-cold glare, hands tightened in fists, and lips start trembling. The tears were about to fall, and she didn’t want Peter to watch her and try comforting her.

What he did was already upsetting enough.

“Get out Peter.” She growled.

“I’m not leaving. Not until we finish talking— “

“Get the fuck out of my room Parker! I’m done talking about it! Get out!” She pushed him harder this time, but he didn’t move. Fucking super strength. He wasn’t making it any easier. She started punching him pathetically. Y/n knew she was already looking like an idiot, but Peter fucked her up. Bad.

“Leave Peter! I’m done! And don’t come back here again!”

“Y/n- “

“GET OUT!” She shoved his body hard enough to lead him to the hallway. The doors immediately shut and clicked before Peter could even get back to his feet and push it open. She can hear the knocks from the other side of the door and his voice calling out to her, telling her to open it and talk it out. But she was done with talking. And now her feelings and her senses are getting fucked up because of his stupid kiss. Y/n wanted to sob, wanted to bawl her eyes out like any normal teenager does when their hearts get broken.

But she didn’t.

She climbed in the bed and covered herself underneath the sheets and pillows. The sound behind her door was drowned out, and Y/n lulled herself to sleep. Fuck these feelings. Fuck her stupid heart. Fuck this disease.

Fuck Peter Parker for messing her up.

***

Over the course of the following days, Y/n ignored all of Peter’s attempts to make contact. Her phone ringed and buzzed for days, but not once did she pick up his calls. Her windows and blinds were shut in case he attempted to climb through the window. And his visits were no longer welcome. She made sure to lock her door unless no one else was inside the compound.

When surgery day came, she didn’t hear her phone sound off a notification from Peter. No calls, No messages. It was a quiet morning, which was a relief for Y/n. Pepper knocked on her door to let her know that Stephen and Christine will be coming in a few hours. They’ll run a few tests and proceed with the surgery. Her stomach felt empty, and the low rumble of her belly didn’t make it any easier. She was only allowed to drink a few glasses of water from time to time. God, I just want this to be over.

A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts and she mumbled a soft ‘Come in’. Wanda peeked from her door with a gentle smile on her face. “Someone’s here for you.” Her heartbeat quickened and her temper rose.

“If it’s Peter, tell him to go fuck himself. I don’t plan on talking to him anytime soon.”

The witch shakes her head, “It’s not Peter.”

Her brows furrowed, confused. “Who is it then?” Who else would be visiting her? She wasn’t expecting anyone else. Wanda jerked her head inside the room and the mysterious visitor pushed the door open. The familiar long brown curls and the tanned complexion slowly unveiled behind the white door, and the I-don’t-give-a-fuck aura entered the room. Her stomach drop and the tension rose. There was another person she didn’t want to see, and it was the person now standing in front. Michelle stood with her usual cool and composed posture, but Y/n was the total opposite.

“So, I heard you’re getting a surgery?”

part 3 of Spring Day

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hellitwasyoufirstsergeant · 4 years

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Hi everyone! I’m not really sure why I’m posting this here, I suppose because I’m not ready for people I know ‘irl’ to see this, and this is the only account I have anywhere where none of my irl friends follow it. As to why I’m posting this at all, I’m not so sure either. I suppose largely for myself, in the hope that it will exorcise some demons, and partly for other people, because eating disorders just are not discussed enough and perhaps by posting this I can show someone else that they’re not alone.

There may be mistakes in this and it may not all be 100% coherent, I found it hard to write and I didn’t wish to read it back over.

WARNING: The following post contains discussions of eating disorders and mental health issues. Please do not read if this is a trigger for you, and please not not read if you’re only here to pass judgement

Looking back now, it’s so easy to realise why I felt the way I did, and to see my descent into mental illness. At the time, it was confusing as hell. I wasn’t diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder and clinical depression until I was 17, although I had been suffering from both for six years already, I just didn’t realise it, because I just didn’t know they existed. I didn’t know there were medical conditions to describe how I felt, perhaps if I did I wouldn’t have felt so alone and so alienated. It wasn’t until last year that I realised I’d suffered from an eating disorder. Before that, I didn’t know that binge eating was an eating disorder.

The words ‘eating disorder’ to me conjured up images of skeletal bodies, of people making themselves sick. I wish that preteen and teen me knew that I was suffering from an actual condition, that other people suffered from too.

I don’t recall specifically the first time I binged on food, but over autumn (fall) of 2011 it became a regular occurrence, a habit. It was my way of coping with the changes in my life - starting a new school, my mum being diagnosed with a clinical illness and an increasingly fractured relationship with my dad - and my feelings of loneliness. I was also self conscious about my body, I was in a more advanced stage of puberty than most of my peers and I was aware of the fact that I was a little overweight. Bingeing became an outlet for feelings that I couldn’t understand, and therefore that I couldn’t process.

It was a process that I repeated regularly for six years. It was like a paradox, the more I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what I saw, the more I binged, the very thing that made me carry on putting on weight. I was overweight, I still am today, but I wish that I could have seen myself the way others saw me - slightly chubby but not the ugly monster I thought myself at the time. I ate my feelings away, it was the only coping mechanism I knew. Even when in some ways my life improved - when I was 14 I finally fell in with a group of friends who were kind and who made me feel accepted - my mental state continued to decline and I continued to eat to cope. I was also feeling confused about my sexuality, something that increased my sense of alienation and otherness. It was often the only thing that got me through the day, the only thing that made life bearable to me.

I never confided the way I felt or my problem with food to anyone during this period. My mum knew that I had issues with food, twice she found hidden stashes in my bedroom. She has been a good parent to me, but I so wish she’d handled it differently. She made me feel ashamed, something that made me more determined to hide my problem and therefore to not confront it. I think perhaps that she would’ve been a lot more understanding had she known the feelings behind the problem, but I didn’t know how to go about telling her.

I can’t remember how old I was exactly when I shoplifted food for the first time, I think around 14. The £10 a week pocket money was no longer enough to fund my problem, even though I always chose the cheapest food so that I could buy as much as possible. I shoplifted semi regularly from the local supermarkets for around 18 months, I still don’t know how I was never caught.

In September 2016, I started sixth form college. It was a fresh start that I so badly needed, my five years at secondary school having been so unhappy. It was hard to begin with, only my oldest friend went to the same college as me and old feelings of loneliness resurfaced. A part of me had hoped that the change of school would allow me to leave my bingeing habit behind, but it wasn’t to be. Even when I settled in and began making friends, I continued bingeing.

New friends at college told me of their mental health issues, and I finally felt understood - there were other people who felt the way I did, other people who wanted to die. These feelings may not be normal, but I’m not alone anymore. Despite feeling accepted properly for the first time in my life, I continued to eat. Perhaps it was the stress of A levels (my fellow Brits know how fucking hard these are), or my mum’s decline in health, or my increasingly worsening relationship with my dad.

In May/June time of 2017, my oldest friend, Imogen, who was one of a few friends now aware of my poor mental state, told me that I should go to the doctor. After a little persuading, I agreed. She came with me, but the appointment achieved nothing. I tried a few more GPs at my local surgery and eventually found one who made me feel listened to, and who was kind and sympathetic. I don’t recall the exact time I was diagnosed (to be honest this period in my life is a bit of a blur), but after some months I was finally diagnosed with GAD and clinical depression. I still continued to stay silent about my problem with food.

Ironically, it was actually the further decline of my mental state that allowed me to break my old habit. My mental health had declined fairly slowly over the past few years, but the decline accelerated over autumn and winter of 2017. I don’t know if there was a trigger behind that, I guess mental health doesn’t need a reason. I didn’t know how to deal with the way I felt, I lashed out and fell out with Imogen, which hit me hard. We didn’t talk at all for three months. Before this period, I had often thought that things would be so much easier if I was dead, but my thoughts had never progressed beyond that. Now, it became more active. I actually wanted to die. I stopped looking when I crossed the road, I stopped looking after my physical health at all. Fears about hurting my mum were the only thing stopping me from taking it further. But, I finally stopped binge eating, so disinterested in life that even the that no longer made me feel better.

My mental state didn’t take a turn for the better, but I grew used to these new feelings and started to process them properly. I got better at pushing them out, but I did eventually decide to tell my parents about my diagnoses. My mum was very supportive, she still is, my dad not so (although I probably should’ve expected that). I made up with Imogen, my behaviour started to normalise. I felt so free from my old bingeing habit, it had only been a few months but it felt like a lifetime ago.

In February 2018, my mum told me that she’d be moving to Yorkshire. She’d been forced by her job to take early retirement due to ill health, she was only 50 at the time, and wanted to live somewhere cheaper so she could save on living costs and pay off her mortgage. I was scared, and considered for a time moving in with my grandparents so that I could stay in a place where I knew people, but eventually decided that I’d move with my mum. Still, despite the biggest change ever to happen in my life, I managed to avoid a return to my binge eating habit. I’m still not sure how. Perhaps now that the habit was broken it no longer had the hold over me that it once did.

And then, around March 2018, my dad gave me £500. To this day I still have no idea why, I guess guilt. But it was so much more money than I’d ever had. The temptation not to spend any of it on food was too great. I decided to treat myself, I’d spend £100 on food and put the rest in my savings.

By the time I finished college at the beginning of June, the entire £500 was gone, at least £450 of it spent on food. I still remember the binge I had the day after me and mum moved out of our old home and in with my grandparents, who we lived with for seven weeks before going to Yorkshire. My mental state declined still further, and I wasted most of those weeks in bed, not having the energy to do anything. I kicked myself later for not using it to spend time with the friends I was leaving behind.

After we moved to Yorkshire in August, I spent two of the worst months of my life. My old feelings of loneliness resurfaced, not helped by the fact that one of my closest friends just stopped talking to me. I seemed to alternate between binge eating, my binges even bigger than they ever had been, and hardly eating at all.

But, eventually, I managed to settle in. I got a job, I made new friends. I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop binge eating again, it just happened. I wasn’t lonely anymore, but my mental state didn’t seem to get any better. But, I had healthier ways of coping and I didn’t need to binge as an outlet for my feelings anymore. In September 2019, I started uni, and I finally felt like my life had a purpose.

Now, I have more and better friends than I ever had. I’m glad I made the move to Yorkshire, where I live now is much nicer where I grew up and if I hadn’t made the move there are so many amazing people I wouldn’t have met. Most of my friends are aware of my mental health issues, although I rarely discuss them in detail.

However, only one of my friends is aware of my eating disorder. I didn’t realise until last year that binge eating was classified as an eating disorder. I’m not quite sure why, but this discovery prompted me to finally confide in my oldest friend, Imogen. She was very supportive and understanding, and I know my other friends would be, but it’s still something where I look back and I’m like ‘woah that actually happened’. Putting it out of my mind as much as possible has been my way of coping with the fact that it did happen. I have been slightly more open online that I have irl about the fact that I had an eating disorder, but this is the first time I have discussed it this in depth with anyone.

I’m going to say now what I wish preteen and teen me had known: you are not alone. Whether you’re suffering from an eating disorder, from mental health issues, or from something else, you are not alone. I can’t say truthfully that I have never regretted confiding in someone, but the majority of the time it has helped me, even in a small way. Please talk to someone if you have an eating disorder, be it a friend, a family member, a GP, a teacher, even me. It is nothing to be ashamed of.

I stopped binge eating as a regular habit at the start of winter 2018. Although I relapsed a couple times last year, it’s been twelve months and counting since my last binge.

#shut up ange #please everyone remember that no matter what you’re going through #you are not alone #find later

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self-ships-ahoy · 4 years

Text

My Heart in Your Hands

Saturday (Feb 13th) Heart / Soul / Confession

Summary: During the events of Mann vs. Machine, Technician faces her greatest fear for the good of her friends - and the love of her life.

Warnings: General depictions of surgery (nothing too graphic, but there is a lot of talk about Tech’s heart in the second half)

Word Count: 1,307

A/N: Ok...I am very very nervous about posting this fic. I had to scramble to find a good reason for Tech to have this surgery done (i.e. if lives were on the line), and I’m just always nervous when presenting my writings with Medic. I have seen quite a few people be critical about his depictions, if he’s ‘in character’ enough, and I was afraid of being met with that kind of criticism. But writing is supposed to be for fun, and IF I’m a little ooc with him, so what? I put a whole lot into this fic, and you’re going to really see the extent of their feelings, so I’m proud of it. (Also, about the end, I am totally one to use wordplay even if I’m just coming out of anesthesia, so yeah Tech is like that too.)

~ 💖 ~

For as long as she could remember, Technician's greatest fear and weakness had been anything related to medical procedures. From the smell of a sterilized office to the mere sight of a needle, it all made her anxious at best and panic-stricken at worst. Everyone at the RED base knew this, since they heard how she ‘freaked out’ during her initial physical examination. Fortunately, although her phobias still remain, her reactions have started to become less severe over time, thanks in big part to her relationship with Medic. Forming a friendship, and later a romantic affair, with him helped her tolerance to her fear triggers greatly. Her desire to see him had her visiting the medbay often, where she soon became accustomed to many sights and smells of the lab. The doctor remained supportive of Technician working to overcome her fears, and he took an active role in the process. Still, Katie had a long way to go, and he knew that. He knew, by now, what kind of answer he would get to a proposed surgery, even though he only offered what was for her benefit. "It's very sweet that you care that much, but it's just not worth it to me." So, he would sigh in defeat and drop the subject, loving her too much to breach the boundaries she set.

This pattern continued until 1971. Mann Co. was under siege by Grey Mann, effectively taking control from Saxton Hale with an army of robots. Both Red and Blu teams were hired to take back the company, so far with little avail. It all seemed pointless to Technician, at first, if not fortunate; this could be her ticket out of here, if she could convince Grey to fire her. Then the game changed. In an effort to drive the mercs away for good, Grey's forces managed to sabotage and shut down respawn - for good. Now, they could actually die. After so many years of being alone, Katie couldn't bear the thought of losing her friends. With Medic's new reviving invention still a work in progress, that thought could become a reality. She would do anything to keep them safe, even just to increase that chance by a fraction of a percentage. This was what she came to talk to Medic about, one quiet afternoon at the base.

The two of them sat on the couch in his office. The programmer remained silent, a hesitant and apprehensive frown on her face. She had yet to reveal why she called Medic here, and the longer she waited, the more concerned he became. However, his patience was finite, and spending the whole day on this conversation could be time otherwise spent working on his invention. "Darling," he addressed her gently, but with seriousness, "Vhatever is troubling you, don't be afraid to tell me about it; I cannot help you if you don't tell me...nor do I have time to vait much longer."

Technician's chest tightened, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. She couldn't wait forever. Sighing nervously, she began, "...I need you to...do something for me."

"Anything," he answered without question.

Another short pause. "I'm scared. I really think we could die out there..." She held his hand for support. "I can't lose you, Ludwig. You're the most important person in my life...and you're all my friends... You're the closest thing I have to family. So, I want to do whatever I can to help protect you."

"...Vhat are you saying?"

"...I want you to put Über in me."

Medic couldn't believe what he heard. Technician seemed to have a knack for surprising him, but, understandably, this was a big deal. Thus far, she had refused every surgery offer presented to her, and now she comes to him and requests one? The man was no reader of emotions, but judging from the tension on her face, and how she squeezed his hand, it didn't seem like she was completely positive of the decision. Excited as he felt, he had to make sure they were on the same page, or he could lose her trust in him forever. "You are...absolutely sure of zhis?"

Technician went quiet again before answering. "I don't know. But...I want to be. I don't want to be afraid of this, especially if it could help you stay alive. With how often I've fallen onto front lines, it could even protect me, too. But..."

"If it's pain you're concerned about, I promise zhe pain medications I use, in addition to zhe medigun, vill decrease anything you feel down to manageable levels." He couldn't help but try to convince her to go through with it. Despite her indecision, he agreed with her points that supported the procedure; this could protect her and her friends, should she fall into danger. "You won't even need stitches," he added with a small smile.

He was getting excited, she could hear it in his voice. Technician expected as much, but she had to finish. "It's not just about the pain. I just...I don't like operations, I never did. You know that... And...I wanted to make sure I could...trust you with it. And I do, now. It's just...hard."

Medic's smile grew when he heard that he finally earned Technician's trust. That alone made him feel so accomplished. "I promise you, I vill handle zhe procedure vis as much care as I handle our fledgling doves. You have my word as a doctor - license or no." He tilted his head down to further meet her gaze. "Does zhat ease any of your fear?"

"...Yeah. It does."

~~~

On the day of the operation, Technician's friends all came to give their support. She was facing a great challenge for the good of the team, and for her own safety, a decision that they all could commend. Soldier told her she was making her country proud by pushing through the fear; Scout brought her some comic books to read for when she's in recovery; Sniper and Engineer pledged to stay by her bedside when she goes under and when she wakes up; even Spy said he would anticipate hearing her wake from a successful operation. Their faith and encouragement helped Technician move forward with this, and she kept their words and gestures in mind when nervously changing into her special hospital gown. Above all, she remembered all Medic promised to do for her, to keep her as comfortable as possible.

Placing her jewelry in a plastic bag, her thumb brushed over the heart-shaped pendant of her necklace. That was a prized possession now, a symbol of how much she was cherished. As she stared at it, her mind began retracing every instance of Ludwig prioritizing her happiness. This...this was a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And why: because she knew she could entrust him with her very life, even on the operating table. She knew that if she asked him to do or not do something, he would take that request seriously. She's going to go into the operating room with full confidence that Medic will do nothing more than implant the Über device in a human heart. That was true love.

Technician made her way to the hospital bed, and squeezed Dell's hand as the I.V. went in her wrist. As she settled down from that, Medic gleefully presented his patient with precautions he doesn't usually take during surgery, such as a clean pair of gloves and keeping Archimedes at a distance, so the dove doesn't get tempted to play assistant surgeon. In the time between now and the first Über implantation, Medic had even been experimenting with his invention to make it more efficient, i.e. less likely to overload the patient's heart and what not. There was a good chance that Technician could come out of this with her original heart in tact.

At last, the time came for her to be put under anesthesia, per her request. Katie kept her eyes away from the sight, but listened to Medic's voice as she slipped into unconsciousness. "You'll be awake and feeling good as new in no time, my dear. Don't worry..." he told her calmly as he watched her drift off. Engineer and Sniper then left the room, and the procedure began.

Everything was running well. Throughout the procedure, Medic talked to his patient as if she was awake, from making light (one-sided) conversation to commenting on each step he was taking. (He said she had very healthy ribs, for instance.) At last, Technician's heart was successfully removed and resting in the doctor's delicate hold. He was being timely about each step so far, never stalling or rushing; but here was when he began to pause, staring at his love's heart while the medigun kept her on life support. The power he felt was indescribable, surmounted only by the honor of being granted the chance to literally hold Katie's very life in his hands. He, too, understood the significance of being allowed to perform this surgery on her, the amount of trust it showed she had in him. There was excitement from finally getting to operate, yes, but...it had yet to truly sink in until this moment.

As he cradled the tiny, life-giving muscle, a euphoria began to overtake him. This was more than just the thrill of practicing medicine; this was finally realizing the meaning of his beloved not only allowing, but asking without prompt, to partake in her greatest fear. The love she had for him was stronger than her fear and doubt, for she realized that he would never hurt her. And for all the love he felt for her, and how much closer he would feel to her if given the chance to do this, hearing her finally approve was his strongest wish. Ludwig was already sure he had found The One, but now - oh, now he was 100% positive and then some. His breathing cut short a couple times as his eyes began to well up. But, instead of crying, he began to laugh - slowly, quietly, then rising in strength with his elation. It was a laugh of pure joy, unlike anything else ever heard in the operating room.

~~~

Awaking from the anesthesia was a slightly difficult task, only due to Technician's penchant for prolonging sleep. With the pain medication still in her system, she had almost forgotten for a moment that she had underwent surgery. But a growing echo of voices helped pull her out of her induced slumber.

"I think she's comin' to, doc. Hey, Tech, can ya hear us?"

"Come on, mate..."

"Vake up, meine geliebte~. Zhe surgery is all over now."

The sing-song tones of Medic's call lured her out of her sleeping state, and cerulean eyes fluttered open to the sight of the doctor's beaming smile. To her left, Engineer and Sniper sat with their own happy expressions. Technician turned her gaze back to Medic, attempting to speak through her haze. "Did...everything..."

"Everything vent perfectly, darling, visout a hitch." Medic answered her, "I hadn't completed a procedure zhat smoothly in years, heh." In truth, there had been one or two slight deviations in the plan - minor errors that he was able to work around, and certainly not worth mentioning to the tomophobic programmer. That being said, it was still one of Medic's more successful operations. "How do you feel?"

She thought for a moment, hesitant to feel her heart in case she might feel the Über implant. "Strange...Tired... Chest feels tight. Is my heart okay?"

Engineer spoke up with more words of reassurance, "Heart's a-OK, Techie. Doc said it survived the whole thing, no transplants 'r anything like that."

"It vas remarkable to witness," Medic commented with glee, "For a heart of such small size, I vas expecting more resistance to zhe device. My upgrades must have made an even greater improvement zhan anticipated!"

The corners of her lips began to curl as she heard the great news. Above all, she was worried about her heart needing to be replaced with something bizarre for the device to work. But, the doctor fulfilled his promises and kept her heart intact...as did another force unbeknownst to her. Should someone tell her of it, she would show no surprise at the fact.

Facing Medic again, Technician inched her hand closer to him, a kind look in her sleepy eyes. "I knew you could do it... I was in good hands."

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i-cant-handle-change · 4 years

Text

There was an ask about Mitsuki and Masaru reacting to ’The Wired’ Izuku (but Tumblr deleted it for some weird reason) so here I am, ranting about it like it's the end of the world.

So, of course, both Mitsuki and Masaru rush to Inko’s aid after hearing the news about Izuku’s attempt and failure of taking his own life.

It was a grueling three weeks of contacting Inko, visiting the hospital, waiting with Inko while Izuku went through surgery, and so on. It was agonizing to say at the very least, the two parents could hardly hold in their tears as they watched another parent mourn what could have been the loss of her only child. It hurt them so much but it hurt them even more for their child who refused to do anything anywhere near the hospital.

Masaru expected that his son just didn't want to see the ever-increasing tubes and bandages covering his childhood friend but Mitsuki wasn't having it at all.

”Katsuki!”

She would always scream.

”Katsuki, are you ready?!”

Silence.

”Katsuki!”

”What?!”

”Are you ready?!

”For what?!”

”To visit Izuku, dammit, I already told you we were going half an hour ago! Are you even ready?!”

”I’m not going!”

”Why not?!”

”Cause I said so!”

If it was possible, Mitsuki would have popped all the blood vessels in her brain right at that very moment. She was about to storm up the stairs and give her son the beating of a lifetime but her husband stopped her.

”Mitsuki-”

The blond woman turned her head over at her husband, eyes burning with rage, she was shaking from blowing up like a bomb. Masaru knew this look all too well and chose his next words very wisely as he did many times before.

”Let's just go, Inko’s waiting for us.”

The man watched his wife took a deep breath in and out before turning around and speed along towards the front door. She angrily put on her shoes and stepped outside, her anger alone being put into slamming the door shut and shaking the house with it. Masaru sighed with relief, looking over at the stairs he gave a strained smile before he went outside to see his still fuming wife.

Bakugo wouldn't go.

Or he just couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions.

The day that he went home with his usual grumpy mood, he’d expected his mother to scream at him for closing the door too hard but she didn't. For a moment he thought his father was home until he heard the sudden intake of a shaky breath and then crying. He paused, the young teenager walking carefully towards the sounds of misery before he watched the scene unfold before him.

His mother was crying, a hand over her eyes and the other clutching her phone so hard it was a surprise that it didn't break. His father was crying too, his hands on his mother’s shoulders he didn't realize his son was in the room before he looked up.

”Katsuki-”

He didn't believe it at first.

He couldn't believe it.

He just stood right where he was, heart pounding, his body chilled to the bone, and his eyes shaking he simply just stood there.

He thought it was a joke.

A misunderstanding maybe, a miscalculation, or whatever the hell it was that could have been the body bleeding out on the sidewalk.

It's Japan, there's bound to be people with green hair and freckles, right?

Right?!

Bakugo spent the night in his room, he felt sick to his stomach, his mind ran with a million thoughts but he pushed them all down by pure denial. I mean, this is Deku we’re talking about here, he wouldn't commit suicide he doesn't have the guts to do so! Right?

No, the useless nerd would be too scared to do it! He would have thought about his mom; he thought about his mom right?! He couldn't just jump realizing that he just left her all alone with the guilt, would he? No, this is a mistake, a cruel joke, Deku wouldn't do anything like that!

And then he remembered.

He remembered what he told Deku earlier in school.

’If you wanna be a hero so badly, there’s a quick way to do it.’

No.

’Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life.’

No-No!

’And take a swan dive off the roof!’

Bakugo stood up, his backpack falling to the ground and spilling whatever contents he hand inside onto the floor. He was shaking either in anger or disbelief he didn't know, his breathing was labored, his eyes bulged as his mind struck with just one sentence.

’Take a swan dive off the roof.’

He held his head with his hands, he was sweating.

No, he didn't think he meant it, didn't he-

He was just messing with him! It was his fault for wanting to go to UA, I mean, what was Deku thinking about going to UA being quirkless he would have died there!

Godammit, Bakugo was just telling the truth, why couldn't Deku handle the damn truth, he was quirkless, he was useless, he was nothing, he was-

He was...

He was in the hospital on life support after he tried to commit suicide, and his poor mother was waiting for him to wake up. And he did that because Bakugo, the person he looked up to the most, encouraged him to do it so that he could have a quirk in his next life so that he could be a hero.

”. . .”

It was all his fault.

It was his fault that Deku-no-Izuku Midoriya tried to commit suicide...

”. . .”

He didn't cry that night.

Bakugo Katsuki doesn't cry.

Heroes don't cry, they smile and beat villains up.

So he doesn't cry, he can't afford to cry.

He doesn't cry that he told someone to commit suicide.

He doesn't cry that he essentially ruined Izuku’s life.

He doesn't cry that he made Auntie Inko almost lose her only son.

He doesn't cry that he mentally and physically abused Izuku for nearly a decade because he was quirkless.

He doesn't cry that his mind haunts him with the image of Izuku’s body crumbling against the hard concrete sidewalk from jumping a high building.

He doesn't cry, a future pro hero like him doesn't cry!

But he does cry and he doesn't stop crying for the entire night he spent in his room.

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justasparkwritings · 4 years

Text

The Word of Your Body: Holy {4}

Previous: You’re Gonna Be My Bruise

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing, Pregnancy, Fatherhood, Questioning Religion

Listening: Holy by Justin Bieber

Master List

Namjoon didn’t believe in God, or god, or Him. He didn’t believe in a higher being, a power that created and decided the fate of all peoples. There was no Buddha, Allah, Brahma or Vishnu. No shabbat or Holi or Ramadan. He didn’t believe in any of it. Army was King and Queen, Empress over his fate and his life. He didn’t feel anything around Easter or Christmas, there was no desire to bow his head and pray over a tragedy. He didn’t feel guilty for every sin committed, or anytime an “oh my god!” crossed his lips. He didn’t feel like there was anything moving his life forward except for BTS and you.

When he had asked you to marry him, he felt an inkling of what prayer was. There was nothing he wanted more than to marry you, to create a family, to live his days intertwined with yours. He was positive you were going to say yes, but he found himself wishing and hoping for your answer amidst the ten seconds it took before you responded. He didn’t realize it was prayer, nor did he think his hope that you would say yes would be constituted as a form of worship. But on bended knee, in the few seconds before you answered, he offered it up.

Your resounding yes sounded like an alleluia on Easter morning, a sensation he had experienced with you a year prior. He didn’t understand it, but he felt it.

“I don’t understand why you participate in it,” He said, drinking his coffee at your favorite local breakfast spot the day after his first Easter service. The two of you had come to your home to spend the holiday with your family, which meant showing him where you grew up and yes, bringing him to church.

“Why?” You asked, sipping your coffee.

“It, it doesn’t make sense, why would you believe in something that’s so, cynical?” He wondered.

“The religion you’re speaking of and the religion I subscribe to are two different things,” You said.

“How?”

“Because the religion your speaking of is God as a vengeful, omniscient dictator, demanding sacrifices, demanding life, wanting fees and fines designed by man to prove your loyalty to capitalism, not to God. The God that I believe in, that I celebrate, is merciful. He fights for what is right and just, for equity, for love.”

“Like Sailor Moon,” He smiled.

“Without the talking cat,” You winked.

He hadn’t understood what you meant until you’d given him a copy of your favorite book, which detailed the life of Jesus and his wife, Ana. It wove the notions of Jesus as savior with Jesus as man and expanded his understanding of what a savior could mean. It wasn’t that he suddenly believed in religion, or had faith, because he didn’t. Reading your favorite book had only made him fall more in love with you and made his understanding of religion murky at best. He did admit that he could see its place in your life and accept it for what it was.

The second time Namjoon had prayed was when you took your last pregnancy test. Conceiving wasn’t easy, and he beat himself up every time a test came back negative. You tried to dissuade his fears, tell him that it took time, it wasn’t going to happen the first time you had unprotected sex. He knew he wanted kids; he knew he wanted kids with you. The inability to get you pregnant for two years, even with increased hormone treatments and meticulous care placed on both of your bodies, he felt like he was exhausting all options. Every choice he was making led to further disappointment when the test came back negative.

Why couldn’t his body do the one thing it was designed to do? Was it the dancing in tight pants? Was it working out too much? Riding his bike too often? Why weren’t different positions, different times of day, number of orgasms leading to the creation of life that was half you, half him?

He found himself scrolling through his phone, looking for any sort of solace when he came across a quote you had typed into his phone’s notes for when he felt nervous. You said it every time you had an interview or presentation, a Bible verse imprinted on you during adolescents. As he read the words, the idea of prayer came into his mind… he quickly looked up how to pray before closing his phone. Wasn’t the point that you didn’t need to have a formal way of asking God for help or guidance? Dejectedly, Namjoon bowed his head, closed his eyes and let the words flow out of him.

Namjoon’s heart soared when you took your first positive test. It nearly erupted at your first sonogram. The thump-thump-thump of your child’s heartbeat had been like angels singing. You had created a life; you were going to have a child together. Maybe with his eyes and your nose, or your heart and his mind… Either way, he had heard a chorus echoing every time he saw your bump and felt your baby kick.

He couldn’t reason with himself though, did he now owe God something because whomever it was had fulfilled his prayer? Would he have to baptize the baby, offer it up on an altar like Abraham or split it in two like Solomon? Was God holding a grudge against him now because he hadn’t exalted him fully?

He had borne his soul to you shortly after your eighth month. His conscious was weighing heavy.

“I need to tell you something,” He said, sitting next to you on the couch.

“Okay,” You said, setting your phone face down on the coffee table. “What is it?”

“I, I did something, and I don’t know what to do next,” He couldn’t tell if he was ashamed, nervous, or bashful. Would you laugh or be surprised or lovingly tell him it was okay?

“What did you do?” You asked, cautiously.

“I,” He sighed, “I prayed.” He glanced up at you through his lashes, gauging your response before proceeding.

“Okay, and?”

“What am I supposed to do now? Do I owe God something? Is our child a sacrifice?”

“Well, what did you pray for?” You asked.

“A baby.”

“Namjoon, look at me,” You said lightly.

“What?” He reluctantly lifted his gaze to lock with yours.

“I did too,” You smiled.

He felt the baptismal waters crash down on him.

“You did? Oh, fuck. That, that makes me feel better. Do, do we have to do anything?” He reached for your hands as you laughed. Your baby kicking at the movement in your body.

“We can say a prayer of thanksgiving, but that’s not really how God works.” You said.

“I’ve read articles, and books, and the expectation that you offer something up to God in thanksgiving is everywhere. He grants a prayer and you give thanks. I’ve spent the past seven months trying to figure out what that thanksgiving is supposed to be.”

“Namjoon, why is this bothering you? You don’t normally adhere to organized anything,” You said intertwining your fingers.

He nodded his head before speaking. “I’ve never prayed about anything, but I needed solace, someone to listen. I was scared to tell you or the guys because I don’t believe in it, but I did it anyway.”

“That’s what faith is. It’s throwing your hopes and fears up and believing someone will catch them. Be it fate, or karma… or God or Allah or Krishna… it’s hoping that something will move the chips in your favor, and knowing you’ll be okay if it doesn’t.” You answered, lightly squeezing his hand.

“Do I owe anything?” He whispered.

“No, that’s not how God works, at least in the evangelical sense. Just, be a great father, and an excellent husband, and your actions will show your thankfulness.” You said, moving his hand to rest on your belly, baby kicking excitedly as Namjoon’s hands held it gently.

“That’s it?”

“God doesn’t want for much, Namjoon.”

He had spent the next six weeks studying books on organized religion, alternating between writing lyrics for BTS, unpacking the idea of GOD, and preparing for the baby. He read every parenting book, went to every class and watched birth video after birth video. He took to your body like the gentiles took to John the Baptist, following its every inkling, tending to it with care. He prepared baths and scheduled massages. He gingerly placed lotion on your growing belly, and proceeded to rub natural remedies on your cervix, anything to make your eventual labor smoother. He kneaded your growing breasts and never hesitated to help you tie your shoes. God had smote the Egyptians for worshipping their golden calf, and here Namjoon was, on his knees, singing exaltations to your growing form.

The third and fourth time Namjoon prayed was when your water broke, and with it came an excessive amount of blood. You had rushed to the hospital and were diagnosed with late term placenta previa, a condition they should’ve caught earlier. Upon examination, you were rushed into a C-Section, and as he sat clutching your hand, tears streaming down your faces, Namjoon braced himself for the worst possible outcome. He prayed diligently, every second you were in surgery, every moment he wasn’t whispering to you or kissing your hair, he prayed.

God, Jesus, Allah, anyone… Please let my wife be safe. Please do not take her or our baby away from me. Please let us live our lives together. Please let them be okay, please, please, please.

He offered up penance, a term he’d learned reading about the evolution of the Catholic church. He’d offered up his career, his bandmates, his money, his time. Anything he could trade to keep you and your baby.

Namjoon had thought he’d heard a gospel chorus whenever he saw your bump or felt the baby kick. It wasn’t until his child took its first breath and let out a cry, that Namjoon realized the crescendo of expectation, fear, relief and hope raking through his brain was the angels, singing the Halleluiah Chorus, proclaiming the birth of the savior. He could see it, you Mary, the unassuming mother of the Christ child, him Joseph, a lowly craftsman, the doctors, the shepherds, guiding life into the world.

As your tears turned to joy, Namjoon muttered to himself, “Unto you a child is given.”

It was past midnight when Namjoon finally had a minute to breathe. He held your new baby securely in his arms and glanced at your peacefully sleeping form. The past 48 hours had been a whirlwind. You were recovering from a C-Section and unable to lift or move much. On the one hand, you were relieved. You were emotionally exhausted from a traumatic labor, and physically exhausted from undergoing a major operation. Bed rest was welcomed as your body began to heal, from the nine months it had spent growing life, and as your hormones began to fall and rebalance. On the other, you wanted to spend every second staring at your child, guessing what they’d be like, wondering if their eyes were shaped like your husband’s or yours. Smelling their head for that new baby, fresh on the planet scent, and memorizing every feature.

Namjoon was grateful, it gave him time to spend with your child, knees deep in fatherhood. He could carry your child everywhere, sing to it, love it, create a strong bond before he would eventually be pulled to tour. He was savoring every diaper, every midnight feed, every coo and cry. He couldn’t imagine life before your child was born, and he wanted to cherish every millisecond he had with you both.

He hummed to your baby quietly and again glanced at you, your milk had slowly started to come in and leak onto your shirt, or rather, a tour shirt of Namjoon’s that you’d kept every time he left home. He remembered the day you fought over him not having a t-shirt in your size and been pleasantly surprised when he had found this one in some drawer. Over the years it had become your comfort object. You kept it at his place indefinitely, and once you’d moved in together, had insisted he wear it before he went on tour to capture his musk. What had started as an argument over insecurities had blossomed into one of your favorite traditions.

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losingitinjersey · 5 years

Photo

Ten days in and I’m officially in love. Erp’s (extremely detailed) birth story coming atcha below.

Friday morning I woke up after having taken my first half dose of Unisome so I got the perfect night sleep with minimal grogginess in the morning. Despite the good night sleep I felt off when I woke up. Had some loose stools and slight nausea which was weird for me. It made me take my time getting ready.

I got the pleasure of seeing Kevin in the morning because he was going in for his surgery rotation exam so he had a later start time than his recent 4am mornings. At 8:15 a.m. I was putting on a compression sock and the next thing I know I feel myself peeing/leaking on the fresh pad I just put on. This was unexpected since I literally had just gone to the bathroom and this was too much wetness for a normal bladder leak, especially since I didn’t cough/sneeze/laugh to cause it. Then some cramping started and I immediately started sobbing at the realization of what this meant and got myself to the bathroom immediately. (all while wearing still just half of one compression sock)

I had been texting with my sister that morning (since she’s the only other person awake on the east coast that I text with prior to 8a.m.), told her earlier that I felt weird so she was the first person I texted that I think my water had broken. She told me to call her immediately and she calmed me down and was so happy/excited for me. She said she’d handle calling my mom (who it was 5a.m. for in California) and told me to call the OB’s office. Mind you, Kevin is now 15 minutes into his exam and when he left that morning he said, “this will all be over in 6 hours” so I’m going into this thinking he’d be completely unreachable until 2 p.m. I text my mother-in-law, as I’m waiting for a call back from the OB, to keep her updated and she immediately calls me and tells me to call an ambulance or get an Uber and to get to the hospital asap. The fact that my pain was coming from my vagina and not lower back or abdomen had her worried and she wanted me checked out right away.

Even though I was in pain, and it was increasing, I didn’t think an ambulance was necessary so I texted my next door neighbor to see if she could drive me but she wasn’t responding. Katie, my other neighbor, was in Jamaica so she wasn’t an option. In the meantime, the OB office calls back, I describe what’s happening and she confirms that yes, I need to go to the hospital and she will meet me there. Thankfully, the woman that’s on call is my favorite person out of the entire office of 15 providers, so I’m happy it’s her (Nell, a midwife). Shortly after I hang up I order a Lyft and they were en route before I started getting myself dressed. As we had planned to do all of our last minute prep work this weekend since Kevin would finally be done with his intense surgery rotation, we didn’t have a hospital bag packed. I put on the only clothes that were clean(ish), comfy, and nearby, along with some slippers and took one last belly bump pic before locking up my house, saying goodbye to my cat (who was thoroughly freaked out due to my cries of pain), and waddling to the Lyft parked outside my house.

I tried to act cool in the car not wanting the dude to know he was transferring a woman actively in labor to the hospital but there was a good chance he was aware given how stiffly I sat in his car and how my body language read not to talk to me. Thankfully, the hospital is nearby and 15 minutes later he pulled up to the entrance and I got out of the car and started sobbing again. I walk through the hospital doors and see the single security/registration guy and tell him I’m in labor and ask where I go. He starts giving me directions and I just repeat back to him verbally and with my hand, “three?” and he confirms yes, third floor. (Surprised he didn’t grab me a wheelchair or accompany me). I make my way to the elevators, still sobbing, hit the button and head up to the third floor with a woman in scrubs also getting off on that floor. I walk out of the elevator, stop and look around at all the signs trying to figure out where to go from here. She tells me to turn left so I blindly walk that way alone. I come to a door with a button so I hit the button and am buzzed in. I’m now in a long hallway, not knowing where to go or why no one is helping this pregnant crying woman.

I come up to a desk, eyes blurred with tears and see a sign in book so I grab the pen not sure what else to do and a woman behind the counter comes up so I look up at her, tell her I’m in labor and I don’t know what to do. She then walks with me to a group of nurses and one of them walks me back into a room and has me sit down on a hospital bed, gets me a gown and talks me through a bunch of questions. At one point she makes a comment about how I haven’t gone through any classes. And I’m like, what? Lady, I’ve gone to every single one. She sounded surprised and asked why I was crying then. Um, I’m alone and going through this for the first time - I’m allowed to express how I’m feeling and that feeling is incredibly scared.

Nell comes in and checks where I’m at and it hurts really bad. She says she can’t tell how dilated I am because something about how my cervix hasn’t gone through a pregnancy before but she did say that she could feel Erp’s head. Which shocked me since at my appointment on Monday they commented about how high up the baby was. At this point, I’m then left mostly alone to go through waves of contractions, which hurt far far far worse than I ever expected, with a nurse randomly coming in and out. I’m given an IV and a few medications to curb the pain which were helpful but I definitely was still experiencing an exorbitant amount of discomfort and anguish.

Finally around 10:30 a.m. they start talking about getting me an epidural which needed to wait until I had my blood work processed. By 11 a.m. Kevin had arrived just as they started to administer my epidural. I was really glad he was there even though I was so blinded by pain that I wasn’t able to do much but grip the bed rails and ride them out. After my epidural took effect I felt SO MUCH BETTER. I had this extreme euphoria that made me forget all the pain I had just experienced. I remember even thinking to myself that it wasn’t that bad, I could totally get pregnant again asap.

I’m then checked again and to everyone’s surprise I’m already dilated to a 10. I couldn’t believe it. From what I thought labor was like I thought it would take hours upon hours if not days to get to a 10, not 3 hours. Nell has me hang out for an hour and a half while the epidural wore off so I could get some feeling back to start pushing. Around 1 p.m. I start actively pushing in spurts with the help of Kevin and the nurse. During this time, Kevin takes the 5-10 minute down times to work on completing the paper he has to submit by 4 p.m. Remember that 6 hour time frame he told me about this morning? That included writing a paper so while his test was done in 2.5 hours and he immediately came to the hospital after finishing the test and checking his phone (their phones and all belongings are kept in a separate room during exams so he didn’t realize I was in labor until after he finished the test). So he was able to write, finish and submit his paper all while helping hold my legs and coaching me through pushing. What a man!

At 4:32 p.m. I made my final push (which hurt a lot more than the rest of the pushes) and out came Erp. They placed this warm, slimy baby on my stomach (she had an incredibly short umbilical cord so that was as high as they could place her) and the first words out of my mouth were, “what the fuck.” I “knew” a baby came at the end of this pregnancy but it was still so so so weird to now have this tiny creature with me. Kevin cut the cord and they placed her on my chest as I came to grips with the fact that she’s ours. The nurse was snapping pictures and they all came out with me having the most puzzled faces of disbelief but Kevin’s smile is beaming through :) At birth her stats were 6lbs 14oz and 21 inches. We stayed at the hospital for the next two days and were discharged the afternoon of Sunday, December 20th. (also shown above is the intense rats nest in my hair from going through labor and staying in bed for two days)

I’ve gone through such intense waves of emotion since my water broke. From extreme fear, to the highest high of happiness euphoria, to sobbing at just looking at her and realizing how blessed we are, to irritability and general moodiness, to very deep sorrow at the realization that I don’t get to stay home and live this life with her - that I have to go back to work in an extremely short time span and hand her off to a stranger (who’s to be determined). I’ve never felt mood swings more powerful than this in my life and I’d be lying if I said things are all just peachy keen. I’ve never experienced sleep deprivation like this nor this strength of hormone shifts. Yes, we’re healthy and happy and incredibly blessed but this has been much more emotionally charged than I anticipated, both positively and negatively.

On the whole, though, we’re doing really really well. She’s a great baby who is above all healthy, rarely fussy, is a self soother, and loves snuggling. She’s my little squish and I get excited every time I get to see her, which is at least every three hours due to her feeding schedule.

Thank you all for sharing your support, love and excitement for us during this oh so exciting time!

#please don't reblog #pregblr #momblr #first time mom #birth story #delivery #labor #postpartum #birth #hormones #all the emotions

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bbq-hawks-wings · 5 years

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Ok. The pregnant s/o. Was fire. You had me there. In tears. Like. Bruh. I can’t. It was too cute. And too. Ugh just overall amazing. So. Going off that (backtracking a wittle bit since you already wrote a part two where the twins are already about and about) but could you maaybbeeee write about that whole in labour process of the mama bird. And where and what she was doing (hopefully with hawks who may or may not have been really excited) sorry that’s a really long request 😣✌️

I'm so glad you like it. Those are some very personal stories for me - especially the first one because I pulled from personal experience with my husband and first child. I'm such a sucker for good dads and love writing about expecting parents because I feel there's not often a good balance for both the exciting and the uncomfortable parts being talked about. Labor definitely scared me, but despite it not going as smoothly as I would have hoped it's easily been one of the most rewarding efforts of my life.

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

As the days counted down towards the due date things were increasingly both exciting and terrifying. For mom, the increased weight and size left her eager to have it over with; but for dad there was a lot of nervous tension building as he learned about the added complexity of birthing twins.

Luckily, knowing ahead of time you were having a boy and a girl meant they were fraternal and one mystery fewer; but plenty of other risk factors could result in an emergency C-section. Especially since twins were usually born pre-term you both wanted them growing for as absolutely long as possible before they made their debut into the world. There was high blood pressure to worry about, gestational diabetes, anemia, and a list that left Keigo a little paler with every point. Thankfully, frequent checkups and a positive partner helped him keep calm through it along with the classes that very clearly were as much for his benefit as it was for you.

And then, week 36 day 4, you felt the first contractions. Braxton-Higgs had plagued your life for the last few weeks on and off; but this was different. You wrote them off initially, but when you started noticing the consistent timing and feeling them ramp up in intensity you knew it was go time.

You knew there was not much to be done worrying, especially not until you got the hospital (they wanted you on monitors as soon as possible in case they needed to pull you into surgery); but your husband was a different story.

He was composed on the outside (mostly), but his heart rate soared, he made mistakes when speaking, and his hands visibly shaked as he took every opportunity to just DO something. He felt particularly helpless when he saw his wife go through a contraction, watching her face completely change in a second, brace herself, and work through it by making the lowest groans she could to help manage the pain. The some 60 seconds it took to watch you go through it was like an hour when the most he could do was squeeze your hips to alleviate pressure on back as you ground through the most intense workout of your life.

And this went on every 20 minutes, then 10 minutes, then 5 minutes for hours.

You'd made it to the hospital, had a catheter put in just in case, were put on monitors, but didn't have an epidural for a while longer. By the time you made it to "active labor" the world no longer existed during contractions and the room was on hold until it was over - even after you'd been able to get an epidural. If he thought this was bad, he wasn't anywhere prepared for the transition phase.

Labor works in stages: early labor, active labor, and transition. In the beginning you were excited and confident about the way your body was working, by the time you were in active labor things were much harder, and during transition there was a point during the last bit of dilation that your were sure you wouldn't be able to do it; but then Keigo saw something change in your demeanor. You stayed yourself, braced and in tune to your body's rhythm and cues, the world disappeared completely to you, and you really and truly went to work.

Doctors and nurses were crowded around you, allowing him to help hold your legs just for his own peace of mind, but there was not much to do except watch, wait, and offer occasional guidance while you finally reached the ability to push. To you, you were vaguely aware of the buzz happening nearby but if you were not pushing you were resting and waiting, only bothering to think when you felt your body get ready to contract again.

For Keigo it was a sight to behold. He could see your body tense involuntarily and then you react by leaning into it and pushing as hard as you could while it lasted before going completely still again - your breathing even with a face focused to near serenity. For a while, it didn't seem to produce any results besides mess on the table which he and the doctors professionally kept quiet about and cleaned when you stilled again and waited. Then as it went on he began to see a human head begin to emerge, and there were no words he had to describe the shock and awe of epiphany as he watched a human child literally inch towards birth - his child, from his wife, that they'd made and waited together all these months to meet - actual moments away from being able to be held in his arms.

About an hour of pushing went by, the last few pushes overseen much more fervently by the doctors as they prepared to help the baby out of the last centimeters of its journey, and Keigo didn't anticipate how literally hands-on they were about pulling him out; but in a single moment fast enough to blink and miss, his son was delivered and on the table between his wife's legs as they helped him breath his first and wait for the umbilical cord to stop pulsing. The cry was loud and reverberated through the room, and all at once emotion hit him like a tidal wave as layer after layer of revelation overcame him. But it wasn't even over yet, and almost as fast as he had emerged his sister followed quickly behind him.

It was difficult to compose himself. He was full of tears and joy and laughter and pride - his exhaustion of the last 16 hours forgotten as he was able to look at his children in the flesh instead of settle for black and white lines on a screen. They let him cut the umbilical cords and carefully place them on your chest to reunite with their mother for the first time as they would for the rest of their lives.

For all the focus and pain you'd just been through, the moment you had realized what had happened you were back and happy again as well. You smiled and held and soaked in the presence of your children for the first time, almost forgetting that mere minutes ago you were unable to hold them in your arms. Even the uterine massages and passing of the placentas you barely paid attention to as you had much more important mind.

"Hello, babies. I'm so excited to meet you!" You cooed at them as your husband hovered above you, also unable to take his eyes of his children.

"They're so beautiful, (Y/n)." He hiccupped air between sentences, still very much crying. "You know who I am, right? It's me, I'm your daddy. It's daddy!"

They were stable and weren't immediately sent off to the NICU as they were still technically pre-term; but the moments together you had then and shared over your monitored stay were surreal and magical - so much so it took several nurses and doctors to coax both of your into getting some sleep.

"You're going to loose a lot of sleep over the next several months - years even. Rest while you can!"

You both finally took their advice, but the smiles and excitement of what happened still stayed through sweet dreams until you were able to be reunited with your children again when you woke.

#she writes #this brings back memories #ngl actually got a little choked up about it while writing #i can't wait to do it again #hawks #hawks bnha #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader

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skippyv20 · 5 years

Text

Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

Prince Harry teams up with Gareth Thomas to tackle HIV stigma

Prince Harry has told rugby star Gareth Thomas that he is ‘amazing’ in a powerful new film that aims to get rid of the stigma behind HIV.

Harry and the former Wales captain spoke about the virus and Thomas revealed how his diagnosis inspired him to live his life to the full and educate others about the virus. The new film is being released by the Terrence Higgins Trust to mark national HIV Testing Week, which starts today. In the video, filmed in the stands at the Twickenham Stoop - home of Premiership Rugby club Harlequins, Thomas told Harry that the moment he received his HIV diagnosis is what inspired him to educate others about the realities of the virus.

He said that everyone should know their HIV status to 'normalise testing’ and 'make it easier for those that are fearful, that are scared to come forward’. Thomas, who came out as gay in 2009, is thought to be the first UK sportsman to go public about living with the virus. Prince Harry said: 'I believe in what you’re doing. It’s amazing.'

Thomas told the Duke that his knowledge of HIV was stuck in the 1980s and he thought he had been given a death sentence, but he now wants to show there is life after an HIV diagnosis. Thomas added: 'We do so much around our health - going to the dentist, going to the doctor. But when it comes to sexual health testing there’s the stigma and fear around it. We need to re-educate people to know that where we are now with HIV it is not a death sentence, it’s not and I am living proof.’

Ahead of his meeting with the duke, charities Terrence Higgins Trust and the National Aids Trust (NAT) announced Thomas as a commissioner on the first ever HIV Commission to end HIV transmissions by 2030. Thomas said: 'I have a new purpose now. I want to do whatever I can to remove the fear people have about testing for HIV and just do it. Because I wasn’t educated about HIV, I thought I had been given a death sentence when I was diagnosed and I don’t want anyone else to go through that. I take one pill a day which keeps me healthy, means I have absolutely no fear of passing on HIV to my husband and means I’m fit enough to do an Ironman.’

In recent interviews, Gareth Thomas said he was driven to suicidal thoughts as a result of his diagnosis

The Duke and Thomas also discussed how the rugby community can help reduce the stigma by calling on rugby players to be tested and know their status to help normalise HIV testing. The Terrence Higgins Trust, the UK’s leading HIV charity, paid tribute to the two men’s impact in 'challenging perceptions of HIV and tackling stigma’.

The charity said that following Thomas revealing his HIV status publicly in September it saw a surge in orders for its HIV testing kits, mirroring a five-fold increase when Harry tested live on Facebook in 2016. Testing for HIV has never been easier and can be done in a range of different places, including sexual health clinics, GP surgeries and at home, it added. New statistics from Public Health England estimate that around one in 14 people living with HIV in the UK remain undiagnosed - while 43% of people diagnosed last year were diagnosed late, which is after damage to the immune system has already begun. The charity said that was why testing for HIV was so important because someone diagnosed early and accessing treatment - like Thomas - has the same life expectancy as anyone else.

Access to effective HIV treatment also ensures that the virus cannot be passed on, it added. Ian Green, chief executive of the Terrence Higgins Trust, said: 'We’re proud to bring together the Duke of Sussex and Gareth Thomas - two individuals who have done so much to challenge people’s perceptions of HIV and tackle stigma. 'That’s because when they speak out about the realities of HIV, people listen and act. I hope the Duke and Gareth’s work to normalise HIV testing has a big impact during National HIV Testing Week and anyone who has previously been too scared to test sees that it’s always better to know.’

Thomas said Harry has 'done so much to normalise HIV testing and fight the stigma across the globe’

The ex-fullback, who captained both Wales and the British Lions, is thought to be the first UK sportsman to go public about living with HIV

WHAT IS HIV?

HIV (human immunodeficiency virus) is an incurable sexually-transmitted disease that attacks the immune system. If untreated, it completely destroys the immune system.

HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE IT?

HIV has killed about 35 million people since the 1980s. Approximately 37million people in the world currently have it.

WHAT IS IT?

HIV is a virus that damages the cells in the immune system and weakens the ability to fight infections and disease. Without treatment, HIV can turn into AIDS (acquired immune deficiency syndrome), which is a syndrome (or, a set of symptoms) not a virus. In layman’s terms, AIDS has been referred to as 'late-stage HIV’. A person has AIDS when their immune system is too weak to fight off infections. AIDS cannot be transmitted from one person to another; HIV can.

WHAT IS THE PROGNOSIS?

Those diagnosed with HIV need to be on medication for life to prevent it turning into AIDS, which is often fatal. A decade ago, people who were HIV positive were given a shorter life expectancy because the medication, suppressing the immune system, made patients highly vulnerable to fatal infections. Today, HIV drugs are much more sophisticated. They allow for people who are HIV positive to live as long as anyone else in good health. They can also suppress the viral load to such an extent that it is undetectable and untransmittable, meaning it’s possible to have intimate relationships without passing it on. The former player has been named a member of the the HIV Commission, created by NAT (National AIDS Trust) and Terrence Higgins Trust. Thomas said of his appointment: 'This is something that I am unbelievably honoured about, becoming an HIV commissioner with a group of people who plan to end zero new transmissions of HIV in England in the next 10 years, and that’s the first country in the world to do that.

'I have a little platform, I don’t know how big it is but I know I have a platform, and I understood why there are so many people living in fear, living in shame, because I lived in fear and I lived in shame.' Three years ago Prince Harry took a HIV test live on Facebook - sparking a five-fold increase in orders for HIV tests from Terrence Higgins Trust.

And last year, he called for HIV testing to be seen as 'completely normal’ in a specially recorded message. The Duke of Sussex said people should not be ashamed or embarrassed about taking a test for the lethal virus. Instead, he said being tested for HIV should be treated in the same way as people protect against 'viruses like cold and flu’. In the two-minute video message, the young royal wore a red ribbon in solidarity with all those living with HIV.

He said: 'Taking an HIV test is something to be proud of - not something to be ashamed or embarrassed about. As much as you protect yourself at this time of year from illnesses and viruses like cold and flu, you can also protect your health by taking an HIV test.'

Princess Diana famously helped reduce the stigma of AIDS sufferers in April 1987 when she shook hands with a gay man dying of the disease. Back in the eighties, when the picture was taken at the London Middlesex Hospital, having AIDS was considered a death sentence’.

Prince Harry has long advocated for the importance of HIV testing both in the UK and around the world. When he tested for HIV live on Facebook two years ago, there was a five-fold increase in orders for HIV tests from Terrence Higgins Trust

The Terrence Higgins Trust, a voluntary sector provider of HIV and sexual health services, said the day after the Welshman’s announcement was the charity’s busiest since launching their HIV self-test kits. National HIV Testing Week will run from 16 to 22 November. It aims to increase awareness and acceptance of HIV testing by dispelling the stigma that surrounds the virus. This helps to improve early diagnosis and treatment of HIV, thus reducing onward transmission.

How Diana’s handshake with Aids patient changed world’s view of the disease

In April 1987, Princess Diana shook hands with a gay man who was dying of AIDS.

The People’s Princess touched the unnamed man without wearing gloves, challenging the previously believed notion the disease could be passed via skin-to-skin contact. She was quoted as saying: 'HIV does not make people dangerous to know. You can shake their hands and give them a hug. Heaven knows they need it’.

At the time, Princess Diana was opening the UK’s first unit that exclusively cared for HIV/AIDS patients at London Middlesex Hospital. Princess Diana was famously the first member of the Royal Family to touch someone with AIDS. It is unclear if this picture is the first time she made physical contact with an HIV-infected patient.

The People’s Princess would also regularly visit the Lighthouse, both with the media present and without. According to Dr Rosemary Gillespie, chief executive of the HIV charity Terrence Higgins Trust: 'London Lighthouse offered residential and day care for men, women and children living with HIV and AIDS, and provided a refuge and respite to people marginalised and abandoned because of their diagnosis’.

Princess Diana was a patron of the National AIDS Trust at the time of her death in 1997.

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sarahmariepoet · 5 years

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I don't know how much I can stress this. The importance of properly addressing transgender people saves lives. Addressing someone by their chosen name is not only respectful but helps to validate who they are and how they feel. This is why it's so important and why, especially in the workplace, is both required and needed.

I've had both managers and coworkers address me as my deadname and, while I have done my best to address it, the accidents and slip ups continued to a point where I had enough. I went to my managers, to HR, and did everything I possibly could.

Transferring was brought up as an option but, as I recently mentioned to HR, trying to get the person being victimized to leave is neither fair nor right and their behavior cost the company an employee that did their job well.

There were things I could have done better, yes, but I'm not perfect. Neither are those people that made mistakes. This is true. The problem is though that people want to put me and others like me on this pedestal but forget that we're human beings. All I ever wanted was to be treated like a normal human woman. That's it.

Compliment me on my hair, tell me my necklace is beautiful, get to know me as a person, don't tell me I'm brave and admire me from afar. I'm not brave. I'm a normal human woman with faults and issues.

A year ago I was suicidal. A year ago I made a decision that was both the best and worst decision I could have ever made. I made the decision to be myself regardless of consequences. The sad truth is that it cost me family, friendships, and my job. Now, it wasn't all at once. It wasn't even always obvious but it happened.

For family, some backed away and others came closer. For friendships, I lost many and gained some but, more often then not, people circled but didn't stay. For my job, I wasn't fired, which is good, but I had to find another job.

I spoke with HR. I mentioned all that I have said here. I can only hope that they learn from the mistakes. I can only hope that the next transgender person is treated with more respect and actually accepted.

I'm not strong. I'm not invincible. I'm a human being with faults, just like everyone else. I'm allowed to have emotions. I'm allowed to have attitudes. Just like everyone else. People at work seemed to forget that. If I was too emotional, I scared them and they didn't know what to do.

My bosses and some coworkers didn't know how to treat me if they saw me crying. There were times I would come out of a stall clearly upset and no one asked if I was okay. If I displayed emotion, I was told not to be emotional or sad. If I displayed that I was upset by those comments, I scared the person because of it.

If I, in anyway, displayed a desire to get to know others on a personal level I was pushed aside. I wasn't perfect though. I made mistakes. I followed and listened to people I shouldn't have. I made mistakes with money. I didn't do everything I was supposed to do. I wasn't perfect. I was human. My mistakes though were pointed out more closely as if I was held to a higher standard. This pedestal I was forcefully placed upon began to crumble.

I was asked if I would ever get surgery. I was asked if I would keep my penis or not. I was asked very personal and inappropriate questions. I said nothing. I was misgendered. I said very little. I was deadnamed. I drew a line. I was treated as if I overreacted. How dare I go to HR. How dare I have a limit. How dare I say enough. How dare I want to be treated as a human being.

My training was constantly put to the side for others. People would stop talking to me only to run and talk to others. I was treated like a pariah. I wasn't perfect. I never claimed to be. They began to treat me like I was dumb. As if I didn't know anything. "Don't forget to do this" "You need to do this." I said something. It got worse.

I was misgendered and compared to myself. "Hi [deadname]" "When you were [deadname], you never used to make this mistake." and yet my mistakes continued to be pointed out. Over and over and over. As if I needed to be better. As if I wasn't good enough.

And so, I took notes. Was I crazy? Was I making things up? I began to wonder. Maybe it was all in my mind. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Maybe it was getting better and I didn't realize it. And so, I kept notes. And then people found out. Oh no, she's taking notes! Maybe we should talk to her about why she's taking notes? Maybe we should address and prevent the reason she's taking notes. No. The reason for the notes was never addressed.

I had to go to HR. I had to approach coworkers. I had to approach management. Not once did anyone approach me first unless it was to ask very personal questions. When are you getting surgery? Are you chopping your dick off or keeping it? [not how it works]. Are you dating anyone? Who are you attracted to?

The few times I was asked if I was okay were fleetingly scarce and those that did care quickly became less and less. It got to a point where, if someone did care, I wondered if they were being real or not. Being deadnamed increased with each passing moment. Still, I didn't report everyone. But it didn't matter. I was keeping notes and people found out. How dare I keep notes. How dare I tell HR the very few times I did. How dare I request to be treated like a human. How dare I.

How dare I be quiet. How dare I speak up. How dare I have bad days. How could I possibly be emotional? How could I say don't call me by my deadname? It was on a screen someone just read. I can't expect someone to do better. I can't expect someone to mentally translate a word from one to another and I certainly can't expect them to treat me with the same respect I gave them. Right?

In the end, I gave notice to the job and am working as close to two weeks as possible. I'm being professional, even if no one else is. I'm doing the best I can in a tough situation. I never asked for people to put me on a pedestal. I never asked for people to treat me differently. I never asked for people to ask me personal and invading questions. I only wanted people to treat me as a woman. That's it. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. A human woman with feelings and emotions that are valid and right to have.

There are days I went into work and cried. If I went to the bathroom, I was probably crying. I was crying because I was emotional and alone. I was crying because no one really cared. I had no real friends at work. Not that anyone needed to be my friend of course. As a manager told me, they can't force people to be my friends.

I think what really pushed me over the edge though was being told that I had to be patient about moving up and that promoting me right now wouldn't be a good idea and wouldn't do me any favors and that it would take time. Training stalled though and got pushed to the side. I got pushed to the side. If I couldn't move up and wasn't a part of the team, constantly looking in from the outside, then why would I stay? What was the point.

Why remain somewhere I'm not wanted. And so, I applied elsewhere. I got the job. I got the job! And so I put my notice in. And what was I expecting? Some I told were sad. Some were happy but tried to hide it. One person kept calling me man while saying how they'd miss me. All in all a typical day. I can only hope it gets better.

And so, I talked with HR after noticing they were there, someone higher then who I normally spoke with. Maybe they can make things better. I don't know and, truthfully, it doesn't matter for me. I'm already out. They made sure of that when deadnaming me was put down to accidents. Accidents hurt. Accidents matter.

It's easy to do the bare minimal like changing name tags or my name in some systems. It's harder to admit mistakes and say you were wrong. Using the excuse of seeing my legal name is wrong and a cheap and easy excuse. I tried to explain why it hurt. I tried to explain dysphoria but I was told to just be patient and things would change. As usual, I was treated as if I was overreacting. Some said it outright, others said as much through words and actions.

If I dared to complain, I was wrong. If I dared to be quiet, I was wrong. I'm not perfect though. I don't always know what to say or how to say it. In fact, I'm human. I make mistakes. I'll probably make more today and tomorrow. Mistakes happen. Accidents happen. But what happens when they continue to happen over and over and over and over again?

When is enough, enough? When can we no longer give another chance. That's the question, isn't it? And truth be told, I don't know. I do know that I did my best to express how I felt and what I needed but it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I wasn't enough to respect and call Sarah. I wasn't enough to befriend. I wasn't enough to treat like a human woman.

But, was it all me? No. They could have tried harder. They could have done better. Putting it all on me isn't fair nor is it right. Businesses need to do better. Management needs to do better. I once asked my manager, 'How can we expect others to do better if you don't and continue to call me by my deadname?' and it's true.

All excuses aside. Deadnaming is wrong. That's why I left. That's why I'm leaving. I was kept seperate from others. As if in a zoo, I was gawked at and treated differently. I never asked for that. All I ever wanted was to be treated like any other adult human woman. That's it. Please do better. Please treat me like a human. Please treat me like a woman. That's all. That's it. Thank you.

#lgbtq #writers on tumblr #trans rights #transition #transisbeautiful #trans #transgender #transgirl #queer pride #queer #queer women #trans woman

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chaniters · 5 years

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And the winner is...

Next part of @kruk-art‘s Awan Cormac series.

Complex stories take a long time to plan!!!

Another hospital scene...

Spoilers ahead for Rebirth

Previous part is here: 8 https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/188183225024/blood-in-the-water

__________________________

Hospitals. Wards. Infirmaries.

You hate them all.

Too sterile. Too familiar.

Yet here you are, mind full of guilt, sitting by the bed, waiting for him to wake up. Your hand goes absently to the plate where the cookies are, fetching one two.

Idle time is another one of your pet peeves, and thus you brought something to work on. The decryption programs you brought on your phone are top-notch coming directly from the farm and should work on anything, but the Loan Shark’s data-rod on Elyise has proved impervious so far. Still, you’re not giving up and there are a few more tricks to try.

You’re almost sure it’s not an American encryption protocol, which only raises more questions as to the true extent of Hollow Ground’s connections. Whatever the case, they didn’t want this file to be seen which is all the more compelling reason to break in and see what’s inside.

You keep on trying though, each new variation of your protocols failing after a short while with a monotonous beep from the phone and the sound of crunchy chocolate cookies the only things letting you keep track of time.

At least that’s so until…

“Are you going to leave some for me, jerk?”

You put down your phone, looking at him. His eyes are open, and he looks pale. Pale, but awake.

The immediate wave of relief is so strong you feel you’re about to lose it. But you force yourself to keep it together.

“If you think you’re going to get one of MY cookies, you’re awfully mistaken. It’s going to be baby food from now on for you Marsha!”

“Baby food? Yuck. I’m out of here!” he says trying to move up before stopping with a pained expression. The movement makes his mods go off, sending a zap towards the machine he’s attached to, which turns off and then reboots

“Watch it sparkles! Those things take a lot to reconnect if you break them... “ you sigh while “You’re might be patched up but you’re still wounded. Better get used to it too, you’ve got some horizontal time ahead of you”

“Ugh. Ook… Maybe I’ll rest for a little bit after all” he relents.

“That’s how things are going to be from now on. You’re staying there as long as you have to ”

“Who made you boss again?”

“Your mom. Also, she promised more cookies if I stop you from doing anything stupid”

“So you sold me out for chocolate chips?”

“They’re really good,” you say taking another. “Really really good” you add with your mouth full.

You monster…” he says with the hint of a smile.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. So, how long have you been awake?”

“Not sure. Didn’t notice you were in the room at first.”

“Do you know where you are?” you ask “Or what day it is?”

He ponders hard for a few moments examining the surroundings before answering “... The HQ?”

“That’s right. We’re at the infirmary”

“How long I was out though.”

“I’d say about two days, give or take.

“That’s insane. Where are the others?”

“Asleep I guess? It’s 3:00 am”

“Whaa… what are you doing here so late then?” he says narrowing his gaze, making you feel a bit uncomfortable. “I thought you hated hospitals...”

“I do. But I’ve managed so far”

“Didn’t know you cared that much about me”. Bullseye, he got you there.

“Don’t flatter yourself” you grunt. “It’s bold of you to assume I’ve got a life outside the hero gig anyways,” you say deflecting. “And this isn’t really a big deal. I get free food. And this is just part of your base, not a real -real- hospital anyways... I mean I could do this for any wounded ally” you add averting your gaze. The snort tells you he didn’t buy into that.

It was a really bad lie, you’re usually better at this, of course, he knows you wouldn’t get into a hospital -even an infirmary- for just anyone. Well almost anyone, you know that now. Are you losing your touch? If you blush right now you’ll have to just kill yourself right here.

“Look, I’m taking turns with your mom, ok? That’s all! It’s really no big deal.” you sigh. “She left at midnight to get some sleep. She’ll be back in the morning.”

“So you met her? can’t believe I missed that! What did she even say?”

“Oh uh… Not much… really. She seemed to like me I think?” In fact, she said a lot to you. About how Ricardo keeps talking about you and how he’s lucky to have such a good friend that you’d offer to stay for so long… and a whole LOAD of other stuff about Ortega that you didn’t know. “How are you feeling?”

“My chest hurts like hell. But I’m good at keeping up appearances,” he says with another pained smile. His voice sounds tired. Damn him and his unreadable mind… you couldn’t tell it hurt like that.

“Let’s fix that,” you say as you raise from the seat and start fiddling and adjusting the drips attached to his arm.

“Hey hey hey… What are you doing?” he asks nervously as he watches.

“Increasing the painkiller dosage?” you explain matter-of-factly

“But shouldn’t my doctor do that?”

“Fuck him”

“That’s a bit harsh”

You turn to look at him “He took you off painkillers because your sponsors bribed him so they can get a full diagnostic of your mods by the morning. They seem to think the drugs would mess that test’s accuracy.”

“... that does sound like something they’d do, the jerks...” he sighs. “What did you do?”

“I dealt with it.”

“Dealt with it how?”

“I had him confess what he did, and then killed him”

He looks at you wide-eyed for a few seconds. Wow, he actually believes you could do that.

“Of course I didn’t kill him you asshole! That was a joke. He’ll come back eventually when it’s time to check up on you. I just gave him a time-out”

“Oooh… It’s just you don’t tell that many jokes. And you were pretty convincing for a moment there. Did I tell you that you look very serious most of the time?”

“Idiot” you groan sitting reassuming your adjustments as he watches, a bit more relaxed now. “By the way I know what I’m doing. I’ve got training as a nurse”

“Really? Maybe I should hire you to do this more regularly. Didn’t know you had medical training”

“That’s me. Big box of surprises. Sadly, you couldn’t afford me,” you say with a smirk. He just snorts, which makes him hurt again. He’s an Idiot and you should probably stop telling him jokes.

“Ok, doc… Can we move on to the part where you tell me how bad it is?” he says looking at his chest. “Or do we need the real doc for that?”

“Nah, I can do that… It’s really bad right now” you start “Nasty cuts. You went into intensive care, but you’re off now, your surgery was a complete success with no organ damage or permanent injuries. You still had blood transfusions twice from two of your cousins who were here when they brought you. You’re going to have some new interesting scars. Overall, the consensus is that you’re going to be wearing your Charge suit as soon as they can spit you out of here. Your sponsors have prepared some media things for you while you recover, so you don’t lose the limelight, so you can expect cameras up your nose when they realize you’re awake.”

“Well that’s just…” he starts before trailing off.

“Grotesque? Horrible?”

“Business as usual really…” he says taking in a deep breath.

“I’ll scare them off too if you want. Shouldn’t be hard.”

“How about I hire you to be my personal spook instead?”

“You don’t need to pay me for that,” you say as you finish adjusting the dosage “Also, you should be feeling better in a bit, and if you don’t we can go for a stronger dosage... Or I can even get the asshole to give you something stronger”

“Thanks, Awan”

“It ‘s ok,” you say taking your seat again.

His gaze runs around the empty room, the dark corridor outside, and the digital clock by the bed. 3:17 AM. It’s pretty obvious it’s only the two of you right now.

“Thanks for staying Awan. I know how much you hate hospitals”

“I do hate them a lot. But I told you it’s nothing”

“Not everyone would do this”

“I bet a lot of people would…”

“Nope. Only a really good friend would. “Would you be mad if I told you you’re my best friend ?”

“Wha…? Now you’re just being ridiculous…”

“Because you are my best friend. You know that right?”

“I...” you say averting your gaze. Fuck, you’re going to blush. You rub your face before looking back.

“Oh. Now you’re mad” he grins.

“You’re my best friend too, ok?… “ You’re staring right at him, the words somehow escaping your lips very quickly before you can take them back. Shitshitshitshit...Why does this keep happening around him?

He opens his mouth about to say something, before he simply closes it again, giving you a fond smirk before patting your hand next to the bed. He says nothing and neither do you.

It takes a while before he breaks the silence again.

“Is Elyise alright?” he asks suddenly worried.

“She’s fine.”

“I just had this feeling of… Did something happen to her?”

“I told you she’s fine. See for yourself” you say with a half-smile turning on the TV. “The news is still raging on about her”

Sure enough the news report show a picture of her at the large screen behind the reporter, with the headlines “Exclusive interview, Elyse” She’s giving an interview, photo flashes showering her as she answers questions about her relationship with Ortega -which she deflects with some mistery - and the mess that happened at the docks -which she also deflects-. You’ve got to discuss both of those with Ortega too.

Then a reporter asks her about the death of her mother… she breaks, starts tearing up… one of her PR guys says the interview is over and takes her away. The media is loving her, even if that breaks her apart.

“Don’t you love Los Diablos Quality TV?” you ask sarcastically.

“Ugh. That’s my life. I gave her a few hints but you can never be ready for questions like that.”

“What’s the deal between you two?” you ask curiously

“Ehrm… well, we talked a lot after that mess in Sunken Town… She was really sad and needed someone to dump it all on, and I kind of was there, so we started talking about losing parents… And her story was out of this world. We talked all night, and then I was going to go back home and she wanted me to stay and one thing led to another and…”

“Oh”

“It’s not like that! I mean… Ugh… Crap, I guess it is like that.?

“Sound like it is”

“But then our PR’s got involved and they loved it. They wanted to make a whole story arch about it, and I was going to say no, but she asked me to do it? I mean she said we should do it, you know, to get headlines”

“So there’s nothing serious going on?”

“Ehrm…” he seems a bit confused by the question. “I don’t know? No? Yes? Maybe?”

“Hey, it’s ok. It’s just me asking”

“Yeah, I know. Truth is, I’ve got no idea. Never met anyone who’s lost as much as her. The things she endured… And I’d like to help her but I’m not sure if she’s in the right place now. I guess we’ll have to see where it goes? You know how these things go with other heroes…”

You nod as if you knew what he was talking about, which you don’t.

“Now with thy dumpster fire love life out of the way… could you….”

“Could I what?”

“Remind me how did I fuck up so bad as to end up here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Nope.”

“Not even…?”

“Not a clue pal. Nada.” Crap. “I guess it had to do with the docks mess that Elyise talked about?”

“It does. What’s the last thing you recall?” you ask

“I think we were at some sort of event, right?”

“... yeah, we were. Hauswald fundraiser for their new facility. Reaper hosted it...That’s when it all started going downhill. You seriously don’t remember a thing after that?”

“Hmm... I think some of it’s coming back… but it’s blurry... “ he goes silent.

“Alright, I’ll try to keep it short…”

“Why? You told me I’m not going anywhere”

“... you just... listen”

___________________________

Hauswald Foundation Charity fundraiser dinner.

Dodge to the left to avoid the punch… flip away from the kick…

One of them thinks he has the advantage and attempts to trip you, but you time your jump correctly, and he misses. THey’re all off balance… Now’s the time to take the offensive!

Leaping forward onto your three attackers, you grapple them all in your arms, lifting them as they scream in surprise before you slam them forward with all your strength.

Excellent, you tell yourself as the three kids fall off onto the bouncy castle, giggling as they try to stand up and jump. The other kids cheer at you. They really love your Sidestep persona. You’re tempted to jump in yourself, but you’ve been using the bouncy castle far too long and some of the parents are starting to give you side-eye. Stupid rules say the castle is just for kids… Oh well, better quit while you’re ahead.

“Good try, you almost got me there!” You say behind your mask. You didn’t know what to expect when Ricardo asked you to make an appearance with the Hauswald kids, but now all you want to do is keep playing with them. They had this playground built so the permanent residents could spend time with their kids until the new facilities are built. It doesn’t help that chronologically speaking, you’re probably not too far apart from their current age.

The thought makes you ponder on how would it have been to have a normal childhood like them and the whole experience suddenly becomes both sad and alien. You only wish you could have…-

“Wow. You’re amazing with kids! What other secrets do you have?” Anathema says interrupting your thoughts.

“I’m a genetically modified monster created in a lab as a weapon designed to pass as a human and take over the world,” you say because the truth is often the better lie. You wave your arms in front of you, walking slowly to Annie, as a monster would.

“I knew it. You’re one of them eeeevil Snake-people!”

“Ha! We prefer the term Sneeple. We’re not anything like snakes!. We just happen to be poisonous” you grin under the mask.

“Sneeple” the children laugh pointing at you.

“Oh no! You’ve got me!” you cry out. “But I will not go down easily! Prepare to feel my poisonous bite Anathema!”

“I’ll defeat the Sneeple guys!” Anathema says doing a slow-motion mock-punch at you.

You fake a suitable slow-motion fall, and they all laugh it up.

“Good job,” Anathema says offering a hand

“Giving it a 101%” you chuckle as you take his hand and he lifts you up.

“You should have kids of your own one day man. You’d be great at it”

“Let’s go back into the ceremony,” you say quickly. “I think we made our appearance long enough already,” you’re ignoring his comment and hoping he won’t ever mention anything as scary and confusing as that ever again.

“Can’t wait for the big awards to be over?”

“That’s the plan, I’m not staying a second longer than I have to”

“Man you could really use some decent PR for a change, get some sort of message to your fans. There’s a magazine saying you’re secretly a Japanese ninja, coming out all the way from Kyoto in search of the murderer of your father. It’s nuts. You should get closer to the people and get a real story going...”

“Hell no, no one’s getting closer to me. Also, I happen to like that story. I think I’ll sprinkle some Japanese when I talk in public from now on...”

“Wait, you speak Japanese?!”

“Of course I do. Now If only I could find my father’s killer…”

“You asshole!” he snorts following you back inside.”

___________________________

“And without further ado, we move on to the event of the night,” Reaper says holding the mic with his good hand. He’s in a wheelchair, still with a cast arm, but the combination of an impossibly expensive Tuxedo being worn by a talking skeleton oddly makes him both look distinguished and larger than life. In an eldritch kind of way that is. His mind’s different, there’s a fire in it that you didn’t notice before. Fire. Like the Hospital burning. It’s not really very surprising that he’d get a whole new passion for rebuilding what he loves.

“We hand over the Hauswald awards to those who have contributed the most in our fight against the epidemic of death that threatens our great nation!” he announces. “The panel of judges has spoken,” he says motioning to a group of people sitting on a large table by the podium, famous all of them, reporters, politicians, artists, writers, and philosophers founding members of the Hauswald along with Reaper himself. While the founder is dead, Amanda Hauswald, his only daughter is right there too, a young blockbuster actress in her 20’s that’s set to play Elyise in her upcoming film. She rises from her chair, adjusting her gorgeous silver velvet gown and climbs to the stage, to pass several envelopes to Reaper.

Reaper thanks her, and prepares to announce the winners.

“Are you going to eat at all?” Ortega asks beside you, wearing his own white suit.

“The mask stays on”

“You could just lift up the lower part a bit” Anathema comments from the other side.

“The mask stays on” you repeat.

“But these are amazing!!” he says motioning to his plate

“That’s why I brought this,” you say tapping a large piece of Tupperware full of everything you could gather from the reception up to this point.

“You didn’t just bring that to…” Ortega looks at you appalled “You can’t… you can’t do that at events like this!”

“Just watch me,” you say defiantly. “The mask stays on, and I take my food-to-go” You’re sick of being starved every time you get dragged into something like this. The only compromise you made was letting Anathema add last-minute bowtie to your suit, which looks oddly fitting for the occasion.

“Unbelievable… fine... Just keep it out of sight, and if anyone asks, I don’t know you” Ortega says giving up.

“I still think someone leaked,” Steel tells Sentinel, from the other end of the table.”

“With half the police being corrupt, it’s not that hard for the Loan Shark to get leaks about us coming to arrest him anyways” Sentinel shoots back. “Or are you saying that one of us gave the raid away on purpose?”

Steel looks at you briefly, before answering.

“No, no I didn’t mean that… But perhaps if we kept the intel only to the inner team, we could avoid it all spreading and…”

“Let it go, it’s not against you” Annie whispers “He just angry and It could have been anyone. Like Sentinel said, half the police’s on Hollow Ground’s payroll.”

“I know… I just wish he’d trust me a bit at least” you whisper back. “I was the one who came with the ledgers in the first place”

“I’ll remind him”

“Don’t. Let it be, it’s ok” you say looking at the other tables. The raid to arrest Lewie was a bust, he had been tipped off and the office had been whipped clean. Not even a trace of the furniture and the walls had been repainted. And his safe was gone.

Your attention derails towards Elyise. She’s watching Reaper’s delivery from another table along with her own crew, investigators, photographers, and publicists. After the events with Mother, she’s become the main torchbearer to the Hauswald, possibly overshadowing Reaper himself, and the public relationship with Charge shun even more light over her rising star. Reaper’s provided her every resource, both in her hero duties and with an endless media bombardment that’s working to get her ahead in the hero-game fast. She doesn’t seem thrilled about her life being used and exposed this way, but you can’t really blame Reaper. She’s the perfect poster-child to lead the fight against the madness of loose hero-drugs trough the country, and he knows it.

Reaper goes to announce awards for artists, media representatives, film-makers, and others. Right after regular every-day hero award, he moves on to the main event of the night.

The hero awards.

The Hauswald offers one of the most coveted awards for those who care about that kind of thing. This is the main reason Ortega insisted you be here if the Rangers win, he wants you to share it with them if they win, and he somehow managed to verbally outmaneuver you into coming along. Truth is everyone expects Elyise to win this year, but Ortega’s still hoping for a new trophy.

The man must control some form of witchcraft to get you agreeing to come to something like this. Or perhaps you’re finding it harder and harder to look for excuses to keep your distance from him. The thought makes you shiver under your suit.

He takes pause as he reads the contents of the last envelope.

“Oh boy… Really?” he says, a boney hand rubbing his face. He looks back at the judges as if to double-check. They all nod at him, and he turns back to the audience. “ Well, this is going to be controversial. Alright, Light up the contenders!” he asks the organizers.

Ortega stands straight, as Steel frowns when the lights come upon your table. Something similar is happening to your left, where Captain Glory and the Phoenix Rangers are also getting ready in case they win. Elyise’s not on her table surprisingly. You can see her walking to the side, having what looks like a really nasty discussion over her phone. That’d odd…

One of her team took her chair, waiting to receive the Award for her if she happens to win.

It takes forever before Reaper finally speaks, probably trying to be theatrical.

“I am proud to announce the winner of this year’s award of the Hauswald, an individual who’s done more than anyone else to stop the scourge of power drugs. Someone who took it up to themselves to fight back against the endless spiral of death the corporations bring upon our beloved West Coast…”

You can see Ortega’s fists clenching as he looks completely tense. Captain Glory seems just as tense when Aurora takes his left hand, startling him before he smiles at her. They’re such a darn cute couple…

You end up staring at Ortega’s hand, so close to yours. You can’t stop thinking about how his suit fits him like a glove and how he looks so darn…

You force your gaze to look elsewhere as fast as you can.

Elyise’s standing by the sidelines, her phone discussion seems worsening and she looks really mad now. There are some stray thoughts coming from her. Someone wants her to do something… and she won’t have it. You can feel her anger. She feels... Threatened by something… ?

“Sadly, the winner couldn’t join us here for the event, but If they are listening, we hope this serves as the recognition they deserve, even if some of us don’t personally condone their methods of fighting the drug epidemic...” he goes on, prompting confusion through the room.

“... the winner goes by many names, but lately, media has settled on one, and it’s rather a grim one, but then again, I can’t seriously call anyone out on those grounds”

Laughs at the joke… and suspense.

“This hero has single-handedly stopped the largest rings of drug dealers throughout the city! Thanks to them, hero-drug deaths have gone to their lower point in a decade! The award goes to …

You can see Ortega biting his lip, and CAptain Glory inching at the tip of his seat.

“...Catastrofiend!”

There is a brief moment of silence amongst the crowd before everyone starts voicing their minds. Elyise looks at the stage confused, she’s clearly not been paying attention at all and trying to catch up.

“You can’t award a murderer!!!” someone cries out.

“Shut up, he cleaned up the corporation’s mess in less than a month!” someone counters. The voices start getting heated from there, with two defined sides forming very quickly around the new vigilante, booing and cheering going over one another.

Captain Glory and his team stand up at unison and start making for the door.

“We’re leaving too,” Ortega says standing up, as does Anathema realizing the party’s over.

___________________________________

Rangers HQ, infirmary, present time.

“WHAT?!” Ortega looks at you confused. “They gave the prize to that murderer?!”

“You know that’s the exact thing you said after we got through the door”

“Was Reaper out of his mind?”

“Ehh.. he was kind of all fired up, but out of his mind? No. Besides, he didn’t decide, the Hauswald board did. They’ regularly keep tabs on the price of the drugs, and when you crunch the numbers, there’s no question about it, the Catastrofiend killings have really put them on the run. They had graphs to prove it, not that anyone was hearing. Hero Drugs are almost impossible to buy in Los Diablos right now.

“But Catastrofiend’s… massacring people on the streets…!”

“Well, you know what they think of dealers at the Hauswald, especially after the old facility got burned down. They’re not even people to them anymore. And it’s been on the media since… a lot of people in the police force are speaking about how the Catastrofiend’s helping their job more than the rangers or anyone else in fact. Even the governor flirted with the idea of a pardon”

“That’s insane… What do they expect us to do? Start shooting dealers on the streets now? That award should’ve been Elyise’s”

“Rumor is that was the idea, but the board changed it without telling Reaper… They didn’t want to be seen as just pandering to whomever he chose. And perhaps they’re seeing Catastrofiend as the new Reaper”

“Yeah, back when he wasn’t suitable for kids.”

“Yeah,” you say leaning back on your chair.

He takes a few moments to digest it before speaking again.

“I guess there’s more to the story? Or did Captain Glory and I start a brawl at the exit and that got me decked here?”

“Oh no. Those… “ you say drawing a circle with your finger chest. “... those came later. We got a call right after the event.”

“What was it?”

“Anonymous caller reported there was a huge shootout ongoing at the docks. They gave enough details to match what we found on the Loan Shark’s ledgers.”

“They found him? That’s great, so he didn’t escape after all!” he says. “Wait… so the Loan Shark did this?” he asks looking at his chest again “Fucking Lewie...”

“Lewie didn’t do this.”

“What? Then who?”

“We weren’t the first to arrive...”

“They tipped him off again?”

“Catastrofiend was already there when we arrived,” you say grimacing.

He stays silent, your words sinking in slowly.

“Go on,” he says in the end.

________________________

My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #awan cormac #Chargestep #Fanfiction #Spoilers

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dr-gloom · 5 years

Text

Trans(Masc) Survival Guide: Hormones

This is an important, and surprisingly varied topic. So, I thought I should touch up on this, call it Part 2 if you will. Part 1 (top surgery) here

Rem, testosterone is for people who identify as male and wanna be male! You know, have the beard, the deep voice, the big muscles. I don’t want that! I just... Want to be in the middle ground!

Well good news! The amazing thing about testosterone is it’s taken in doses, whether you’re using cream, a patch, a shot, what have you. As such, you can change how much T you want in your body! A lower level of testosterone will give you more.... muted results, for lack of a better term. Low doses are recommended for folks who identify as FtM or nb who don’t wanna be super masculine, but don’t really wanna be feminine, either. ((this also applies to top surgery; if you tell the surgeon you just want a gender neutral/less masculine chest, they may be able to help))

I’m scared T will make me more angry/worsen my mental health/exacerbate my mental illness. What do I do?

Well, thankfully, this is very rare. Testosterone has actually been shown to help folks level out. Everyone remember the stereotype that women are “hysterical” and “emotional”? None of that on T. Your emotions don’t go away, but without realizing it you’ll start to express them differently. What does that mean? Lemme share a little personal info.

Before T, I was the guy who cried because someone on TV cried, or because I’d had a horrible day/week/month. And yet, I kept my problems to myself; cried by myself, never snapped at anyone, never shared my stress. Once I was on T, I quite literally lost the ability to cry. I can tear up, but that’s it! And, I’ve become more vocal. I’m not suddenly hulking out here, yelling at people left and right, but I am more likely to speak up when something makes me mad. Overall though? My emotions are level.

Of course, there are a few risks. For certain personality/mood disorders, T can affect them, though that’s a conversation to be had with your trans care provider.

I’ve heard T can make you..... horny

Yes, yes it can. Any kind of hormone treatment runs the chance of affecting your libido, but that doesn’t mean you’ll magically become out of control, overcome with urges, or willing to screw anything that moves. I’m aroace, and while biologically I feel the changes, my orientation hasn’t been affected. You should explore whether this is something you are willing to deal with, if it’s worth the risk. If not, possibly consider a lower dose.

What things happen.... physically?

A number of things! The timeline on these things varies depending on the person, because people metabolize things differently. I’m going to talk in averages here, but I personally hit these benchmarks sooner than expected.

Skin becomes more oily - and may be more prone to acne - anywhere from 1-6 months in.

Facial/body hair grows/darkens anywhere from 3-6 months in.

If male pattern baldness runs in your family, it will show probably within the first year, though it seems it varies too much to give folks a definite estimate (going off of the info packet my doctor gave me, here).

Muscle mass/strength increases 6-12 months in (which I don’t think is accurate. Everyone I’ve talked to has experienced it much sooner, myself included. It helps to start working out, though - this is the easiest and best time to gain muscle; once you’ve started T).

Body fat redistributes in about 3-6 months.

Your period is estimated to stop around 2-6 months. This was the only marker I fell behind in; like I said, it varied from person to person.

Your clitoris gets bigger within 3-6 months in.

Vaginal atrophy (thinning, drying, inflammation of vaginal walls) happens in 3-6 months unless you’re sexually active. In the least crass terms I can manage, if you use it, you don’t lose it.

Deepened voice occurs from 3-12 months in, though it doesn’t happen to everyone. If it doesn’t happen to you, don’t panic! If it’s really important to you to have a deeper voice, there are Speech-Language Pathologists who are trained in transgender voice therapy who can teach you to deepen your voice yourself.

As mentioned above, increased libido happens about 1-3 months in.

vaginal dryness, though some people actually experience the opposite, happens in about 3 months ((basing this on personal experience and talking to a few other trans men)).

All of these timelines are averages, and this data’s been taken from people who are on the track for the typical, male-aligning results. If you’re taking a smaller dose, the timeline will be longer.

I have Diabetes, how will T affect it?

I answer this because this is a question I had that my doctor couldn’t answer. I have Type 1 Diabetes and I was scared because a possible risk of T is insulin resistance, which, for a Diabetic, is reaaaally bad. Turns out, I had nothing to worry about! Since starting T, my blood sugar has been more stable, and my sensitivity to insulin hasn’t changed for the worse. If anything, it might have increased.

What are the health risks of taking testosterone?

Possible side effects for testosterone are:

hepatotoxicity (chemically-driven liver damage)

insulin resistance (the body’s ability to process insulin decreases)

weight gain

lipid (fat in blood) changes - lower HDL, higher triglycerides (meaning the unhealthy fat content in your blood could rise)

polycythemia (a dangerous rise in red blood cells)

acne and oily skin

fluid retention

headaches

increased bone density

I’m scared I can’t take Testosterone because I’m not really the healthiest. Can I?

People who are advised against taking testosterone are:

those who are pregnant

those with uncontrolled coronary artery disease

People who need to speak with their doctor and proceed with caution are:

has a family history of heart disease and/or breast cancer

has/had a blood clot in a leg, arm, or lung

those with high cholesterol

have active liver disease

already have a high red blood cell count (hematocrit)

obese

smokers

So... How does this work? Do I take a shot? A pill? Rub oil on myself and sing kumbaya?

Testosterone comes in many forms, the most common being a shot or a patch, though it may also come in a cream.

I feel like I should defer to people with more expansive experience, so I’ll be linking YouTube videos here

T Shots VS Patches

Gel VS Injections

Other videos about taking T you may be interested in:

Things Testosterone Won’t Change (5:52)

What I Wish I Knew Before Starting Testosterone (11:32)

Everything Testosterone Changes (12:07)

Pros and Cons of Testosterone (7:01)

What Happens When You Stop Testosterone? (4:22)

And I feel like those videos say the rest! If anyone has any questions or wants another installment of the Trans Survival guide, just shoot me an ask or DM me!

#trans #T #HRT #testosterone #reference #guide

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feitclub · 5 years

Text

6 - 22 - 2009

in honor of my son’s tenth birthday, here’s the blog entry I wrote on June 22, 2009 after returning from the hospital and collapsing.

If there's one thing movies and television shows have taught me, the birth of a child is the greatest day of a person's life. Sadly, it seems Hollywood is a habitual liar because I felt that the twenty-four hours I spent in a hospital waiting for my son to be born was one of the worst days of my life. Thankfully it all ended well. Mako shook me awake around 2:45AM on Sunday morning, clutching herself and saying "We need to go to the hospital." It would later turn out that she had been in pain for nearly two hours prior to that but she stuck it out and waited to see if it would pass. It never did, so we all threw on our clothes and drove to the hospital I was understandably excited, if a little drowsy. When we arrived I was quite surprised at the lack of initiative from the skeleton crew working the off-hours. Technically speaking, this hospital is "closed" on Sunday but they maintain a side entrance and a small reception desk during these periods. Mako called them before we left so when we arrived, they knew we were coming. That doesn't mean they did anything though. I distinctly remember one man walk past us, acknowledge our presence by simply saying "Ah, Feit-san. Go to the fifth floor." without breaking his stride. You would think a pregnant woman bent over in pain would warrant a wheelchair or some measure of physical assistance, but not here. The fifth floor was a little busier than the ground floor, probably because there's always something going on in the maternity ward. Newborns arrive when they arrive and both they and their mothers require 24-hour care. Still, despite the buzzing of nurses around us most of the lights were off on the floor, so we spent our initial wait in the dark. Eventually Mako got a bed in the "labor room" and we were told that despite the pain, Mako was only dilated three centimeters and she needed to be at ten centimeters before any serious attempt to give birth could be made. When we asked how long that might take, they said "a while." I must try to set the scene here by describing the labor room. There is only one room and all expectant mothers have to share it, apparently. I don't know how many beds were in the room but there was little more than a wall and a curtain to separate Mako's bed from the others. Mako was also located right next to the toilet and near the examination chair, so we were in a fairly high traffic section of a very small room. It was here that we had to wait...and wait...and wait... As noon approached and after repeated claims of "it'll be a bit longer" it was evident that while Mako needed to lie in bed and wait, we didn't all necessarily have to sit next to her until the baby arrived. Mako's mother stayed and encouraged me to go with my father-in-law back to the house and clean up. We were all exhausted, having woken up in the middle of night only to sit and wait for nine hours in the corner of the labor room, so the idea of a shower sounded pretty good. Mako's dad also suggested we have some lunch, which I thought might help me cope with all the stress but it didn't change much. That's how nervous I was: not even eating made me feel better. We went back to the house and I washed up. My father-in-law told me to try and take a nap which was virtually impossible. Despite all the waiting with no end in sight, I was still worried that the baby would arrive at any moment. I laid down and maybe nodded off for forty minutes or so, but I awoke sharply and scared that I had missed the birth. I hadn't, of course, but I wouldn't feel calm until I was back at the hospital and next to Mako. Hours and hours went by, and I spent all of them by Mako's side in the corner of this horrible, horrible room. I'm not going to point any fingers here, because I certainly don't have the intestinal fortitude to endure even a tenth of what a pregnant woman goes though, but everything in this labor room carried a horrible stench. The human body generates a lot of foul smelling byproducts and this room was where they all get discharged. The delivery room (when we finally got there) was even worse, but the labor room's odor and total lack of privacy was miserable. Adding insult to injury was that my only seat was a tiny stool with no back and nothing to lean against. Between Mako's bed, her I.V. and the table where we laid out her belongings, there was barely any space for any visitors to sit by the bed. Eventually I went out again with her father for another meal, but I again spent the entire time thinking only of her. It obviously can't compare to the physical pain a pregnant woman experiences, but to see my wife in such torturous agony all day while she waits and waits was really painful for me. However, the idea of not being with her felt even worse because we had decided together to try and have a baby. Wouldn't leaving her to have the baby without me be a betrayal of our mutual agreement? Speaking of which, one of the worst things about this shared labor room was overhearing all of the other patients. In the next bed over was a woman who had checked in some time before us. At first she was just sleeping but as the evening approached, she went into the delivery room which was within an audible distance. She shrieked and screamed and we eventually heard the baby's first cries. A little while later, a man showed up and was surprised when he found out the baby was already born. This was obviously the father and I never saw him visit her once that day. Where the fuck was this guy that he couldn't attend his own child's birth or even comfort his wife as she struggled? His failure as a father/husband reminded me why I needed to sit next to Mako and just ignore my back pain and exhaustion. Yes, I left twice to eat meals, but I never left her alone and on both occasions I came back within an hour. At no point was Mako without a member of her family on hand. As the sun went down, it occurred to me that Mako had just spent the entirety of the Summer Solstice indoors, waiting for this baby. After about seventeen hours, things started to look like the baby was coming. We were still in the labor room but as her dilation increased, Mako was encouraged to try pushing to speed up the process. While I had spent most of the day just sitting with Mako and occasionally massaging her, it was during these initial pushes that I actually had something important to do. Mako was standing up and hugging me, holding onto me for leverage and squeezing with all her might as she tried to push. It was crazy intense and while it would prove futile (and it hurt like hell), it was the undisputed highlight of Sunday because I felt like I mattered. This is as good a time as any to mention how little attention the hospital staff paid attention to me, which I found deeply insulting. Maybe it's just the culture of Japan to leave the husband out of the birth process, but as I spent my entire Sunday next to my wife trying to console her and assist in the delivery our child, you would think that at one point someone would just start talking to me about something, anything, to acknowledge my constant presence. Instead, I was spoken about but almost never spoken to. The bad news is, I'm pretty sure it was that old-fashioned Japanese racism at work. For those unfamiliar with Japanese racism, I should explain that it's not actually hateful as much as it's clueless and stupid. I'm sure none of the nurses or doctors felt anything was wrong with me, they just never thought to treat me like a human being. Instead, I was treated like a gaijin. They would ask my wife "where is your husband from?" and "does your husband speak Japanese?" instead of just asking me directly. When they needed our signatures on waivers, they would explain everything to her (while I listened) and then look at me and start stammering, mumbling to themselves "oh, how do I explain this since you cannot read?" Under the circumstances I let it all slide but inside I was pretty pissed. But I digress...around ten o'clock we finally entered the delivery room. Mako gave it her all but after spending her entire day in pain on a bed without eating (she had no appetite at all), she found herself unable to push the baby out. They put her through a variety of poses, which means they were trying their best but it felt like they didn't really know what to do. Eventually they said there was a "bump" (こぶ in Japanese) and the baby wasn't moving any closer to the exit. Just after one AM, Mako couldn't push anymore and asked them for a C-section. True story: in Japan they call it an "imperial cut" (帝王切開). They spent almost an hour prepping Mako for surgery and then took her away to the O.R. I was left in the dark (literally) to sit and wait to find out what was going to happen to my family. I was understandably upset by this turn of events. Was there nowhere else I could go? I knew the surgery was routine and carried relatively little risk but that couldn't stop me from worrying about what might happen on the operating table. Let's not forget that it was past two AM and I had been awake for nearly twenty-four straight hours, so I was already a little out of my mind. Being afraid that my wife or my son might not return from the O.R. was terror I didn't need. My son was the first to appear, shortly before three AM. I wanted to be excited and revel in the moment of seeing my first child in the flesh, but all I could think about was Mako who was still absent. I asked the nurse and all she could say was "they're closing her up." While that was meant as a reassurance, I couldn't put her out of mind even as I looked down at my very healthy brand-new baby boy. As you can guess, she eventually turned up, as did her parents who must have been up waiting for my messages. Mako was on a stretcher and couldn't sit up, but she was conscious and able to ask me if I saw the baby. I told I did and that made her smile. For all the hell the two of us had gone through (her more than me, of course), having a baby after nine months of anticipation was a wonderful feeling. I suppose if we were going to go with the surgery in the end we could have saved Mako a great many hours of discomfort by asking sooner, but we had hoped for a natural birth. Ah well, at least now my son can totally kill MacBeth: Tell thee, Feit was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd.

#parenting #japan #Hospital #writing #babies #2000s #Memories

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