#I need to get a diagnosis asap so I can point to it when my ideas are contradictory

[suboficialflores]

My coworker gave me a printout about dyslexia accessible fonts, which is great

But my (very-likely-autistic) ass could only focus on the fucked up kerning

[wizardpink]

Devil's Minion fic but told entirely from Louis' perspective, where he and Armand find out about Daniel's Parkinson's diagnosis and Louis can tell how absolutely devastated Armand is. But Armand doesn't know that Louis caught he and Daniel together in the 70s/80s but never said anything, because a part of him hoped Armand would turn Daniel and leave with him. But of course he didn't and they continued on trapped in their sham marriage. But now Louis is watching Armand, someone he does feel SOME love for, losing the love of his life in real time, and he thinks about Lestat. And he thinks about Lestat. And he thinks about Lestat. To the point he can't stand the thought of letting Daniel die before reuniting he and Armand one last time. It would be too cruel even for the guy who promised to stay in a loveless marriage for eternity to punish his ex husband. That's why he initiates the whole interview. It's why he teases Daniel with false memories of Alice that are really papered-over memories of Armand, or why he agrees to feed on Armand in front of Daniel and then goes WAY beyond what Armand agreed to talking about the taste of his blood and his swimming habits. It's why he offered Daniel the gift the day Dr. Bhansali visits, when he expects BOTH Armand and Daniel to be most receptive to the idea. And why towards the end of the interview, when Armand proposes offering Daniel the gift a second time under the guise of extending the life of their testament to each other for eternity, Louis says absolutely, what a stellar idea, we'll have Rashid decorate the dining room and make sure our boy is as comfortable as possible. And finally why he had no fear of leaving Daniel with a pissed off Armand after the betrayal reveal. Because at that point despite truly appreciating Daniel for what he revealed during the interview, he needs to get out of there asap because he can't stand to look at either one if them right now. He'll get over it quickly enough because let's face it, in the back of his mind Louis always knew Armand was behind it all. And he loves Daniel now more than ever. So when he finds out Armand turned Daniel after all, after he ran straight to New Orleans and Lestat, I know he had to laugh. "We're all so fucked up, my god."

[awesomehoggirl]

Here's a rant i have wanted to post since january. 😊 content warnings for this post i am going to be raving about how the nhs treats eating disorder patients. LOL

i am so grateful for the existence of the NHS and so grateful that my experience has actually been a GOOD experience as far as seeking help for mental health problems goes in this dam cuntry. but god this process has been fucking soul crushing and it scares me so bad because i got lucky and hung on and so many others cannot. i was lucky that when i went to my gp in january and did the scariest thing i could possibly imagine and ask for help for my anorexia, i was taken seriously - most likely because i am a young white woman who was already at a severely low weight and therefore fit the 'profile' for restrictive eating disorders. i was lucky to get accepted for treatment at a local outpatient clinic and lucky for it to only take four months to get my first therapy appointment (tomorrow, and actually exactly four months to the day since i first asked for help). and it hurts that four months is lucky because without a shadow of a doubt these four months have been the worst period of my life. worse than when i wasnt set on getting better and was fully lapsed in anorexia. worse because i was strung along waiting for each appointment date and was essentially instructed to 'stay put' - don't get more disordered, per se, but don't get better. worse because every appointment was incredibly triggering and would set me back so far and by the time i did get to the outpatient clinic i was medically unstable enough to be hospitalised (but wasn't). my body was fucking shutting down, and i am one of the lucky ones. every day was absolute fucking torture and i was a complete shell terrified of doing 'too well', getting dropped from the process, and being sent back to square one - more than i was afraid of the way things were getting worse.

and things didnt improve for me when i was admitted there. not that i was expecting them to wave a wand and cure my anorexia but essentially i was given a formal diagnosis, the minimum meal plan with the promise i would have one tailored for my needs asap (has still not appeared - it has been a month) and the promise of regular therapy (ditto) and more details on my treatment to come (ditto). things didnt even marginally improve until i went home for a month and basically let my parents take over and teach me how to take care of myself again. they didnt improve until i picked up books on the biological basics of anorexia and taught myself what the fuck i was even going through. i could have died from refeeding syndrome during the months i was waiting and i would have had no idea what was happening! it makes me insane to think i am one of the lucky ones.

how can a gp look at someone who is dying and tell them to keep doing the thing that is killing them until theyre off a waitlist? i swear to god if any of them had to walk a single day in the shoes of someone suffering anorexia we would have an entire system rehaul because it is actual living hell. and god i haven't even touched on inpatient facilities - i haven't experienced one but the countless stories i've heard from people i've talked to are enough. the idea that shoving meals at someone with a severe mental health problem and discharging them the minute they're 'weight restored' (which is such a wavy idea anyway, and nobody can decide what someone's healthy set point is apart from their own fucking body) is such an insane misunderstanding of the disorder it seems actually stupid. with no work to neurally rewire the fear response to food or body changes they are setting people up for relapse and then deem patients 'treatment resistant' when they do. if i went into the way they look at binge eating and treat patients at higher weights this post would be a million miles long i can't even start lol

when i was on the bus to one of the appointments i was googling the outpatient clinic id been referred to and found the case of a girl previously in her care who went to the same uni as me, did the same course as me, was the same age as me, and unfortunately passed in her dorm room due to complications of her disorder which were not flagged because of negligence. she 'seemed fine' one week and was gone the next. i sat there on the bus and didnt even cry because i was too exhausted and sick, but i've cried over her since. i just think people with eating disorders are so misunderstood and the treatment is so wrong and needs to be rehauled so badly. i'm angry for that girl who died across the street from the doctor's office where i sat and was told to stay put in my disorder, wait it out, wait for help which just doesn't seem like it's coming at this point.

if any positive has come from my drive to fight for myself has never been stronger. all i want in the world is to go to america in august and even if my family and gp don't believe i'll be well in time, i believe in myself. i am proud of myself and scared for myself and angry for myself. for all the awfulness i have grown so much as a person and learned a lot about myself. it feels surreal to post about anorexia on my blog because it is so deeply shameful to me and something i have struggled with on and off quietly for years, but i am going to fucking get out of this and go to america and have the most awesome time. also tomorrow i am going to have a pastry at a cafe with my mum and yes i am terrified but i am also excited because it will be yummy. fuck eating disorders and fuck ummmm waitlists or whatever

[void-687]

NO OKAY I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS

This is a legitimate problem in pediatric and youth medicine [at least in my experiences and those of others close to me]. Medical neglect of minors is HORRIFICALLY COMMON in the U.S. I cannot speak for other countries because I don't live there [obviously]. Still, I have experienced such a degree of medical neglect that many of my conditions became actively disabling before I got diagnosed.

I'm going to go through a list of bullshit doctors told me despite repeated complaints of consistent and often debilitating symptoms.

1. "Have you tried exercising more consistently?"

This is the question I would be asked to no end whenever I tried to explain my chronic pain and fatigue to my doctors. No matter how many times I tried to explain that the pain and fatigue would prevent me from exercising despite my motivation and time to do so, they wouldn't listen and blamed the pain and fatigue on my lack of activity. In my experience, doctors have a bad habit of seeing the cause of not getting enough exercise being because of a lack of exercise.

After MONTHS of badgering my GP I finally got referred for a blood test to check for iron deficiency anemia. And guess what??? I was so SEVERELY anaemic that they called me early to get me on iron supplements ASAP.

2. "You should change x/y/z about your diet."

I do not deny that your diet can absolutely have effects on your health, but when I'm trying to talk about my joint pain and fatigue it feels less relevant. Very often when talking about issues completely unrelated to diet or exercise they would manage to turn the conversation back around to it. I'm not even fat and only a few pounds medically "overweight". It's genuinely absurd how focused my doctors get on my weight. Additionally, we end up talking in circles about how exercise would totally improve my energy levels, except when I explain that exercise absolutely destroys my energy levels they just keep repeating themselves.

3. "It's just because of bad posture/sitting in chairs for too long."

Is the explanation I got from my GP for my back pain at the ripe ages of 6-14. No, I'm not joking. I had moderate to severe back pain since early childhood, and despite repeated attempts to get it checked out and even asking for an x-ray at one point, my worries were completely ignored and dismissed.

4. "You just need to move around more/ stretch more often."

The excuse I got for why my legs hurt so badly when I walked long distances, why my hands and wrists would ache from writing, why my pelvis bone hurt from sitting too long, and why my joints, in general, would be painful and unreliable. I once again feel it's important to mention I communicated to my doctor about these various pains since I was literally A CHILD.

There are more instances, but I don't want to get too personal/detailed. I am so frustrated by the medical neglect I have endured throughout the years because I can definitively say that my various conditions have worsened due to lack of treatment. If my doctors had listened to me when I told them I was in pain, I may not need to use a cane today. If they had believed me when I told them I was exhausted all the time and constantly felt dehydrated my anemia could have been addressed before it'd gotten life-threatening. If my family and doctors alike hadn't dismissed my back and joint pain as "growing pains" I may have even had a diagnosis by now. I still have yet to find a diagnosis and treatment for my back and joint pain, as well as chronic headaches. Social media has helped me acknowledge that I am disabled and learn that the pain I go through every day is not normal. I grew up in pain and was constantly told that what I was experiencing was fine and normal, but it wasn't.

It's not normal to be in pain every day. Your baseline shouldn't be "mild pain" it should be no pain. Your baseline shouldn't be "only a little tired", you should have enough energy to get through the day.

I wish someone had told me that when I was younger. And I really wish that they'd listened to me when I told them something was wrong.

it's so funny to me when i see pearl-clutching articles about how "teenagers are diagnosing themselves with mental disorders via tiktok" because like. this is not happening in a vacuum. teenagers are severely and i mean severely medically neglected. i cannot stress this enough. teenagers do not have free access to medical care. those same news outlets would be clowning on women with housewife psychosis in the 1950's.

i sometimes go pale when listening to some of what my friends have gone through in their childhoods and teenagehoods. they talk about it so nonchalantly, things that would be considered straight up torture if done to an adult, can't fathom the effect this has on children. they are on multiple anti-psychotics and several antidepressants and anxiety meds now that they are adults. medical neglect has legally and effectively disabled them. a timely diagnosis and intervention could have saved them. of course teenagers are self-diagnosing using tiktok. if your knee-jerk reaction is to scoff at the idea and dismiss it as dumb teenager shit instead of being radicalized because the best shot young people have at attaining the mental health support they need is a fucking dancing videos app, you're categorically a political enemy of the youth.

[cruesuffix]

hi, sorry to bother, this is stevesixxstan btw, stupid tumblr won’t let me submit asks through that acc :) buuutttt idk if you do headcanons, but a thought occurred to me, either how would motley be at doctor’s visits or how would motley be taking YOU to doctor’s visits. i will ask around bc i suck at coming up w hc’s personally. anywho take care and have a great day if you haven’t already!

hi!! don’t worry about being a bother, I love getting asks (I hardly get them anyways) I love doing headcanons but i don’t really post a lot of them (not so confident in my writing tbh) BUT, that being said I love both of this ideas and if you don’t mind, I’d like to do both of them!

ok, so motley at a doctors visit would probably go something like this:

with mick, you’d actually have to drag him there. he HATES going to the doctors and would try to excuse any sort of symptoms he’d have. he could be suffering the worlds deadliest cold or something and he’d be like “nah im fine, i’ll just take some cough syrup or something!” like it would get to the point where you’d have to trick him into going that’s how stubborn he is (“oh hey wanna come to the store with me don’t say no pls.”). i wouldn’t say he’d have an irrational fear of doctors but more so a irrational distrust of them.

vince would go to the doctors at the drop of a hat. it could be raining in oklahoma and he’d claim it’s affecting him and that he desperately needs to get checked out. he’s so dramatic he could bump his elbow on a doorframe and insist it’s broken and that he needs to be taken to the emergency room asap. would exaggerate his symptoms to really drive the point home. doctors would make signs warning other doctors about him. he’d try to gaslight the doctors as if they don’t have a degree.

nikki would also be dramatic but in a way where almost everything is a sign he’s dying. has webmd bookmarked, constantly googling “why does my stomach hurt?” (or, if you want to be time period accurate: always in the library trying to look through medical dictionaries) doctors constantly have to reassure him nothings wrong with him. (he’d come in thinking he had lung cancer and come back out with an asthma diagnosis and an inhaler)

now surprisingly, tommy isn’t as neurotic as his bandmates are when it comes to a doctors visit. he usually just goes if has concerns or for a check up. I don’t think he takes anything seriously. He’s the type to joke around even during checkups. you know he’s asking the doctor if they can record his heartbeat so he can use it in a song.

Now if the crue had to take you to the doctors…it’d probably go something like this:

while mick is very stubborn about his own health, the one thing he doesn’t play about is you. if you had so much as said you were feeling a bit lightheaded, he’d have 911 on speed dial. likes to be stubborn about his health but HATES when you are. like he is dragging you to the car and driving you to a doctor himself. loves to act nonchalant but when it comes to you he drops everything. (also I can see him coming with you and holding your hand during the appointment…even after you told him you were fine going in alone).

vince would fight a doctor for you. if they try to beat around the bush or tell you you’re fine when you’re not vince would demand more testing or whatever it is to figure out what’s wrong with you. can be seen as overbearing, but what can I say, he is dramatic. he’d leave the office complaining about how much he hates doctors and that this is “an injustice!” while it can be seen as annoying, it just shows how much he cares about you.

nikki would probably make things worse. you know why you made the appointment and what you think is wrong, but here comes mr.dictionary coming up with at least fifty other diagnoses and problems you don’t even have. I think the doctor would have to throw him out the room at some point. I think it would also get to the point where you stop letting him come with you because he starts to make you panic as well…he’d be a mess, let’s just say that.

tommy would also panic a bit. unless it’s a routine checkup, he’d worry a bit. (I can see him nearly speeding to get you there in time too now that I think about it) you can’t let him in the room anymore after he nearly squeezed your hand off because he heard the word “flu.” instead he just takes to pacing around the waiting room hoping you’re alright. would make the people in the waiting room annoyed by his incessant pacing. once he’s heard good news he calms down, but it makes you want to leave him at home or in the car the next time you go.

I really hope this is ok for you…had a little yap session if im being honest! thanks for the ask!!

[beanie-babie-vents]

Hi, yall, welcome to my #druittblr account! You can call me Beanie or Star :3

I believe the idea of druittblr was started by @bigbadwolfbutch, so shout out to them!

Now about me :

I'm a 27 year old enby/nonbinary person who is typically very femme, but will sometimes dress or feel more masc or androgynous.

I love anime and manga, and comics and cartoons. I am an illustration major. I was on break from school since January as I had a very, very bad case of burn out. Lasted for like, three months, and I'm still trying to get back into drawing. Writing has been easier lately. I restarted my semester at the end of August, but had to stop again because my family bullshit was worsening my mental health, so. Hopefully I can move soonish and get back to school.

I want to live my life how I want to, but due to my family's control and religious background, I am currently unable to do so. I hope to move out ASAP so I can start to truly live.

---

I'm in a relationship!! My bf is very sweet and cute uwu I'm also polyam, and yes my bf knows bc why tf wouldn't I tell him that, we ain't about that toxic polyamory life.

As for my full orientation, I consider myself neptunic demi-biromantic, nonbinary genderflux, and polyamorous. I've learned recently that l'm not really sexually attracted to those with masc bodies, moreso aesthetically and romantically attracted.

---

I have been learning more about spirituality and witchcraft, and would love to truly practice my craft, but I either forget to do so, or feel too paranoid/nervous about my family realizing what I'm doing.

Currently, I'm prooooobably agnostic? Maybe? Thinking there could be a god, but if there is? They probably don't fully care about what humans are doing? So long as we aren't hurting others...They certainly don't need us to abide by everything the Bible says.

Anyway, I also love the idea of Unitarian Universalism, and have been wanting to watch u more UU services. Hoping to join a congregation after I move.

---

I am so damn neurodivergent, yall don't even know -

I'm diagnosed with ADHD, Dyscalculia, Autism, General Anxiety, Major Depression, OCD, and.......some schizo type disorder otherwise specified? Don't think that last one's accurate, though. Also probably have cyclothymia. Yep, brain's haunted fr.

As for chronic illnesses -

Was born with a Congenital Heart Disease. Don't have a full on diagnosis yet, but am quite certain I have prosopagnosia (face blindness). And there's def something up with my reproductive system. Endo maybe?? I still need to see a gynecologist. Also diagnosed with POTS/OH. Technically have both. Other than that, I have GERD and IBS/possibly IBD. Due to medical mishaps I didn't get a colonoscopy when I was supposed to, but was told that I probably have IBD. So yeah. Fun...

Also wouldn't be surprised if I had Sjogren's. Had blood work to see, but never had other tests to confirm. So who knows, man.

Also at this point I think I could have a connective tissue disorder??? My body's fucked, that's for sure!

---

Current special interest : Hazbin Hotel

Other interests : Anime/Manga, Cartoons, Comics/Webcomics, Music, art + drawing, writing/reading, cosplay, J fashion, video games

[kierancampire]

So just as a reminder. I have never liked New Years, however, i started to have so many horrible years in a row, and then one horrifically shit year, that i decided i needed to write down everything good to remind myself that even in a year full of multiple deep traumas, good things happen. But this is where I've struggled this year. Has this been my worst year? Far and away, no, i have had worse. But the thing is, in previous year lots of good things happened, big things too, however this year i struggled to pull out more than 2 things without feeling like i was REALLY scraping the barrel. As yes, i have had worse, but because of my HA and my flat, this has just been a constant, steady, unrelenting stream of shit that has lasted more than this year. But the thing is, considering why i started this and the purpose of this, that kinda made it worse for me, the whole point of this is to find purpose in my years and to give myself a reason to smile and keep fighting, and i was just struggling to do that this year. But, even if they aren't as big or as plentiful as last year, good things did happen, and this isn't why i do this, i complain enough through out the year, so i reminded myself no matter how big or small, good things are good, so here are my joys of 2022.

Starting off with the biggest and most obvious, i got the girls this year. Things have been stressful at times, they were last night even, but they have added so much to my life, purpose, company, something to care about. In fact, all morning i have spent snuggling them and i had a bath for the first time, which they were so intrigued by the entire thing and couldn't leave me alone! I've laughed so much since getting them and i can only hope they provide joy for many more years.

Although i only saw 1 friend once this year, partly my fault as other opportunities came up but i turned them down. Yes, at the start of the year i did meet a friend for his birthday, had a great time, and to show how far my anxiety has come, i even met someone who i didn't know and met him by myself and hung out with him for a bit, which that was really nice also.

This year i once again tried a lot of new foods, new recipes, and am still constantly expanding the foods i eat. Some of my favourite days this year have been when Kayden has come over to visit me, just sitting here and playing games with him, screaming at each other and laughing, those are great! This year, although not many still, i went on more walks this year than i did the last 2/3 combined, so it's a start on pushing myself to go out more and get more active again.

This year obviously the ADHD process got weirdly started, which is leading to an autism process, so i might finally be getting an autism diagnosis soon or just finding out exactly what's going on in my head after years of asking. We had some great snow this year, first time in a while. And Christmas was very great this year, great gifts, great times, it was nice!

One final thing i am hesitant to include, but i feel it is good too. Obviously my HA has been the huge problem this year, why i feel so miserable, why i am struggling so much, why the only thing i wanted was my home to be decorated ASAP, as that was most important to me, yet it still isn't because of them. They have made me cry so much, get angry so much, feel so exhausted, to the point i can't even talk to people any more. But i wanna take a positive from this too. Even though it feels like my HA has given up on me, and i just keep hitting dead end after dead end, i have had hundreds of people let me down, and I've had virtually no support or help for nearly all of this. Here i am. I'm still fighting them, I'm still arguing them, I'm still telling them how shit they are, and i am still fighting for my right to be happy. Am i miserable and exhausted? 100%. But have i given in? Not in the damn slightest. They may be this big corporation, but I'm a homosexual who has gone through enough shit and wants his happy ending, and this will be my David and Goliath story, cause I'm gonna win in the end.

This year isn't as bad as others, this year isn't as good as others, and i won't hope for next year to be better, i won't even hope my issues are resolved by the end of next year. But no matter what next year throws at me, I'll take each day as it comes, and I'll get through it like i have this year and ever year before it. I may stumble, i may make bad choices, i may have lows, and i will definitely be tired, but I'll do it, especially cause i got the girls now.

[slapdashboard]

F/u on the above, bats are cool and important animals. But to get serious for a minute, people have died to rabies via bats in their house before. They are the #1 cause of death by rabies in the U.S. and part of the problem is that people don’t notice they’ve been bit, because bat bites rarely leave a mark on the skin. And by the time someone is symptomatic, it is almost always too late to save them from what is a truly terrible death.

If there’s even a POSSIBILITY of rabies, the recommendation is to go to the ER and get the vaccine ASAP (ideally within 24 hours), as well as call animal control to test the animal (but test results can take up to a week to get back and the vaccine usually needs to be taken within ~6 days of infection to help, so don’t wait).

Storytime to get the point across: There have only ever been a handful of survivors of unvaccinated rabies across all of human history (and it’s a lot of history, because rabies is an ancient disease). Most of its very few survivors were permanently brain dead. Since 2004, a few people have been saved from death and brain death by experimental means (the Milwaukee Protocol), but attempting to reproduce the effects with other patients has often been unsuccessful (because doctors were throwing everything they could come up with at the kids who ultimately survived, rather than testing treatments carefully and conventionally, so it still isn’t clear exactly how it needs to be done to successfully save people). And despite surviving, these patients had to relearn how to use their brains and bodies again, which took a long time and a lot of medical care (over a year at least to regain most function, and with permanent side effects for life). The protocol is pretty much only possible to try in developed countries, because it requires advanced medical facilities and costs almost a million dollars.

It’s a lot of needles to get the full rabies vax cocktail, but it’s that or the risk of certain death, and a truly horrible death too.

Do not mess around with rabies.

Link to the story of the first survivor (whose treatment was coined the Milwaukee Protocol):

Three weeks later, I started feeling unbelievably tired. A few days after that, I could not get out of bed, had double vision and was vomiting uncontrollably. Soon I became unresponsive. My doctor referred me to a neurologist, who sent me for a CT scan, searching for signs of meningitis or Lyme disease. We were sent home, but my parents drove me to hospital two days later, on a Saturday, when my symptoms had not improved. They did more scans and kept me in.

On Monday, my mom mentioned the bat bite to a paediatrician and his face went white. I was rushed to a specialist children’s hospital nearby. They took samples of my skin and spinal fluid.

By Tuesday, the rabies diagnosis was confirmed. My parents were told this was a near-guaranteed death sentence. No one had survived rabies without a vaccination. They were given the option to leave me to die in the hospital or to take me home. My parents were devastated. The whole thing happened so quickly that they couldn’t process it.

The paediatrician scoured the internet, desperate to find something that could save me. He told my parents he wanted to test something that had never been tried before. They immediately said yes because they were so desperate.

desperately trying to finish this chapter of a vampire story for my horror book club in 30 minutes and i keep getting interrupted by. not a joke. a bat in my room

[slaveofimagination]

I adopted Ares seven years ago. He's a former stray cat rescued at the age of 2 y.o. (approximately) in 2014. When I found him, he was in a very bad condition, full of scratches, back covered in scabies. Back then I was a broke undergrad student, but I didn't hesitate to rescue him. We went through some major issues to improve his health, but we made it in the end. He’s diabetic, but the disease is controlled. He's being my best friend since then.

(Ares’ back in 2014, the day he was adopted)

After a few years and many other cats joining our family, Ares started to have some gastrointestinal issues around September/October 2021. I had a new litter of cats to take care of and we also had to change the brand of our cat's dry food at the same time. Major changes for an elderly cat. His poop started to change its consistency, which I attributed to the stress of having new feline siblings + new food. I took him to the vet in late October and after a blood test, the diagnosis was stress. They prescribed rest and probiotics. It worked, but not for long.

(The special cat food he’s eating)

Ares had to pay other visits to the vet in November. More blood tests, stool tests. More probiotics, antibiotics, and vermifuges. Until then, all the results pointed to food allergy. In late December, he had an outbreak of severe diarrhea, and then a veterinarian asked for a FIV (Feline Immunodeficiency Virus) and FeLV (Feline Leukemia Virus) test. Ares was tested in 2016 for a bus trip, and the results came out negative for both diseases, but this time he tested positive for FIV, which is the feline equivalent to HIV. Since adoption, Ares (and his siblings) have been indoor cats. We don't know what happened, the vet's hypothesis is that the 2016 result was a false negative one.

(Current medication to try to ease his discomfort and to prevent him from getting too weak)

Having 9 years of age and FIV makes him a very fragile cat. A few days ago, he was submitted to an ultrasound procedure and the results came out inconclusive: he either has a 1) feline low-grade alimentary lymphoma (LGAL) or 2) feline inflammatory bowel disease (IDB). Both diseases are radically different, which means the respective treatments are very specific. We need to know what he has ASAP to give him the better vet care available, and as the vet suspects of a lymphoma, time is against us.

(Some images of his ultrasound)

So, the last resource to discover what exactly he has is by submitting him to a biopsy. We need a sample of his intestine cells to tell if he has cancer or if his intestines are undergoing an allergic reaction. The whole procedure costs around 1.405,00 (one thousand four hundred and five) brazilian reais (approximately 246 US dollars or 218 euros) and represents my income of nearly one month and a half (brazilian currency doesn't value this much, as you can see). It also represents almost the sum of the past 3 months of veterinary care, including medication, vet appointments, special cat food. I have already compromised my income until March, and my working contract ends in April. I'm looking for new jobs, but the Brazilian economy is currently not very promising, and even the freelance stuff I find is not enough to get all this money in this short period of time.

(The vet request for a biopsy. Censored personal info for the sake of privacy)

This price includes: Preoperative vet appointment, laparotomy, anesthesia by inhalation, biopsy (the analysis of the intestinal tissue sample), blood tests. He might need two days of hospitalization, but this price doesn’t include it. The vet clinic is the safest one I've found in my area, which is important considering his age, the fact he's slightly anemic and immunosuppressed due to feline aids. I already have 50% of this sum due to donations.

I'm normally too proud to ask for help to take care of any of my cats, because they're my responsibility alone, but this time the sum of money I need to spend is just too much all at once. It would've been already too much in normal circumstances, but on the verge of unemployment, it's just too much for me to handle all alone. Regardless of his diagnosis, I'll find a way to guarantee he'll have the appropriate treatment, but for the biopsy I don't have the time in my favor. I don't have the time to think about ways to get this money and go job hunting, it's just too much money for just one exam and a procedure that has to be done ASAP.

I know the pandemic hit the finances of many people, but any help counts. And if you can't help with money, please, share this post. I’m fairly certain foreigners can donate via PayPal, so if you want to help with any money, message me and I’ll share my PenPal info with you (I’m not sharing in this post ‘cause I want to protect my personal information). If you want to see his exams, I can mail it and translate it. Brazilian folks can donate using national banks (DM me for info). 

And please, share this post. I can’t lose him. 

[1111jenx]

Hi this prolly sounds weird (and may somehow end up being a rant? hopefully not) but I was hoping to get some... Insights and to see I'm not weird hhh

So. I came to tumblr to avoid other social media apps and had the exposure to astrology (more in depth than ever) and tarot/spirituality. As I've been like delving into posts and observations I found astrology and tarot more intriguing. Esp with your recent white moon selene and hill's spirit guide post. It was fun and insightful.

Yet today I suddenly had a weird fear and jolted back at work when I realized I've been... Too into it? Like it's making me lose my current balance and all, as well as having a fear towards the unknown? Like,,, it's not something that can be explained logically and I Fear. I'm not sure if I worded them right. And I was thinking of maybe taking a step back until I've gained back my balance and comfort only return to learning more about astrology at a more suitable pace.

Is this weird of me or... It's actually alright/common/normal?

Sorry for the long post I just... Hope I can get a peace of mind?

Thanks and take care and stay hydrated! 😊😊

Hey beautiful,

I feel that I should reply to you asap since I can tell you really need it:) Personally, when I first started learning more about astrology, I had to take a break in between too since everything was so overbearing and there are more and more informations everyday.

Astrology can be scary. Through numbers and graphs it seems that we can further understand more about ourselves in ways we didnt expect before. As someone who rationalize a lot, I found myself stepping into areas which I then draw a red line. If you've been following me you know that I'm actually really against using astro to predict stuff like one's sexual preferences or how one's gender identification and I'm really against using astro to make assumptions bout one's mental health too. While there are placements that suggest some people will be more prone to be more publicly emotional than others, all and all a thorough examination or diagnosis must be done with a professional to determine stuff like your mental well-being.

In my post on likeliness to abuse drug, I mentioned Scorpio Moon, where the Moon is at its fall, while these people are so vulnerable from within and they're actually very likely to get addicted to stuff once the let loose due to their Plutonic Moon, yet often times, Scorpio Moons are amazing and spectacular with self control and self regulation, since they are so aware of their nature.

Getting back to your point here, I can most definitely see how studying astrology can create an imbalance in your life. From time to time, it takes me A LOT of effort to hold back asking someone's birthday when I just me them and I remember when I was getting better in astro, I would swear off certain placements and in turns, not allowing myself to experiment with people and with life in general. The second I realized what I was doing I instantly stopped, I was clearly missing out on opportunities to meet and get to know people as individuals instead of just a graph. So now when I do meet people and they ask me if I like their charts, I just tell them I like them as a person and their charts don't matter that much to me if they give me the respect I need and the sincerity I require.

My life before astro and after astro definitely had a lot of changes, after some struggles and after taking a break from all of this, I can say that I've never been more open to people and open to new experiences like I am right now. There's a skeptic in everyone one of us and for the longest time, I blamed it for limiting my growth. But now I can confidently say to you that it is normal to be skeptical. Rationality is not bad, us having the ability to rationalize, to take a second and say pause is actually a blessing and is what humanize all of us.

Please take your time and take good care of yourself. Take all the time you need and all the space you want. I believe in the saying that we never stop learning and we even learn and grow during our weakest moments. Choosing to stay with astro or not is purely your choice and even if you chose to stop learning and getting to know it, you still did learn something about yourself and this world and in a way:) Don't push youself too hard love🤎 I'm here if you ever want to talk.

love,

saint jenx🪐

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 21: Infection

CW: sick whumpee, abdominal pain, medical whump, emeto mention, nausea mention, pet whump references, recovering whumpee, fever, sickfic

TIMELINE: Chris’s first year after rescue

Nat makes the call, her jaw set in a grim line as she puts her phone up to her ear, and Jake has never seen the laugh-lines and crow's-feet wrinkles as clearly as he does in the dim yellowed light from the single lamp in the corner. 

"We can't do this," Jake says, softly, but he's outvoted by sheer necessity and he knows it, he knows before the protest ever leaves his mouth. It doesn’t stop his heart from racing, dread pooling deep inside him. "Nat, we can't, he isn't-... they’ll turn him in, Nat, god damn it-"

"Hey," Nat says into the phone, ignoring Jake entirely. "It's me. Yeah. I'm calling you for help." 

Next to Jake, lying on the couch while the big man balances himself seated precariously on the coffee table, Chris whines weakly in pain, pressing the back of Jake's hand to his clammy, sweat-soaked forehead. Coppery hair sticks to him, soaked the color of old pennies. 

Jake half-expects to see the blue-green tarnish growing and taking over.

"Hurts," Chris whispers, and Jake's heart breaks open. They didn't know - Chris had collapsed this morning, thrown up his breakfast and then blacked out in the bathroom, it was the first they'd seen of his illness.

Only when he'd been bundled down here to the couch, temp taken - 102 degrees Fahrenheit, holy fuck, he’d been fine yesterday, right? - had Chris admitted he'd been hurting for two days, a pulsing pain around his navel that felt like it was taking over his whole right side now. He told them he’d been so scared they would make him take medicine again that he hadn't told anyone. 

When Chris pointed to the right side of his stomach and said that it hurt there, and it kept getting worse... that was when Nat had given that serious, firm nod, said Dr. Masood couldn't help them this time, and picked up the phone. 

"Nat, he still has his barcode, they'll fucking turn him in-"

"My money’s on appendicitis," Nat says flatly into the phone. Her eyes move to Chris, lips thinning at his pale skin, freckles and two bright red splotches standing out on his cheeks, the way his green eyes are glassy, hazy, lost until the pain spikes and they briefly clear, just enough for him to start crying again. "Guarantee it. I can't use our guy." A pause. "Listen, he's eighteen - I think - and was routinely subjected to dehydration, starvation, and sleep deprivation. His medical care inside isn’t exactly nothing, but... this is appendi-fucking-citis and that motherfucker is going to burst if we don't get someone to cut it out of him ASAP. I don't have the time to waste going back and forth on this with you. Take one fucking look at him and you’ll know it!"

Nat never swears like this, with such intense hostility and insistence. Chris tightens his grip on Jake, and moans, frightened, turning to look up at him with wide green eyes far too big for his pinched expression. “S-sorry, I’m, I’m sorry… ‘ll... ‘ll b’good...” 

The plaintive haunted fear and hurt in him makes Jake wish there were an enemy, someone he could fight. Sitting here watching Chris get sicker by the hour, able to do absolutely nothing about it, is so much worse than anything else ever has been. 

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs, stroking over his hair, carding his fingers gently through the damp, sweaty strands. “She’s not mad at you, little man, I swear. You’re sick and she’s trying to get help, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fuck those motherfuckers who made you too scared of pills to tell us you were hurting.

"Jake-" Chris starts, and then stops, swallows as his face goes a little green around the edges and he tenses, whimpering, torn between nausea and the way muscles tensing makes him hurt even worse. Jake watches his internal battle written openly across his expression. Tears slip from his eyes, running down his cheeks, as he chokes back a sob. "It, it, it hurts so much... Jake, I, I need… I could take, take, could… could could could take something now."

Jake nods and starts to move but Nat puts up a hand. "No drugs," She says, quietly. "They'll give him something there to put him under. We don’t want anything to interact badly.”

“Nat-”

“I’m sorry,” She says, her voice firm and calm. “But nothing until my contact has him.”

“Who is your fucking contact, anyway?”

Nat gives Jake a small, tired smile. “Not yet, Jake. Have to keep these things under wraps.”

"Mom, please," Chris pleads, and Jake and Nat both turn to look at him, shocked, eyes wide. "Mom, it, it, it… It hurts!"

Neither of them says anything at first, and Chris stares at them, eyes pleading but far away. It isn’t them he sees at all.

“Nat-”

“Just go with it,” She says, and goes back to the phone.

“Please, Mom-” Chris whimpers.

"Sorry, we can't," Jake whispers, fighting back the burn of hot tears himself as he goes back to stroking through Chris’s hair. Guilt twists inside him, sharp as any knife. Being helpless is tearing him apart.

Chris’s eyes move, lock on Nat, struggle to maintain their focus, go hazy again. His flush is layered over a gray-green paleness that makes him look like a corpse with makeup, pouring sweat that doesn’t cool him down at all. “Mom, please, please help me, please… don’t, don’t, don’t let them take you out, out of my head, Mom, please!”

Nat listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. Her eyes glimmer and her jaw is starting to tremble where she has it locked, visible in the low warm light coming from the lamps, but her voice stays steady. "No. Yes. Yes, that’s him you’re hearing. Yes… 102.3- yes, I'm sure. Fifteen minutes ago, more or less. Abdominal pain - he even said he thought it was a stomachache at first. Fever. Nausea, vomiting, yes. Getting worse and moving down and to the right. Yeah, I know. So how do we keep my rescue safe without the solution being to sit here and watch him die from infection?"

Jake ignores the cold fear that squeezes bony fingers around his heart and wipes Chris's forehead with a cool wet cloth. 

"Mom, m'sick," Chris whispers. "No, no school. Please, please…" His eyes track blearily over Jake's face. "Dad, tell her. Tell, tell, tell-... tell her m’sick…”

"I know," Jake says quietly, his voice shaking and thin. Nat is speaking softer now, lightning-fast whispers with her contact, somebody she's worked with for years with the hospital. "I know, Chris. We’re going to take you to see a doctor, okay?”

Chris blinks at him once, twice, and then his eyes are gone, shifting away. His lower lip starts to tremble, jerking fast, shallow breaths, nearly panting. “I’ll be, be, be-be, be good, don’t… don’t hurt me, sir, I’ll… I’ll be good.”

“I know, buddy, I know.” Jake can’t listen to this much longer. “I know you will.” Chris’s voice is small, losing all his sense of himself. Timid, scared, sweet.

“Be good… can, um, can, can be good f-for… you…” Chris whispers, eyes closing, new tears run out the corners as he whimpers and curls up against the pain. “Just, just stop… hurting me… b-be good, handler, good for, for, for you...”

Jake’s stomach flips and he has to fight the bile trying to rise in his throat. “Nat-”

“Hush, Jake.” Nat’s voice is still calm, and her attention is on the phone. "Mmhmmm. Christopher, um... say Yoder-”

“Stanton,” Jake says from the couch. 

Nat might smile. The expression is too tight, too pinched with worry, to really be called that. “Strike that. Christopher Stanton." Nat listens for a long time, then says quietly, "Eighteen…. We think. No known health problems or pre-existing illness. Autistic."

Jake looks up, blinking, and Nat calmly looks back at him, giving a firm nod while speaking into the phone. "Yes. Yes, I'm confident. He is sensitive to fluorescent lights, scared of needles, and terrified of sedation. Yeah, I realize that I just described the exact environment of a hospital.” Her voice starts to shift, then, and Jake watches her free hand close into a fist. She speaks with increasingly open anger, badly masking her worry and fear. “For the love of Christ, just put on the fucking papers that Christopher Stanton is fucking autistic, because that's what my goddamn rescue is and he still needs care - I'll sell someone else's firstborn to fucking Satan if he isn't autistic, god damn it, mark my fucking words - and we're wasting time goddamn dithering over whether you believe a diagnosis while he gets worse!"

Nat's voice rises, nearly shouting, and Chris whines and curls up closer to Jake, then winces and cries out in pain, straightening back out again. 

"Sssshhhhh, it's okay," Jake murmurs, but his heart is racing, too, his nerves are jagged with memories of swearing, shouting adults. Some part of him that has never stopped being a child braces for the sound of impact. "It's okay."

Nat is quiet for a long time, then snaps, "Yep, nope, I know, I know you needed to confirm," fast and angry. “See you then.” She hangs up, turning to look at Jake and Chris. "My contact is on their way. If the surgery works, two days and he's home. If his appendix bursts... Could be two weeks in the hospital, Jake."

"No," Jake says, lips barely moving. "No, Nat. Two weeks… he can't fake being someone else for so long."

"He better give it his best shot," Nat says, pushing herself to her feet. "I know this sucks, Jake, but sometimes what we do is make the hard choices they can’t make. And… and even if they turn him in, being turned in is better than dying."

Is it? Do you know that?

"What do we do, then?" Jake says, resting his hand on Chris's sweat-damp hair. Chris doesn't seem aware anymore, staring off into space, weeping silent tears and hitching soft sobs, promising in whispers to be good and obey his handler if only he’ll make the pain stop. “What’s the next step? Give me a fucking order, Nat, because I’m lost, and-” Jake gives a nervous, humorless laugh. “-I’m pretty fucking scared for him.”

"Yeah… yeah, I get that. Just pack some clothes and toiletries," Nat says flatly. "And prepare to swear on the fucking Bible to doctors and surgeons and fucking cops if we have to that his name is Chris Stanton and he's your little brother. We’re about to put on a show, Jake."

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not leaving him. You are going to be the most concerned and caring big brother the world has ever seen. When he gets out of surgery, you’re going to meet him in recovery, you’re going to stay with him in his room day and night. You’re there from day one until he walks back out the door.” Nat’s jaw is set again. “And he will be walking back out that door with us.”

“Visiting hours-”

“He can’t make his own medical decisions,” Nat says, leaning over a little, staring Jake right in the eyes. “So someone has to be there all the time. Do you understand me? He can’t.”

“He’s not-... he could, if he was a little further along-”

Chris whines, and his hand grabs weakly at Jake’s and squeezes. Jake can hardly feel it. 

“He’s not. Okay? He’s not that far into recovery yet. We’re going to pretend he’s a lot less capable than he is, to get him through this. We are going to pretend he can’t do it himself, because right now it’s not pretending, he wouldn’t remember what to do yet. And I feel like shit treating him like a toddler, Jake, I really do, but… but he can’t do this alone, and I can’t exactly tell them it’s because he was a pet and they’re trained to be dependent, now can I? We’re going to have to lie about his condition.”

“That wasn’t actually a lie, though, right? We do think he is actually-”

“Yeah. We do. But he’s not incapable - or he won’t be, once he’s older. That’s what we have to lie about. And I don’t-... right now I don’t give a shit about a damn thing except buying him more time to fucking grow up.”

"What about his barcode?"

Nat takes a deep breath. "My contact is going to bandage it over, say it was part of when he passed out and they’ve taken care of it and we're going to hope to Christ no one who they don't trust checks under it. We're out of options, Jake, unless you know how to do an appendectomy and you’ve just been holding out on me. I’m not prepared to do kitchen table surgery. Are you?"

There’s a pause while they stare at each other, and then Jake takes in a deep, steady breath.

You can do this. Chris needs you to do this.

"His name is Chris Stanton," Jake says, meeting her eyes, "and he's my little brother, and he's autistic. I’m his medical power of attorney, I make medical decisions when he’s incapcitated. He’s scared of hospitals because of bad childhood experiences and needs someone nearby at all times or he’ll lose it.”

Nat gives a terse nod. "Good. Pack your shit, and hope his fucking appendix hasn't burst while my contact dicked around." 

Nat went up the stairs like a lightning bolt, and Jake let out a shuddering breath. 

By the time they hear the ambulance pull up a few minutes later, sirens and lights carefully off, they're packed and ready to follow in Nat’s old truck.

Chris's fever is still rising. 

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[turnthepage11]

tw: medical discussion, mention of prescription drug use

Personal Post: Appreciate any words of encouragement but honestly just trying to throw my thoughts out to the universe.

I’m struggling so hard right now folks. For context: I am 25. I have a lot of medical issues, rheumatoid arthritis, IBS, ADHD, PCOS. And those are just my long term diseases. When I turned 18 I started having hip pain on my left side accompanied by numbness. I had assumed it was my newly diagnosed arthritis and dismissed it for a few years. Almost three years ago, I finally brought it up to my doctor and long story short, we learned I had a hip impingement which is when there is extra bone on the ball of my hip, making it hurt to walk.

I had surgery last summer for it and while they were in my body, they learned I had a pretty bad labrum tear (on a scale of 1-4, I had a 3) and they fixed it when they removed the extra bone because even though it was decently bad, it never showed up on any of my scans.

Now my surgery didn’t really fix any of my hip problems. My base level of pain was lower, but with any activity it gets pretty high, pretty quickly. (That was context, let’s get to the past 36 hours).

On Friday afternoon, I went to go sit down in my desk chair at school (you know, nothing wild) and as I sit, I felt and heard a loud POP in the front side of my left hip. I yelled so loud, one of the kids who had passed my room a few seconds prior ran back to check on me (one of my sophomores, aka my og crew from year 1).

I stood up immediately and it felt like a muscle had just cramped so I tried walking it off. Sitting hurt the most, followed by standing, then walking so I walked for thirty minutes with a pretty severe limp, hoping that it would slowly go away the more I used it.

It got a little better, not much and then I had to sit for two hours to tutor two students who were on quarantine. Then I had my hour drive home where I turned on my heated seats since usually the heat helps my hip.

Well. It made my lower back hurt INSANELY bad (when it hadn’t hurt previously. Or at least less than my hip had so I hadn’t noticed it). When I got home from my hour commute, I could barely walk and carry my backpack into the house, let alone get up the three steps into my parents’ house.

I took leftover Percocet from my surgery last summer to help with the pain Friday night and it took my 8 pain level down to a 5 and I finally managed to fall asleep.

This morning I woke up and my limp wasn’t as bad, but my hip still hurt and so did my lower back and I was at a 7 on the pain scale. Despite that, I went to breakfast with my family and took another Percocet just so I could see how I would feel around 3 when it wore off since my RA is usually pretty bad in the morning too but calms down by 12 or so and I didn’t want to be worn down from my RA pain and my injury. Even with the Percocet, I was still at 4/5 all morning.

I ended up falling asleep around 11:45 because I don’t sleep too much during the week combined with the med and woke up at 3 at a 7 on the pain scale. I asked my best friend who is a BSN if I needed to go to the ER taking all the above in consideration and the fact that the Percocet didn’t do too terribly much for my pain and she told me I needed to go asap ESPECIALLY because it was my surgery hip.

So I went to my rinky dink rural medicine hospital. They put me in a room for two hours and forgot about me until the doctor finally saw me on his list, came and saw me and said “I don’t know why the hell they put you in this room when I need you in a bed to test your range of motion.” (I was in an old closet with a phlebotomy chair.)

He did range of motion in my hip. Not the worse I’ve ever had but not great either. Said he felt how swollen I was in my hip and thought I might have retorn my labrum or even had one of the strings repairing my labrum last year break. The only thing he could do was a CT, not an MRI, to see if my hip or one of my vertabrae had came out of place. Luckily they hadn’t (though at this point I almost wish they had. It might have been an easier fix.)

He recommended I take three days off of work, go on crutches, and take it easy. I’m a middle/high school English teacher who is semestered by double periods. Missing three days of work is like missing six class days. I barely wanted crutches, I’ve walked like this for a day, how are crutches gonna help? But then I got a steroid shot and it made the pain a solid 8. The doctor kept checking on me and saw me crying so he gave me a shot of morphine and I told him I changed my mind, I wanted the crutches.

I’m hopeful that in the morning I’ll feel at least marginally better. I don’t think I will, but I’m gonna hope for it at least. He gave me steroids, Percocet for the week (which I’ll only be able to take at night because obviously I can’t teach kids while having Percocet in me), and anti nausea meds just in case. But I have to call my doctor who did the surgery for a follow up… which wouldn’t be bad except he’s four hours away. And he’s probably going to request the special MRI I got to confirm I needed surgery. Which I can only get done down where he practices. So that’s two sick days gone right there.

God forbid I actually need surgery to fix a tear FROM SITTING DOWN IN A FUCKING CHAIR. I’ll use all my sick time right there. (I only have 20 days and 3 personal. I take sick days for appointments often because of my specialist appointments and my work bestie is getting married on a Sunday in May so I’m taking a personal day for the following day.) I told my work bestie that the doctor wanted me to take three days off and she said to do it, I had the time and when I pointed out the potential for surgery, she cringed and agreed with what I said about sticking it out for the next three days.

And to top it all off, my parents are acting like I’m over exaggerating. I asked my mom to take my car and drop me off because my legs had started to go weak (which was the entire reason I went to the ER and not the pain. Because I assumed something had happened to my back for my legs to go weak.) She refused, so I drove myself. Was going to drive myself home until the doctor gave me a morphine shot. When I got in the car complaining about my hip, starting to cry about the recommendations, my dad just told me “that’s life kid, deal with it.”

I don’t feel comfortable unloading this on my coworker friends because I know this is a lot. But I’m just so… disappointed. I have lost thirty pounds this year, a major goal of my doctors but never really pushed. Got better at taking my medicine (thank you ADHD diagnosis and medication). But like, I am 25 and might have to have hip surgery… again. And my doctor had said if he had to go in again there was a high chance I would have to get a hip replacement because any additional repairs might be hard with how much damage I had done to my labrum already.

I’m tired, my body is exhausted, I’m already dreading the outcome and time off I’m going to be taking over the next month because of this. I’m annoyed by my parents’ reaction to the whole thing. I’m dreading work this week because I know everyone is going to say something about me being in crutches.

This just sucks folks. I was having such an okay school year until this decided to say “nah, sucks to be you.”

[writerman]

Psst. Write a hanahaki disease fic for Barduil where Thranduil has it. You gotta write it.

Hey, anon, remember when you requested this probably like a year ago? Yeah, me either...

Anyway, here is what you asked for. I wrote over 7000+ words in a day to finish this asap.

My thanks to @morticia-butler​ for all the help looking up Hanahaki disease headcanons and an iconic line I simply had to include.

This is a long one so some of it will be under a readmore BUT you can also read all my other Barduil prompts via this fancy schmancy LINK

On to the story!

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

8:30am. Thursday. September 17th. Just petals. 

The mirror reflected a pale and haunted image back at him while bright and vibrant yellow petals dusted the front of his pyjama t-shirt. 

Daffodils. 

His favourite. Thranduil, however, had come to detest the sight of them. The sunshine yellow flowers openly mocking him, their bobbing heads in the breeze seen as a gaggle of them laughing almost jovially at his situation. 

No point thinking on it in-depth, not when he could temporarily abate the problem. 

With such a thought in mind, Thranduil brushed the petals from his shirt into the sink and watched as they swirled in the water a moment before vanishing down the drain into the darkness. 

But there would be more. 

There was always more. 

A soft knock at the bathroom door stilled his hand as he reached for his toothbrush and he turned to see Tauriel watching him with concern. 

“I didn’t know you were visiting today, what are you doing here?” Thranduil’s voice was soft as he spoke, though, the lilting sound of surprise cracked his voice for a moment. “Had I known you planned to visit I’d have been ready by now. What are-” Thranduil watched as Tauriel leaned toward him, her hand brushed the fabric of his t-shirt as she plucked a petal still clinging to the fibres. 

“Dad, you said this had stopped!” The words rushed out and they were so loud as she held the petal up between them. While it hadn’t meant to come out so accusing, he could hear the dismay that coloured her words, it still felt harsh and Thranduil braced himself for a barrage of instructions to get himself to a doctor. 

“It was quelled for some time. The doctor gave me special inhalers that slow the spread but I’ve not had the time to contact the surgery for a refill.” He gestured to an empty inhaler laying innocently on its side by the sink. They had helped immeasurably and the majority of his family had believed the disease was done and gone. 

But Hanahaki was not that easy to be rid of, he knew and deep down his family knew that too. It was easier to think he had been cured than to do consider the alternative…

“I dropped by because I wanted to know if you felt like grabbing breakfast?” Tauriel turned from the bathroom door and wandered into her dad’s bedroom, his clothes were laid out already, she paced past the bed and back out into the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs, let’s go out still.” 

There was no time to respond and so Thranduil internally agreed to breakfast with his daughter. She and Legolas were the same in that they were strongwilled, always happy to make a decision and happy to make it for someone else too. 

They definitely had gotten that trait from him, even if he had mellowed somewhat with age. It was easy to recall his younger days with clarity, he walked tall never a curve to his back because he bowed to no one. 

He had been so headstrong and confident, even after his wife had died. People had come to him speaking softly with sincere condolences but Thranduil cast the sorrowful glances aside and carried on working. 

That felt like aeons ago now, Thranduil was more in touch with his emotional and mental health now, gave and took the time of others as freely as he should have when he was younger. Thranduil found value in the world where once he would have shunned it. 

Turning to look in the mirror, that pale and haunted face stared back but the eyes seemed less empty than they had earlier. Even with his disease there was still hope within him, it was choked and stuttering by the roots of the flowers in his chest and lungs but it was there. 

“I can’t give up, not yet.” He whispered to himself. 

They ended up heading to Tauriel’s favourite place for breakfast, it was a small family-run restaurant and the food was good. The cheery wait staff did not match the highly polished wood and marble of the place but it felt strangely homely all the same. 

It was while Thranduil perused the menu that Tauriel brought up the subject, or rather, the object of his disease to him. A public place so he would not make a scene, perhaps, or rather, she hadn’t thought of the setting and only wanted to relinquish her hold on the burning question she had within for months. 

“So, will you at least tell me who it is that did this to you?” Badly worded. No one had passed the disease onto him, that wasn’t how it worked and he knew Tauriel understood that. “Come on, dad. Do they know what they’ve done to you?” Of course, she was angry but why was she being angry with someone innocent in all of it? 

While the majority of the time Thranduil was able to ignore these unnecessary outbursts from his children, there were ofttimes when his frustration got the better of him and one of those times was now.

With hands loosely balled into fists resting on the tabletop, Thranduil pinned his daughter with an icy glare that quashed whatever words she had left inside to say on the matter.  

“I have told you time and time again, I will not tell you who it is. You know damned well that they are not to blame in this. You’ve seen the diagnosis, even though I’ve asked you to stay out of it, you’ve seen the words ‘ self-inflicted’ on the documents.” He voice was low but the chill in his words caused Tauriel to sit back in her seat and avert her gaze from his. 

“I’m sorry-” She stopped when the waitress came over and set down their coffee and a rack of toast. There was time enough between the waitress approaching and leaving for Tauriel to regain her composure. “I’ve read so much about this over the past few months, it might now be onesided that’s all.” She was right but the percentage was low.

Hanahaki disease was such an odd illness to contract, the phenomenon of flowers growing in a person’s chest and lungs due to unrequited or onesided love. The agitation of yearning and pining watered the blooms until the lungs were completely full and the chest cavity would split open with leaves and stems and petals spilling out and killing a person instantly if they hadn’t already died from suffocation. 

But that was only intense cases. There were ways to slow the spread and Thranduil was taking measures to ensure he could do such a thing. 

Regular therapy was one. His therapist was a wonderful woman who guided him through the process of coming to terms with his unrequited love. They spoke of how to be honest and open with the feelings he experienced and how to provide his own closure.

Though, they had many hurdles to jump. Thranduil didn’t believe in closure per se, to him revisiting something traumatic and uncomfortable merely reopened wounds. They’d spent many sessions focussing on the death of his wife and while it had helped immensely in allowing a belated grieving it ultimately had not helped with his predicament.

But he was not to call it a predicament his therapist had said. To remove the seriousness of the disease was to remove the value of his own life. There were many times she had asked him to look from the outside in and speak on the issues in his life as though they affected another person. It had helped and when things looked bleak or if Thranduil began to brush off the seriousness of his illness he would remind himself that he would not allow someone else to do that to themselves. 

The next most drastic step was surgery, but it was a temporary step and it slowed the spread of the disease. Researchers in the medical field studying Hanahaki always implied heavily that the physical manifestations of the disease were caused by the brain and thus Hanahaki was registered as a mental illness. 

It was why doctors pressed so hard for those that suffered to seek therapy. 

“I won’t be involving the person in this what so ever, Tauriel. Please, I ask again that you drop the subject.” How he had pleaded like this before and how it emotionally exhausted him to see the fear in her eyes every time she visited. 

It was all because he knew that one day she feared she’d find him lying dead, a bouquet of blood-stained flowers adorning his chest in a beautiful and grotesque display of the love that had plagued him. 

“I understand that you’re scared but I promise you I have no given up. I have an appointment with my therapist this afternoon and with my surgeon to discuss a date for surgery.” 

His words seemed enough to placate her for now and she instead busied herself with buttering some toast.

3:00pm Thursday. September 17th. Just petals.

“We spoke about your wife again last week, I noted that you requested we move on from the subject. Why do you feel you need to leave that subject alone?” The room was shaded from the bright Autumn sunshine streaming in from the window. 

Thranduil could see the glowing gold around the edges of the blinds and forgot where he was for a moment as he watched it flicker with the shadow of trees swaying the breeze. He couldn’t remember why he’d suggested they move on but it seemed the right course of action to him. 

“I just feel we aren’t focussing on the real problem.” When he spoke he made a point to look at her. Maintaining eye contact seemed important at that moment, he didn’t want her to think he was ruled by indecision. “My wife has been dead for years and we have already confirmed that, as much as I miss her, I have come to terms with her death and grieved appropriately.” Too business-like. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth he knew. 

The therapist merely ‘hmm’d’ in response and wrote something down. There was the internal battle to struggle with now, to explain himself to her or let her assume something of him that he would, personally, deem incorrect. 

“What is it you would like to speak about instead?” 

That was the problem, he didn’t really know. The only thing he wanted to ask was ‘How did you get over someone and quickly?’ but there wasn’t really much of an answer she would be able to give.

Magazines for years had offered ‘helpful tips to get over that person that doesn’t like you back!’ and Thranduil had put no stock in their, so called, wisdom. Now they didn’t publish these things, now they would ask you to seek help if you experienced any symptoms they listed on the page. 

Distraction techniques had been offered by his family in droves at the beginning when his diagnosis had been revealed. Nothing had actually helped because his mind would often wander to the object of his affection when he was practising a new hobby. 

“I think my need to rush these sessions is just because I’m scared of losing myself completely and if I do that, well, you know what happens.” Thranduil gave a half-hearted shrug, he barely lifted his shoulders but it was a shrug all the same and his therapist acknowledged it as so with a nod. 

“Everyone is scared of dying, Thranduil. Perfectly healthy people, people who have terminal diseases. Do you want to talk about your fear of dying?” 

He didn’t. 

They, instead, spoke of newer experimental ideas that Thranduil might have been interested in trying. She wrote out the prescription for the refill on his inhaler and made another appointment for a week later. 

It wasn’t often that Thranduil left the sessions more tightly wound than he had been when going in but he at least knew that he’d need something to talk about next week or they’d get back on the subject of his wife and he honestly didn’t think that was helpful. 

His next appointment was at the doctor's office, they wanted to schedule surgery but they had needed proof he was visiting his therapist before they would agree. It was a messy and an unfair condition but at least at the doctor's office he could get them to fill the prescription so it wasn’t too much of a wasted trip if they refused his surgery. 

1:00pm Friday. September 18th Foliage. 

The office was quiet now. 

Everyone but Thranduil had packed up for the day and headed out to start their weekends. It was a perk Thranduil had implemented years ago and it had been appreciated, even if it had been created to benefit him more so than his employees at the time. 

Nothing was waiting for him at home and there was plenty of paperwork to do so he poured himself a glass of water, took his inhaler and got comfortable at his desk reading through a brief for a new promotion. 

So engrossed was he in his work that he failed to notice someone entering the office and only when a takeout coffee cup was set before him did he move his gaze from the files he had been reading to intently. 

Looking up Thranduil ceased his movement almost instantly at the sight of his best friend Bard. The afternoon sunshine illuminated his handsome face with a soft golden glow, his brown eyes looked golden as he smiled down at him. His cheery countenance was always welcome and so was his gift of coffee but Thranduil could tell his friend was there with an agenda of sorts. 

“Haven’t seen you lately, Thran. You’re not holding yourself up in this office every night until late again, are you?” The concern, it left a shaking and aching hole inside Thranduil and that hole soon became clogged with stems and leaves, give the disease an inch and, well, that old adage. 

“No, I just had something to do here but it can wait. Did you need something?” To try and remain relaxed and carefree around Bard was increasingly difficult, more so when he had endeavoured to hide his disease from him as much as he could. 

“Hm, well, I just had the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me for a while if I’m to be completely honest.” Straight to the point, no beating around the bush for Bard and he had every right to be concerned because he was correct.

Perhaps it was more obvious lately that he had been trying to avoid Bard for a few weeks. Avoidance was never going to be the answer but this man was why he had the disease, or rather, what exacerbated it. There would never be a time he would place sole or even partial blame on Bard for what he was going through. 

“I’m sorry, I suppose I have been caught up in work recently. I’m absolutely not overworking myself before you ask. However, I’ve neglected my best friend and I think I owe you a drink, at least.”

“At least,” Bard repeated in agreement and he grinned, they didn’t move to get up. 

Thranduil busied himself with taking a sip of his coffee, it was a blond roast from Michael’s he could tell without even looking at the logo on the side of the cup. All the while he inwardly cursed the tightness in his chest and new shoots began to sprout and buds began to burst into bloom. 

There was no chance he could even begin to hazard a cough. It’d look like a cat had swallowed a canary. Or a man that had swallowed his feelings. 

For a short while, they chatted idly about what they’d done recently. Bard talked of hating the empty nest syndrome he was suffering now that Tilda had moved out, leaving the family home nothing but a ‘mausoleum of family memories that were visited by a spectre that had helped create them’. It was a dramatic sentence and Thranduil laughed aloud before offering something vaguely sympathetic to soothe his friend.  

“Can’t you clock out already, you own the business let’s get out while it’s still bright,” Bard complained as he rose from his seat and wandered toward the large window Thranduil sat with his back to. “The sun is still warm and we could probably walk to the pub instead of taking the car.”

“Walking to the pub suggests that you don’t wish to have a few drinks but one too many.” As much as he hoped he sounded wise, Thranduil knew Bard would have clearly taken it as a challenge. So they were absolutely going to get drunk that night and Thranduil couldn’t have been more terrified of that prospect.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, you’re my best friend and even if we both regret how bad we feel in the morning, age that does that to you, I want to get drunk with you, Thran!” Ah, old age hadn’t fully caught up with Bard yet, he was vibrant and energetic and hot. Gods above was that man gorgeous. 

That was where it all began though, Bard had blazed into his life when they were in their early 30’s. Thranduil had just lost his wife and was trying to juggle a career and two grieving kids. 

Bard and his wife Anya had helped him. They took the kids to school and picked them up and fed them so Thranduil could… do what? He couldn’t even remember now- he hadn’t grieved that was for sure!

With a 10 year and an 8-year-old broken over the loss of their mother and having no support from their emotionally unavailable father, Tauriel and Legolas had grown up to be quite well adjusted. Though, some of that might have been the therapy they’d gotten as suggested by their school. 

It had happened only 2 years later, Bard lost Anya and he was thrown into a situation similar to Thranduil’s and the roles were reversed. Sigrid and Tauriel grew up like sisters and were still close because of how often they saw one another. They bonded strongly over what had happened to their mothers and became each other’s strength when they needed it.

The same happened with Bard and Thranduil, they became close friends. They took the children on holiday together, camping or water parks and spent their weekends finding activities for the kids that they too could take part in. 

For a while, it had been just friendship, but then as the children grew up and wanted to spend less time with dad and more time with friends they found company in each other more often than not. 

Then Tauriel and Legolas moved out for university, Sigrid and Bain left Bard for the same reason, Tilda was always adventuring with her friends and so when the empty house became too much they would go out. 

Dinner, drinks, a walk in the park, catch a movie or two. 

Innocent stuff, but Thranduil allowed himself to get comfortable and in letting his guard down he let feelings in that he had tried to avoid from the moment he met Bard. 

The problem was when Anya died Bard told Thranduil he couldn’t ever see himself falling in love with another person again. 

This was proven time and time again over the years, dates would happen once or not at all with people that could have been his perfect match, and eventually, Bard learned to ignore anyone that tried to flirt with him. A suggestive smile or even a compliment was brushed off as nothing more than friendly and the more unattainable he became the more Thranduil realised he was in love with him. 

A terrible turn of events to be sure, and now he suffered daily for it with petals littering his pillows and flowers choking out his lungs. 

“Are we going out then?” Bard’s voice cut through the memories Thranduil was replaying in his mind for the hundredth time and how thankful he was when he did. The blooming of the flowers in his chest increased with the thoughts of Bard. 

To say no to the request would put a strain on their friendship. Bard had already noticed that he was being avoided and it would do them no good for Thranduil to continue that. So, with a nod, he got up from his seat and grabbed his jacket. 

“It is a nice day, let’s walk to the pub then.” Intoxication was the last thing he needed but to keep up the charade that all was fine he’d need to at least try and play along. To play the role of a man in perfect health, body and mind, didn’t seem easy but he had to try. 

He would try because he loved him. 

10:45am Wednesday. September 30th. Bursting Blooms.

It was classed as routine surgery but Thranduil couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to slice someone open and remove flowers stamen to stem to root. Temporary as it was, he was thankful they had managed to organise it so quickly, his outing with Bard and the subsequent dinner the night after meant that his condition rapidly grew worse as time went by in the company of his best friend. 

He’d woken to more petals on his pillow than he had ever seen before and his breathing laboured. Even coughing to free up space didn’t work and instead, he was gifted with near whole flower heads landing in his hands.

The kids were horrified as they watched this because of course, it would have happened while they visited. Which led to him having to listen to endless ‘You should go to the hospital right now.’ in a chorus from them both until he showed them the inhalers. 

They sat either side of him in the waiting room now. 

Legolas bounced his leg continuously looking around the waiting room for something to distract him. He’d taken time away from University to be there to help with recovery. 

Tauriel chewed her nails and checked the time on her phone every couple of minutes as if time flowed differently in a hospital waiting room. 

There was no cause for his anxiety to manifest when he was sat between two that were already doing all the work for him. Sadly, he had no words to calm them of their fears because he was just as afraid. 

“Have people died from this surgery, dad?” Legolas piped up out of the blue, he sounded so young in that moment and Thranduil felt guilt course through his veins like ice for putting his children through something like this again. 

When he didn’t answer Tauriel did for him and she shook her head even though Legolas was focussing more on a poster across the room than on anything else. 

“No, because the surgery, while invasive to a degree, only removes some of the plants. They don’t fully remove everything because they simply can’t. Dad is going to be ok, more ok after this than he is now.” Her confidence only shaking by the tremor in her voice and Thranduil hoped Legolas couldn’t hear it. 

“Hmm, ok.” Pensive now Legolas falls silent but his leg continuous to bounce but not as animatedly as before. He was not calmed but something in her words convinced him that the surgery would be fine. 

Though, he didn’t understand why she would lie to him like that. His son was perfectly capable of looking up the survival rate on his phone, it was low just as low as the rate of people that were cured by expressing their feelings to their heart's desire. 

They were approached by a nurse in scrubs. 

“Mr Oropherion, if you would like to come this way.” 

1:56pm Wednesday. September 30th. Roots. 

Someone was gently squeezing his arm.

“Thranduil, you’ve just come out of surgery. Can you hear me?” The same nurse that took him in was now waking him. “We need you to respond to know you’re ok.” 

Nothing felt real yet he managed to croak out something akin to an ‘I’m fine’ but that was it. The need for sleep and an excruciating pain rushed over him and he groaned hands gripping the sheets as he waited for it to subside. 

“Out of 10, 10 being very painful and 1 being not painful at all how do you feel?” The nurse was holding a clipboard and a pen, they looked down at Thranduil with an expectant look and merely blinked blankly when Thranduil didn’t respond right away.

He needed more time than this to consider everything, on the one hand, he could breathe on the other the pain of being sliced open and stitched back together was awful. 

“Ah… 8 maybe?” His whole body shook as he came out of the anaesthetic and all he wanted was to leave his body while it was in this state and return when he was at home comfortable in his own bed with a cup of tea. 

His time in the recovery room was short and he was wheeled into a private room where he was greeted with the grim face of his best friend. Bard looked awful, pale and he seemed to have aged 10 years all with concern etched deep into his face. 

“You were having important surgery and just elected not to tell me?” It was quiet, so quiet that Thranduil almost didn’t hear him speak. It wasn’t until they were fully alone after someone had administered strong painkillers, that Thranduil finally acknowledged what Bard had said to him. 

“I didn’t need more people worrying about me than was necessary. I’m sorry, Bard. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to ask what the surgery was.” If he was honest, he still didn’t want Bard to know and if he asked him then and there he would outright refuse to tell him. 

Even if keeping such secrets ended their friendship it would be safer then, the heartbreak of losing him as a friend was all the cure he needed and it would continue to protect Bard from the truth. 

“If you had just told me that I could have been here for you from the beginning! Instead, I get a call from Tauriel asking me to come by and sit with Legs because she had to go grab something from home. I had no idea what she was talking about so you can probably expect a gushing apology from her later.” Bard dragged a hand through his dark hair, now laced with silver, as he started to pace. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Life wasn’t fair but this was kicking a man while he was down! 

“I’m sorry, Thran. I didn’t mean to come in and just… yell at you. How are you feeling, are you ok?” Bard moved towards the bed and poured a glass of water out and handed it to Thran who took the offering gratefully and slowly sipped the cold water in trembling hands. 

“Why can’t you tell me what the surgery was?” Bard pulled up the visitor chair so he was sad right by Thranduil’s bedside. For a moment he seemed indecisive in his actions until he, apparently, had a moment of clarity and took Thranduil’s hand in his. “Is it… cancer?” The words were uttered almost reverently as though he was afraid to speak the words any louder than a whisper. 

Could he lie and say yes? 

Oh, how disrespectful he would be to cancer survivors and those who had lost their battle. No, he could not lie and so he shook his head feeling more forlorn with each passing minute. The desperate need to wrench his hand from Bard’s was unbearable, the heat of the man’s hand seared into his skin and he couldn’t think straight wondering how it would be to hold his hand and know he loved him back. 

Something inside him grew and already a new bloom began to sprout. 

This was too dangerous. 

Gods, he was dying and yet he still thought he had a chance with this man sat at his bedside holding his hand whispering words to him like a prayer. 

Eventually, he knew he’d had to put an end to all of this. 

How he wasn’t sure. 

8:36pm Saturday. October 10th. Stems. 

The children had just left, left with promises to be there again in the morning but Thranduil waved them away and told them it was not necessary to coddle him in such a way. The look on their faces told him he really had no say in the matter what so ever. 

The surgery results were more temporary than he’d have liked, petals had started appearing again after a mere 10 days. With the inhalers they were few and far between but only 10 days of respite. His scars not yet healed from the procedure! 

All in all, it seemed to have been a waste of time but at least he was still able to breathe with relative ease, though emotionally it seemed he was breathless. Legolas and Tauriel barely gave him a second alone and were hawks when it came to spotting petals.

At first, they’d been nigh hysterical but Thranduil had calmed them down and explained that these things happened and that he was still able to breathe well enough so there was nothing to worry about. 

They hadn’t believed him. Not even for a second but they were distracted enough to come down from the height they’d been at in their worry. 

The doorbell rang not even 5 minutes after the children had left and Thranduil assumed one of them must have left something behind, so when he opened the door to find Bard on the doorstep he was surprised but ushered him all the same. 

“It’s late, what are you doing here?” Thranduil shivered and pulled the long misshapen and baldy knitted cardigan tightly around himself. It had been a gift from Tauriel, she had knitted it and then proceeded to never try knitting again yet Thranduil adored the huge thing that near drowned him. “Aren’t you coming inside?” 

He noticed after a moment that Bard lingered a little too long at the door and seemed frozen by indecision. It wasn’t like him to be unsure of something so Thranduil prodded again. 

“Are you coming in?” But Bard wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the cardigan and feeling self-conscious Thranduil wrapped his arms around it trying to cover the large holes, but Bard kept staring until Thranduil actually become protective of the garment and snapped at him. 

“What are you looking at?” Much like Tauriel had done before, Bard leaned forward and between his finger and thumb pulled a yellow petal away from Thranduil’s clothing, it seemed much brighter in the gloom of the autumn evening. 

It seemed enough for Bard to piece together the truth and he looked dismayed, his shoulders dropped and his head dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look up at his friend. 

“Is.. this why you had surgery?”

“Let’s not do this on the steps outside, come in and I promise I will answer all of your questions.” That seemed to put him in motion and with a short nod, Bard stepped into the warmth of the house and Thranduil shut the door. 

“How long have you had this?” 

Straight to the point, Thranduil had hoped he’d be given the chance to offer tea or something else before Bard started grilling him for answers. Honestly, though, he knew the question Bard wanted an answer to the most and Thranduil didn’t think he had it in him to tell him that, not yet at least. 

“Hmm, a year now, maybe?” It had been so long since he had been without the cursed disease and he hadn’t exactly been counting, seeing it was more a count down to his death if he truly tried to rack up the days. 

“Is there a cure, will you die from this?” The panic appeared from nowhere and Bard bit his lip as he tried to work out what he wanted to do next, he seemed to want to cross the room toward Thranduil and pace so to put a stop to either Thranduil made him sit down. 

“I will make tea and answer those questions when I come back.” One of them had to remain calm, while he would have loved to have thrown away his composure and screamed to the Heavens that life wasn’t fair he didn’t think it would help his situation in the slightest. 

When he returned with the tray Bard was stood again but this time by the fireplace looking at the family photos set out across the mantle. They were mostly of himself with the kids, one of is and Bard’s family all together on a camping trip and one of his wedding day. 

“Hanahaki, huh?” He must have googled it while Thranduil was in the kitchen, that was fine but he probably knew more than Thranduil would have liked now. “So the surgery you had was to remove some of the flowers… ah, I can’t pretend like I’m not going to ask. Who is it that did this to you, Thran, who is the one that can’t or won’t love you back?” The tone seemed one of incredulity, as though Bard couldn’t quite believe there was anyone in the world who couldn’t love Thranduil.

But there was. 

“Does it matter who and isn’t it better to see that I am trying to get better instead of giving up?” Deflect the question by asking a question, the only thing he could do as he poured tea and tried to stop his hands from trembling. “I am doing everything the doctors say I should.” 

“Which is?”

“Haven’t you just checked the internet for all of this?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to hear you say it, that’s all.” The conversation was going nowhere because Bard clearly couldn’t stand not knowing who this person was that had captured Thranduil’s heart and refused to return it. 

“I have therapy every week, I have inhalers to slow the spread of the blooms and recently I had surgery to remove the majority of the blockage but the roots are deep.” Such a drastic admission and so unfair to reveal his imminent death so casually. 

Taking a sip of tea, Thranduil watched Bard’s face cycle through several emotions before settling on… nothing. Instead of responding Bard merely added some sugar to his tea before lifting it to his lips to drink. 

“So, you were just planning on dying without telling me?” The words came out flat as though the conversation was casual yet boring. He had hurt his friend that much he was sure of but there wasn’t really much of anything he could say to soothe him now. Bard had been right, and what Thranduil had thought was caring and helpful turned out to be more selfish than anything else. 

“No, I would never do that to you, Bard. I don’t want to keep these things from you but please see this from my perspective. This isn’t something I want to scream from the rooftops- ‘LOOK AT ME EVERYONE I AM DYING BECAUSE THE PERSON I LOVE DOESN’T LOVE ME BACK AND I AM NOT EMOTIONALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO ACCEPT THAT!’ why would I want to reveal my weakness to someone? If Legolas and Tauriel hadn’t found out I would not have told them either!” He didn’t like being weak like this, not after a life of being seen as an unshakable strength a rock that you could rely on. Everything was beginning to crumble why would he want to bare his soul now? 

“Fine but don’t think I can just forgive you for hiding this from me. After everything we’ve been through together you just fail to tell me that, 1) you’re in love with someone, and 2) You’re dying because of it.” Bard set down his cup a little too hard and pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door. “I… I have to go, Thran. I’m sorry.” 

He was on his feet in seconds following Bard to the door but the man was already in his car by the time he got out onto the steps to call him back. 

“You don’t understand…” Thranduil whispered as he tugged at the cardigan pulling it tight around him against the chill. “I didn’t tell you to save you from the guilt that I know you’d feel.” Of course, the words merely dissipated into the cold night air and the vapours trailing each word rose into the sky before vanishing completely. 

At least the universe heard his admission of the truth. 

4:00pm Friday, December 11th. Nothing but a memory. 

They had given him a clean bill of health. 

No roots, stems, stamens, petals, not even a leaf remained. The flowers had wilted and withered to nothing and Thranduil took an easy deep breath as he left the doctor’s office. It was a chilly December evening and he was adjusting his scarf when Legolas nearly bowled him over running into him his arms thrown around his neck in a tight embrace. 

“I heard the news! You’re better now for good?!” The excitement in his son’s voice brought genuine tears to Thranduil’s eyes and he buried his face in Legolas’ golden hair for a long month savouring the warmth his son gave. 

When they broke apart Tauriel was stood by her car, the engine still running. They must have just arrived as he was leaving. She gave him a cheery wave before climbing into the car to shut off the engine. 

Thranduil hadn’t confessed his feelings to Bard and Bard had not confessed his to him. Instead, he had worked hard to understand that sometimes your feelings just were not reciprocated and that was ok. 

Platonic love was just as good as romantic love, sadly, he hadn’t been able to speak to Bard since he’d walked out on him all those weeks ago. While he would always love Bard he understood that what he had done was hurtful and if he’d been given the chance he wished he could apologise. 

It had never been his intention to hurt his best friend but he had been so caught up in his own pain he had forgotten to consider those nearest and dearest to him. How had it been fair to hide such a horrible problem from those he held dear? 

“Have you heard from… him?” Tauriel knew everything now, she’d gotten it out of him not long ago, he was at his lowest and needed someone who might understand. It was not his proudest moment, leaning on his daughter emotionally for support, but she had been steadfast in her support of him that it seemed so easy to tell her everything. 

Thankfully, Tauriel didn’t hold the reaction Bard had against him. 

“I had been angry just like him too, remember?” 

Oh, she had, she had screamed murder in his home, right in the centre of the living room, when she had realised and didn’t speak to Thranduil for days. It was the longest she had ever gone without talking to him before, a whole 6 days until she came around and they talked about what it meant for the family. 

But now they were fine, life could resume. Thranduil could live with seeing them without the soft concerned glances Tauriel and Legolas would exchange when his chest grew tight and he wheezed as he tried to grasp a full breath. 

If only he could repair his relationship with Bard. There weren’t many he shared his life with and losing someone was extremely noticeable when that someone was fully apart of his daily life.

Even visiting his usual haunts proved useless. There didn’t seem to be a trace of him anywhere and Thranduil was much too much of a coward to walk right up to his door and demand to be let in. 

Yet, none of his calls were returned or his texts answered. When Tauriel asked Sigrid if her dad was ok she just shrugged and said he wasn’t doing anything unusual of late, but he had been grabbing a drink with workmates more often. 

That wasn’t a cause for concern as Bard had always been the friendly and sociable type. 

Whatever was going through his friend's mind he sincerely hoped he would take the time to consider contacting him so they could talk. There were only so many text messages he could send without looking incredibly desperate. 

5:30am Tuesday, December 24th. Easy breathing. 

A shrieking doorbell and the sound of continuous banging on the door jolted Thranduil awake and he swore loudly as he tumbled out of bed and shuffled wearily down the stairs. Whoever it was had better have a fantastic reason as to why they had to get him up at stupid o'clock in the morning!! 

When he pulled the door open to see a rather dishevelled Bard using the door frame to hold himself up the air in Thranduil’s lungs seemed to vanish. He stood motionless for a good 30 seconds before helping Bard inside. 

“You absolutely reek of alcohol. What are you doing here?” 

There was silence proceeding his question and, at first, Thranduil thought the man had fallen asleep on the sofa where he had collapsed but it appeared he was just thinking of the best response. 

“I had to see you.” Surprisingly he didn’t sound drunk and Thranduil considered that the cold must have sobered him up. For his own mental health, he decided against asking him what he meant about having to see him. 

“I don’t know about you but the larks aren’t even up yet and I am tired. Let me make some coffee for the both of us and we can see if I can’t get some sense out of you.” As he turned to move Bard’s hand shot out and his fingers curled around Thranduil’s wrist tugging him backwards with ease. 

“No, let me speak to you, hasn’t it been long enough already?” A sleep-deprived gravelled tone did not suit Bard and Thranduil could see dark circles around his eyes. Whatever had been on Bard’s mind of late must have had him up around the clock. 

“You were the one that decided you’d had enough of me, remember?” 

Those words caused the man before him to relinquish his grip on Thranduil’s wrist and he just gave a nod but when Thranduil didn’t move he took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“I’m sorry that I made it about me. There wasn’t even a second where I considered how scared you must have been to know that any day could have been your last.” 

“Yes, well, thankfully those days are behind me now.” 

Like a shock of electricity had gone through him Bard jumped to his feet looking this way and that before having the decency to look genuinely apologetic. 

“Did I interrupt your sleep with them?” In the light of the living room, Thranduil got a better look at him and something inside him clicked into place and he had to withhold a groan when he realised he had definitely, once again, fallen in love with his best friend. 

“There is no one, the person I was in love with, I’m not in love with them now. It took a long time to come to terms with the fact they did not care for me the way I wanted but I am better because I started to love me more.” Oh, what a liar he was. Yes, he did care for himself a lot more but he was falling right back into the rut he had been not 8 weeks ago. 

The second he started spitting petals he was going to wring Bard’s neck. There was no way he was going through all that again!

“There’s no one, ah, good. That means I have a sliver of a chance to ask you out on a date then.” 

No, no he wasn’t doing any of this without coffee. As much as he wanted to address every single word the man had just uttered he wasn’t doing this without caffeine and maybe some toast. 

Without a word he walked off into the kitchen and, like a lost puppy, Bard obediently trotted in behind him trying to get his attention. No, no, no, he was going to fill the machine with coffee beans and put bread in the toaster then he was going to get the toaster and throw it at Bard’s head! 

Whipping round to face him, Thranduil grabs a fistful of Bard’s shirt and pulls him close enough that they are nearly nose to nose. 

“You’re telling me that you have developed feelings for me in the past 3 months I have been in recovery?” 

Fear was the only emotion in Bard’s eyes and they were wide to the point the whites almost exceeded the iris. It would have been funny if Thranduil hadn’t wanted to throttle the man where he stood. 

“Well, I wanted to tell you I loved you as soon as you opened the door but you’re so scary when you’ve just woken up. You’re scary now, please don’t kill me. I love you!” 

That was it. 

“You LOVE me? Is that so Mr I Will Never Love Again? IS that so?!” There was a mixed bag of emotions stirring up inside him but mostly the murderous intent was winning out. Killing Bard wasn’t really on the cards but he wasn’t going to let the man get away with nearly killing him for over a year even if he had no idea it was his fault. 

“You are very, very, very lucky that I just so happen to love you, too.” The iron grip on Bard’s shirt relaxed and he tried his best to smooth the deep wrinkles but it was not to be. Regardless, he had Bard looking at him with a sappy grin plastered over his pale face like he’d been told he’d won the lottery and not the affections of a highly problematic male. 

“R-really?” 

“As much as it now pains me to say this, yes, I do love you so very much. So much so that my heart could burst if I tried to contain it any longer.” The thumping of his heart was so hard in his chest that he was sure Bard could have heard it if he’d tried. Somehow things were falling into place now with such little effort. 

There had been a chance Thranduil would have found himself bitter about the whole thing and shunned Bard’s advances. Revenge should have been high on his list with the grinning idiot before him but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than lean in and press a kiss to his Bard’s lips. 

“Really, really.” 

[stonertransdad]

Life Update since I hadn't been on here in forever

The pandemic was/is wild! Lockdowns started literally around the time we were going to the fertility specialist to get her pregnant. I lost my job to COVID in March shortly before we did the procedure, but we decided there's never really a good time to have a kid. Why not during a global pandemic when one of us in unemployed? (BTW, I don't recommend having a kid during a pandemic. Not being able to go to all of the appointments and having to sit in the parking lot was brutal.)

Let's talk about May friends...it was rough. (TW for mention of suicide btw. I'll post a gif where it's safe to start again if you wanna skip over it.)

So May 1st is the anniversary of my father's suicide. It had been 4 years. I found his body and since he wasn't married, I had to handle his affairs and arrange his funeral. May 1st, 2020 my wife and I had a Zoom game night with our friends and I got drunk because everyone was drinking (except my wife because she was pregnant). After our game night at like 2am, I had a psychotic break. I threatened to kill myself numerous times. My wife tried to talk me down, but eventually called the cops to take me. I thank her for that because looking back, that was the moment I knew something needed to change. I was convinced the cops were gonna kill me because I'm a trans dude in rural West Texas. I legit took the phone out of my wife's hand, hung up on 911, and yeeted her phone across the backyard and tried to hop the fence. Eventually the cops came and talked me down. They took me to the hospital an hour away in handcuffs (for their protection I did nothing wrong). They took me to the religious hospital that I was born in. So when they looked up my info by my name and date of birth from my driver's license (I only changed my middle name) literally all my paperwork and my bracelet had my deadname and wrong gender despite all of my legal stuff saying male with my new middle name. I mentioned it to them and they didn't care. They misgendered me the entire time I was there. I had hit my head hella hard on the bath tub when my wife was trying to snap me out of it, did the hospital even check me for concussion? Nope. I had punched so many things and my hand and wrist were swollen and discolored. Did they check out my hand and wrist? Nope. I was there for over 10 hours before I was able to convince them I was okay and that it was just the alcohol. Did I mention during that 10 hours I was literally out in the hall on a gurney with no mask and this was when COVID was running rampant in Texas (the first time)? I heard people die that night. I had nothing to distract me because they took away all of my personal items and clothes. My wife picked me up and we went home and I have been sober ever since. It's not the first psychotic break I've had with alcohol in my system. Alcohol just doesn't agree with me, but I'm finding new things to replace it with.

TW has been lifted...it's safe now.

A couple of weeks after that I began teletherapy because I had been on the same mood stabilizer and anti-depressant for almost a decade. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I felt like it hadn't been working for at least a year. This is a reminder to check in with your doctor if you feel like your meds aren't working. You may just need a different dose or a new med. There's no shame in that. I bounced around on various medications trying to find the right combo, some side effects scarier than others, but we got there. Before this, I had been diagnosed with ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My therapist threw out my Borderline diagnosis and said it was CPTSD instead, which made sense.

Fast forward to December because my wife was pregnant, I was unemployed still, and we did absolutely fuck-all because the global panini was still raging.

Our son was born on December 3, 2020. He weighed 5lbs 9oz and scared the ever loving shit out of us. He wasn't breathing when he was born so they called NICU in ASAP. I'm freaking out because I can hear and see what's going on while my wife was asking if he was okay as they put her guts back in place to sew her up. 5 or so minutes pass and a nurse asks if I want her to take some pictures. I'm like is he okay, he still hasn't cried. She's like "oh yeah, he's chillin." This goon was being held by a nurse and was just looking around not crying or anything. Chillest baby ever (he still is btw). I held him next to my wife's head until it was time to go back to the room. Little dude did have to spend 4 nights in the NICU because he couldn't keep his sugars or temperature regulated, but he was healthy otherwise. He's now 4 months old and is starting to sit up on his own a little bit and he's OBSESSED with standing. He's still a little guy, but very healthy and growing like a weed. He saves my life daily.

So after being unemployed for over 9 months, I started a new job working in a call center. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It gives me anxiety and throws me into panic attacks, but I had been putting out hundreds of job applications since I lost my last job and this was the first offer I got. I wasn't really in a position to turn it down since my unemployment had ran out 2 months prior. It was 2 months of training, then we'd be on our own. I got thru the training and thought I could handle it...until they started putting us on live calls with someone helping us if we got stuck. My mental health hit the lowest point it had in a few years and my wife was terrified she was going to lose me. She convinced me to quit on February 28th (not because I didn't want to, but because I'm a stubborn ass who felt guilty). My meds got tweaked a little bit more dosage wise during this mess.

Starting about mid-February, I was experiencing severe shakiness, tremors, and spasms. I've always been a shaky person and never really thought too much about it, but at some points I could barely feed myself, or get a drink, or hold my son. On March 7th, I tried to make an appointment with my doctor about the weird symptoms I was experiencing, but she was out of town and her next opening wasn't until the 31st. My body said that won't work and my wife rushed me to the ER on the 9th...I had begun having seizures that day. I had no previous history of seizures. Got to the ER and had a seizure literally as I was walking thru the door, so they rushed me straight back. They took some blood and that was literally it. No MRI. No CT. They pumped me full of Ativan and said it was just a panic attack and to go home and chill.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't just anxiety. I was having 20+ seizures a day. On the 10th, my wife rushed me to a different hospital...the good hospital over an hour away. First we had to drop off our gremlin with my mom to make things a little easier. Yet again, I had a seizure as I walked in the door and was taken back immediately. I don't really remember much because they kept pumping me full of Ativan and morphine because I had been in excruciating pain from the number of seizures I'd had. I do remember them doing a CT pretty quickly after I got there. Then they weren't happy with the results of the CT, so they took me to get an MRI, which showed possible signs of Multiple Sclerosis (but I didn't find that out until AFTER the notes showed up in my patient portal after being home a few days, so I raised hell...more on that later.) They did a 24 hour EEG on me and it showed nothing abnormal. Also, EEG glue is a bitch on your hair and scalp. After looking at everything and given my previous mental health history, they diagnosed me with Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, or PNES. It is a subset of Functional Neurologic Disorder, or FND. I couldn't walk well anymore and had to use a walker when I was discharged. I was in the hospital for 3 days.

When I had my follow-up appointment on the 23rd, I asked why the possibility of MS was never mentioned to me since it was very clearly in the notes. The doctor didn't have an explanation. He called in a referral to neurology so I could get a 2nd MRI to confirm MS and marked it as high priority. He also didn't take my pain seriously. My pain levels had been at a 5 or higher every single minute since they took me off of the morphine in the hospital. He told me to keep taking prescription strength doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol, which I had been. I let him know I had been and it didn't even take the edge off the pain. He ignored me. Leading up to this appointment, I had also added urinary incontinence to my growing list of symptoms and was forced to wear diapers so I didn't have to do laundry all the time. The doctor also took me off my ADHD meds because they were lowering my seizure threshold. He also took me off of my sleeping meds and nightmare meds for the same reason I'm assuming.

I kept my appointment on the 31st with my primary doctor because she's been my doctor for 5 years now and I knew she'd take my pain seriously. She did. She immediately wrote me prescriptions for a muscle relaxer and Tylenol 4. She also told me that my referral had been rejected by neuro. She said my case wasn't a good one for what she called a "wallet biopsy" and the doctors in neurology could be real assholes. She immediately sent the referral to other locations to get an approval. I am still waiting on that despite it being marked as high priority. She wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair because we both agreed my wheelchair was not enough for particular days.

Yesterday my wheelchair was finally ready for pickup, so my wife drove me to go get it. I'm still unable to drive due to my seizures and my tremors and twitches as it's predominantly in my legs and arms. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user now. Some days I can go short distances without my walker, some days I can't go without my walker, some days I can't even get out of bed, and some days I will be using my wheelchair. Don't judge a book by its cover, not all disabilities are visible. I have managed to keep my daily seizure count down in single digits and have even had a few seizure free days. They are still incredibly taxing on my body. I feel like I can't ever replenish my spoons fast enough to keep up with anything in my life.

So all in all, life has been chaotic. We are moving from Texas to New Mexico in the next few weeks, which should be interesting considering I can't overdo it without throwing myself into seizures. We will be closer to my mother-in-law so she can help us with our son and I can start resting a bit more on the more difficult days. Being a stay-at-home dad with an invisible illness has been one of the most challenging things I've done in my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

Sorry this is so long. I just wanted to update my followers since it's been over a year since I posted before a few days ago.

[nikkithomas]

Here’s the deal. I started having a lot of pain in my lower back, legs and hips. At first, I went to the chiropractor and he did some adjustments. I seriously felt so much better.

My regular doctor had prescribed some medicine for me for an unrelated thing and it made me so sick. I’d be so nauseous that I’d have to go get fresh air...walk it off...or even splash water on my face. That had been going on even when I was in Knoxville.

Aircheck had asked me to talk about my ACM trip to Vegas when we won in 2019. I’m sure there were people who thought it was funny or maybe even crass...but they asked what I thought or what was going through my head at that ceremony...and I think my answer was something to the effect of “I was trying not to throw up” or something like that. My stomach was on fire and I felt so dizzy. My face was all flushed and hot. I thought about going to the ER there in Vegas...but I was afraid I’d miss the reason I was there...to pick up the ACM for our station. I think it was win number seven for the station...as a PD it was my third...and it was still a pretty big deal. Honest to God, I didn’t want to let anyone down. I also wasn’t sure if it was food poisoning or something. When I got back to Knoxville, went to my doctor...they ran tests...gave me some medicine...and I thought that was the end of it. They still couldn’t figure out what was going on with me, though.

I left Knoxville and moved to the Tri Cities. Best decision I’ve made in years, by the way. I truly love these people. They’ve done a phenomenal job of protecting their product and their people and I believe that’s why this station is still so healthy when many other legendary stations have suffered. The stress level dropped substantially. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when the station and the people are a priority. Which by the way...XBQ has been so much like KAT Country. It’s been everything I love about radio and thought I’d never experience again. These people couldn’t be farther apart...yet be so much alike. It’s a good thing.

The main thing bothering me then...was my back and legs. Kept having some really nasty pain. The pain was so intense sometimes that it made me nauseous. My face was flushed...I had a fever...then I didn’t have one. Maybe it was my weight? I was getting up to pee a lot at night. Only sleeping one or two hours in a stretch. It was all these things that I never put together.

I wanted to get healthy. Told my doctor I wasn’t going to take that medicine that made me feel so bad...just in case that was the problem. My endocrinologist was cool with that. I started the keto diet. Actually...I did keto up until right before Thanksgiving.

I was so happy. My thyroid is absolutely hateful...so losing weight is the hardest thing to do it seems. On keto...I dropped over 30 pounds. Wow! I thought that was great!! Everything felt better. My energy levels were up. I’d get up at 4am and wouldn’t stop until 11pm...and everything was good...until my hip, back and legs started hurting again. It was so bad one morning that the guys I work with called chiropractors for me. It was awful.

The pain had never really stopped...but at a certain point you just get used to the pain and move on as best you can. That’s what I did up until a few weeks ago. If you know me, you know that I love Toys For Tots, St Jude, Second Harvest, etc. We were out with the marines working on Toys For Tots and I ended up having to miss one day because I hurt so bad. Now for me...that’s bad.

It never let up. I’ve just pushed through and tried to “suck it up” since then. That was a couple of weeks before Christmas. Y’all I seriously thought it might be psychosomatic. Maybe it was all in my head. If it hurt...I’d try to stretch or move and work it out of my body...but that NEVER worked.

So...I go back to the chiropractor. Those guys were so good to me. They can electrocute me anytime they want. (All hail the TENS unit!!) That seemed to be working...and then we had a little bit of a COVID scare at work...(everyone is okay, thank goodness). Around that time...I was running a fever off and on. Low grade. There were some other things that weren’t feeling quite right...so...just to be safe...I got another COVID test and quarantined. Still...I felt like I was ALWAYS in pain. Sometimes it was so bad...I couldn’t move or do anything in any way to make it stop. It made me want to cry. It was embarrassing. It was frustrating because I couldn’t get it to let up. It got so bad that last Saturday I drove myself to the ER to get checked out.

Urgent Care said they couldn’t help because I needed “imaging”. Well...I got that imaging done folks. Turns out...I have a scary mass on my right ovary. It’s pretty huge.

I went in Saturday night...terrified of being around sick people...but it had to be done. The pain was so intense...that my blood pressure shot sky high...and my nose starting bleeding. The doctor ordered morphine, Norco and a CT scan.

The guy doing the scan was a travel nurse. He went from being pretty chatty to sort of quiet and reserved after the test. When they injected the dye into me...he was telling me it would hurt...and it was nothing compared to what I was feeling.

I woke up two hours after the scan to the doctor on call sitting next to my bed and looking sorta weird at me. She told me they’d received my test results and everything I’d said was right on the money.

The burning, pressure, aching, tension...all of it...was related to what she referred to as “not the biggest mass” she’d ever seen...but “one of the largest”. She was surprised I’d been walking around with this thing in me for God knows how long.

Now here’s where the story goes off the rails.

That doctor at Ballad mentioned the word “cancer” about nine times in that room. That was the “suspected” diagnosis. She said I needed to follow up and see another doctor because of what could be “cancer”...and told me they’d have to see if it had spread anywhere.

Now...that was a LOT to take in. So...I did what any other person with an iPhone, an unlimited data plan and tons of morphine in their system would do...I looked that crap up on “Dr Internet”.

The next time a nurse came in...I asked her...”Umm did you guys do a CA 125 test?”

That same poor sweet nurse, who would go on to blow a vein...and push the medicine through the IV into my skin, thereby causing a monster of a bruise and making my vein get rock hard...she said in this really hushed tone...”I don’t know...I’ll ask. I saw your report. I’m so sorry.”

At this point...I’m facing my mortality. I just wanted out of there. I wanted this damn thing out of me...I wanted answers...I wanted everything to be okay.

I still want everything to be okay.

By the way...she never came back in with the answer to that CA 125 test question. So I took that as a hard “no”...or “they did it and don’t want to tell me”.

Monday I was back in the ER. Doubled over, in tears.

The doctor ordered pain medicine...that never came in the four hours I was there. That was NOT a fun time. The nurses just let me sit there. To her credit...the doctor was pretty furious when she found out they’d ignored her orders. Once again...this other doctor looks at me and says...”You know they think this is cancer?”

No. Still no test...but she made an appointment for me with a local oncologist.

Now...that CA 125 antigen test is not infallible, nor is it the end-all-be-all test for ovarian cancer. It is a marker though specifically for ovarian cancer.

So if they’re telling you that you have a massive tumor and it could be cancer...(two doctors over two visits..the word has been dropped about a dozen times...it’s also in the CT report...you’d think someone would bust out a needle...draw the blood...see what that looks like...and get you in the right frame of mind in case it is this horrible bastard of a disease!! Right? Wrong.)

The mass at the time was 10.3cm x 10.3cm x 7.1cm.

The oncologist couldn’t see me for a week...the gynecologist couldn’t see me until February 1st.

Yeah. No big hurry. I’m just having trouble walking. I’m in tears. I’m peeing...like a teaspoon at a time. I know that’s graphic...but if you don’t pee...you need to get checked. I felt like I was (and still feel, by the way) in the middle of a massive labor pain that wouldn’t ease off. It’s pain that makes you want to throw up sometimes. It’s super intense.

I went home that second time...sat down in my room...and I couldn’t help but tear up. I’ve cried two and a half times over the “state of things” since this started. Those are the “what am I going to do” tears...totally different from the “oh Lord this hurts like hell...dear God make it stop” tears.

Talked to our friend Eric who told me it was a shame I didn’t live in Nashville...because I could probably call Vanderbilt and be seen pretty quickly. Eric...was right. I’m three hours from Vanderbilt...but only an hour or so from Knoxville.

I called UT. (Go Vols!) That football situation isn’t ideal...but that hospital ain’t half bad.

Within less than an hour...the head Oncologist had looked over my CT scan and was working to get me in there ASAP. They’d have taken me that day...but it was too late in the day and I’d never make it down there in time. So...they scheduled me for Wednesday morning.

Before I walked out of the room that morning...they told me they were going to operate and get this out of me by Monday at the very latest. The schedule was full...so they needed to check on a few things before I left the hospital...just in case there was torsion or whatever.

I had a CA 125 test. That looked good from what I understand but my CT scan and sonogram looked sketchy. The mass appeared to be even larger since Saturday?!? (It showed up as being 12.6cm x 13.3cm x 8.3cm) They gave me a COVID test and told me to self isolate until my surgery...which is scheduled for tomorrow.

It was upon learning how much larger this thing had become...that I named it...”Larry King”.

I don’t know why...but that seemed to be the name that fit whatever this thing is inside me. In my mind...it looks like Larry King...holding two shot glasses. One shot glass is filled with Dewar’s...the other is filled with Metamucil. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth...but I don’t know if he’s a “smoker” yet.

If it officially comes back as cancer...I’ll let you know. If it doesn’t...I’ll let you know that, too.

I’m not writing this for pity or attention...on the contrary. It’s all a lot for me to take in...and I’m just not sure how to process it all. Writing it out sort of helps.

In the middle of all of this over the past week...Tom Starr passed away. He was such a sweet man. There’s a picture that he took of us at CRS...it’s me...Tom...Lisa McKay and Heather Davis. I think Heather wrote a caption that said something like “it’s so hard to believe half of the people in this picture are gone”.

That was pretty heavy.

I’m still trying to process that actually. I thought the world of Tom, loved Lisa McKay (she got me when so many others didn’t)...and just to the left...there I was. I felt like a jerk for even taking a moment to feel bad for myself. There are so many other people who have it so much worse than I do. And what if there’s nothing to this thing? What if it’s just some sort freak thing? There are so many people who’ve fought so hard and powered through so much and here I am...maybe worried for nothing...getting ready to have surgery...and it feels wrong to worry about myself. Whatever is done is done and I’ll fight whatever I need to fight. If it’s not cancer (oh God please let them all be wrong) then I have a lot of things that I need to do...and other people’s opinions and judgment that don’t have any place in my head or the right to exist in my life’s body of work or otherwise. I’ll just keep praying for them.

I keep telling myself those doctors could be wrong. Until I see a pathology report...this isn’t real.

While I appreciate and am thankful for any prayers you can send up on my behalf...please don’t feel obliged to write anything on this post. Seriously. I just needed to get this all out and behind me.

I HATE “bleeding on the internet”. It’s a serious pet peeve. Not everyone is worthy of knowing everything that’s going on...nor should they be expected to care...but I realize sometimes people need reinforcement and support. I still don’t like sharing MY business on here. It feels weird. I’ll talk about things on the air...that I don’t care to regurgitate on Facebook.

I’ll talk about award shows, TV, things that are funny...pictures...but it’s not my business who you vote for or what you believe in. I’m just glad that you DO. Better to have convictions and purpose than be apathetic. Over the years...it’s been amazing to see how a simple picture I’ve posted or link (without even commenting on it...just a pic or simple URL) how it can make people lose their minds.

You will never solve life’s problems on Facebook or any other social media platform. It controls you. You/we are merely the peanut gallery from which billions of dollars are “mined” every single minute we’re on here.

The smartest thing I ever had laid on me about social media was from an interview with a Silicon Valley person that said “If you’re not creating the product...you ARE the product. Think about that.

Our world is so messed up right now. And no matter what party you’re affiliated with...it just seems very wrong to lump everyone together and vilify them all. Not everyone is evil. Not everyone is right or wrong. Writing people off is so inhumane. You really can disagree with someone and not hate them.

I remember being at a concert in a few years ago and had just learned some pretty tough stuff that was impacting a competitor, and shared that with one of the leaders that I worked with. They’d taken a huge blow...which was awesome strategically...but it happened at the same time the competitors PD had lost his mother. I remember expressing that I felt bad for the guy (specifically about losing his mother)...and without batting an eye...the guy I worked with said he didn’t feel sorry for him at all. “That’s just too bad!” He said other things but I won’t go there because that would reveal who that person is...and the person for whom he was speaking about that day. Now...in my heart I hoped that guy who up until then I’d had so much respect for...did NOT know what happened to this guys mom. It just felt gross talking to him. I never looked at him the same way again. It was all about depth. There was nothing there. Very disappointing. I once cared what this guy thought about me...but that was done. And living through this now underscores that feeling and reminds me on a personal level what really is important. That’s a lot for a workaholic like me to process.

I’m signing off now. It got sort of “ramblesque” there at the end. Sorry about that. As for all the other stuff...I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

[madamhatter]

act 0. observer’s notes your name is….. finding place in exile, the ramifications of war, and the scars it makes (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder)

Discussion on PTSD and its play in writing Sophie in the Topaxi verse. A general (mental) profile of the Sorceress in this setting would be included.  Includes connecting recurring imagery and rifts spotted in-character writing in the Topaxi verse. (Kind of spoilers!)

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION.

The story of displacement is a common tale for many of the Roles in Topaxi. Be it if you’re of those surviving past the war, having escaped the clutches of social prejudice of your home country, or even in rift from self-persecution, the belongingness that was once felt is adrift and lost to the ever-revolving and never-stopping world we live in.  As of the latest conquest conducted by the Topaxi Advancement Forces (TAF), the continent of Gaea has had several of its countries turned territories or effaced within the past seven to eight years. It has been over two years since the invasion and TAF is on standby as the last emperor had suddenly and mysteriously passed away. 

One of the last countries to be taken by the Empire was a smaller region towards the north of the continent with one coast belonging to the open sea. Such a place, which was incredibly small and considered nameless by then, was the home of the Sorceress.

In the wake of post-war life, most have found their living in making a living, while a rare few live to make a change. So ends up Sophie Hatter, the confirmed one of eight survivors from her hometown, to Topaxi with no remnants of family with her as they are located elsewhere in the Topaxi empire. (A complicated situation. It is connected to Sophie’s mother and it is the reason why Sophie is the last Hatter to leave her home country). She is holding herself together with only the clothes on her body and whatever items survived the destruction in a small messenger bag she found in the debris of her late childhood home.  So, where does Sophie find herself...? What is she like now? 

Similar to discussed cases in Topaxi with certain roles being exposed to and/or participating in the war, Sophie Hatter is one of those cases. She developed Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that is comorbid with general anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and major depressive disorder. NOTE: Major depressive disorder would be a differential diagnosis. However, the symptoms exhibited by Sophie by the time she is 19, and after the course for acute stress disorder to be diagnosed (~3 days to a month), does reflects does include symptoms for “PTSD Criterion B or C symptoms” and  “PTSD Criterion D or E” (p 279, DSM-5). Meaning that comorbidity is possible diagnosis or this disorder soon developed because of the traumatic event in place. 

Sophie struggles with creating herself as she was before; there is an intrusion that exists within her and she is acutely aware of it and believes that she must do something about it. This nuisance she classifies, however, cannot be as easily undone as she realizes and her understanding of it is very limited, given the fact that the world of Topaxi has limited resources and research committed to psychology.

While the city-state of Topaxi can be considered modern and ahead of its time with the presence of UCAT, their progression and developments are not concurrent (yet) with the going-ons of today. While its history may not have been dedicated to vulnerable populations and certain experiences they might have faced, changes are being made with new projects, but there is still a way’s to go. 

Sophie Hatter, externally, is a persistently active figure, working with the newly made community in her apartment and living day-to-day with newly found relationships. However, she remains within arms’ distance with others while providing help, working to her best to keep stability around her as much as she can. Her schedule, during the day, is extremely limited and refined by her to avoid as many external variables that may affect her and she does not want to even imagine or experience how she’ll respond. 

Internally, however, Sophie Hatter is still a young woman who is grasping with the reality of what has happened to her during the invasion. Preceding the conquest, she already exhibited behaviors of a childhood that left her perception of the world altered and her self-perception low (to the point of being uncaring to her own safety). However, the inclusion of adversity from events during the war and the continuous exposure from her curse to her escape has heightened and created characteristics, responses, and coping mechanisms to handle what the mind is still attempting to fully comprehend/accept has happened.

Be note, that there are two events in the war that affected her: (1) discovering her decimated town/facing the its destruction and (2) her time before her “escape.” 

Following DSM-5 and the Diagnostic Criteria for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (figure 43.10), Sophie has the following symptoms and tendencies underneath these particular categories:  (Numbers denote which event is tied to what.)

A  “Exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violation in one (or more) of the following ways” [EVENT] 

Directly experiencing the traumatic event - (1) The travel through the desolated country and seeing first-hand accounts of dead bodies, murder, and other atrocities ; (2) Detainment and what happened during then.

Witnessing, in person, the event(s) as it occurred to others - (1) The final bombings and scourge that swept over the valley ; (2) Was forced to watch mutilation and unethical experiments

B  “Presence of one (or more) of the following intrusion symptoms associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning after the traumatic event(s) occurred” [INTRUSION]

Recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic event(s) - (1) & (2) happens a lot but does not come out through direct and perfect images of what has happened. Usually plays out that she sees the dead bodies and imagines fire around her if moving too quickly or in areas that she avoids because of stimuli that can trigger her.  

Intense or prolonged psychological distress at exposure to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event(s) - Will enter a state of intrusive thoughts that will repeatedly tell her to leave and push her to go away. Would end up apologizing repeatedly and would begin her move as soon as possible. 

Marked physiological reactions to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event(s) - Turns blank in the face and stares out whenever stimuli (or a combination) is in contact with her ; memories will begin resurfacing mainly through smell, but she has routinely removed herself ASAP. Flight or fight response will be immensely present and it DOES depend on her hypervigilance and whether she is moonlighting as Simeon as not. if moonlighting, the “fight” reaction WILL be used and will devolve into violence. If not, Sophie’s immediate response will be to leave and leave as soon as possible, no matter what it is she is doing. Would end up shallowly breathing like there’s smoke in the air, holding herself, and bowing her head as if avoiding seeing something before her. 

C “Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by one or both of the following” [AVOIDANCE]

Avoidance of or efforts to avoid distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s) - (1) Continued rejection and avoidance of topics relating to latest conquests and usually avoids districts that are heavy with TAF occupation (bases, ports, air fields, etc.) ; 

Avoidance of or efforts to avoid external reminders (people, places, conversations, activities, objects, situations) that arouse distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s) - (2) Adamant refusal to enter or get close to medical facilities and certain smells like ammonia will make her hostile and intense (first mentioned in Headcanon Dump #1)

D “Negative alterations in cognitions and mood associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning or worsening after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by two (or more) of the following” [NEGATIVE ALTERNATIONS IN COGNITIONS AND MOOD ASSOCIATED WITH THE EVENT]

Inability to remember an important aspect of the traumatic event(s) (typically due to dissociative amnesia and not to other factors such as head injury, alcohol, or drugs) - Confirmed for dissociative amnesia where the events of (1) and (2) meld together and the timeline is mixed together ; there are very specific images that do not reflect the real scene or are reduced from the original signifier (I.E., the specific image of draping/pouring red)  

Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world (e.g., “I am bad,” “No one can be trusted,” “The world is completely dangerous,” “My whole nervous system is permanently ruined”) - Consistent and returning thoughts of worthlessness for self (’Why am I still here versus....?” ; others are seen to be temporary in her life and cannot be held onto for long ( “they need something from me, that’s why they’re here..”)

Persistent, distorted cognitions about the cause or consequences of the traumatic event(s) that lead the individual to blame himself/herself or others - Consistent blame on herself for (2) but (1) is vehemently targeted towards both herself when it comes to the deaths of her community -AND- people she distinguishes as responsible for the outcome (Topaxi officials and, at times, associates of TAF ) and authority figures from her country 

Persistent negative emotional state (e.g., fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame) - Amplified when Simeon and the persona is seen as an outlet to let out these emotions she believe she needs to keep in line ; usually guilt, anger, and shame meshed together, which leads to fueling reckless behavior and decisions that may hurt herself (which she dubs as necessary)

E “Marked alterations in arousal and reactivity associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning or worsening after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by two (or more) of the following”  [MARKED ALTERNATION IN AROUSAL AND REACTIVITY] 

Irritable behavior (with little to no provocation) towards objects and people - Most visible when moonlighting as Simeon. 

Reckless or self-destructive behavior - Refer to purpose of Simeon persona and her views on her livelihood and how she actively “punishes” herself. 

Hypervigilance. - Already present in Sophie, worsened from war. Contributing to this would be her consistency to keep her and her night persona separated; add on need to keep herself on a low-profile and not recognizable in certain locations with medical personnel and researchers. 

Sleep disturbance (e.g., difficulty falling or staying asleep or restless sleep) - Already present in Sophie, worsened from war. 

F “Duration of the disturbance (Criteria B, C, D, and E) is more than 1 month.”

Has been persistent throughout the ~2 years she has been living in Topaxi.

G “The disturbance causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.”

Confirmed. 

H “The disturbance is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., medication, alcohol) or another medical condition.”

Not able to be found in context of the comorbidity exhibited by Sophie. Many new symptoms took form after the experiences she had in war. To note, she has been showing signs of a new comorbidity (substance reliance, alcohol). 

SPECIFICATION: Depersonalization with delayed expression (taken a year for these symptoms to begin). 

 - - - 

Sophie Hatter, as previously described, is someone who is coping with trauma through the best way she knows and has done before with her other trauma: ignoring it and shunning herself. However, she has particular outlets that may come of casual consumption of alcohol which happens concerningly frequent throughout certain days if stimuli are present. 

Additionally, while Simeon is throughout the criteria, they were not originally made as a result of what occurred. The original creation of Simeon was meant to be a persona she could use to live a “double life” as she needed to make more money and dangerous work paid well.  Having them as separate lives, in her eyes, keeps her safe from anyone targeting or her family (but, it is clear that her sisters and stepmother are not on the island).

Instead, they have became a violent outlet for her internalized dread, anguish, and anger. Having the “informant” as an extension of herself, excusing bad decisions and feeling out of her body while the world around her happens, has proven detrimental to the process of the awareness, acknowledgement, assistance, and acceptance of her condition. 

Here are several examples of Sophie’s PTSD appearing:

Self-harm/demanding herself to be hurt/trying to mark herself and punish herself

Haggardly, Simeon grimaces while their vest was shed off and resting on the tower hanger, alongside their binder beside it. Their dress shirt was half-way unbuttoned. Over their exposed shoulders and underneath their breasts were imprints.

Scarred fingertip digs into their collarbone. A sharp jab into their clavicle, feeling a minor ache as they push further.  Bruise, damn it. Make some mark. Make color, be red.

-- EXCERPT FROM THIS DRABBLE (SOPHIE’S DISPOSITION).

Association with red and the bleeding of traumatic events (1) and (2) joining together, causing her to respond blankly to the situation before being distracted by Yunuen speaking

Red skies, red sparks, red flow, red blossoms in the sky, red stained on metal, red dyeing gowns, red fringes framing a scratched off face that hovers over your pinned body, red hot pain searing into your body, red, red, red red-

-- EXCEPT FROM THIS THREAD (FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH YUNUEN). 

Survivor’s guilt and persistent negativity directed at herself because of her survival (The marks are related to (2) and the thought is related to (1)): 

On her right hip, roughly the same size as the other, but longer as it had dragged along said hip, the scar was horizontal and deeper than its neighbor, visible from its crinkled appearance. Reminders of life’s misplaced luck, she concludes, not used wisely by Fate this time around. How silly of them to pick me.

-- EXCERPT FROM SILVER STIGMATA (PHYSICAL SURVEY)

Hypervigilance and abundance of stimuli that make her extremely uncomfortable/distrusting of situation: 

A heaviness swells in their chest, an unshakable pressure tightening their rib cage, and yet, this was only normal symptoms of living a life like this. Industrial foulness mixed with fresh market fragrances from the decadent and wealthy market by the mouth of the alley; all the more gag-inducing for the young informant.

However, they clutch onto the empty box in their hands, making out the plastic ridges against the faintest callouses on the tip of their fingers They weren’t ignorant to the truth; how these sounds that place them on edge, instead soothed others. After all, this was home for many. But, for Simeon – rather, the one beneath the mask, it was not. And it never would be.

-- EXCERPT FROM THREAD (discontinued as person is inactive in verse)

One of the first instances of Sophie’s PTSD affecting her and being active in a thread would be her firstt, but short-lived, interaction with Tatyana. The avoidance nature and immediate removal from the situation happens in this case when Tatyana revs up the engine on her motorcycle, shouting from a stranger from the apartments joins in, and the heavy and direct smell and vision of smog. 

Here’s the break down: 

Physiological numbness in the moment; mind is still active, but taking a backseat and removing herself from situation (recognizing self as powerless in moment):

The shouting began as Sophie turns her face away, feeling her skin crawl to a coldness. The words that left his mouth were no less understandable but the ferocity and indignation in his tone was far too recognizable. If she considered it, she could’ve spoken back and defused the situation. The gift of tongues came with the ability to grant passage for others who can’t be brought together by difference of languages.

Physiological response and addition of stimuli that directly relate back to the image of hometown [INTRUSION]: 

Sophie Hatter’s eyes are now but a distant gaze over towards the taller blonde, only wishing like she did when she was younger. To disappear, to toil and fade away, to crawl back to whence she came from. Roaring engines, the smell of smoke, it was sickening. It was inespacable in the floating island, but it smelled too much like what remained of home. Add onto the shouting and it was already enough to make her head ache.

(Unknowingly) reenacting particular body language used during trauma; feeling of helplessness in situation that is out of her control: 

Some of her body was already numbing at the fingertips and she was pulling the black collar of her turtleneck over her mouth and nose. It wouldn’t work to cushion and black the sounds, their volume growing louder and louder like the pain in her head.

Active avoidance, mind begins flight-or-fight situation with altered perceptive of reality: 

“I need somewhere quiet.” She feebly comments, glancing back to the apartment buildings, and believing that there were more people creeping by the windows. The silver-haired woman promptly steps aside. Now, she was ready to shuffle away and avoid the incoming shouts on the block if it continued.

She wasn’t a fan of the memories it brought.

Sudden and abrupt removal from situation, signal of struggling to keep body language together as she wants to avoid an episode: 

“Good luck,” she waves a hand, glancing back to the stranger, before balling her hands into  the pockets of her sweater. She began her quiet leave.

- - - 

More is to be written about Sophie in how she is greatly affected by this. Some drabbles have been scrapped and were planned to express how deep the trauma works. Though, it can be already seen in how Sophie views death, treats her body, a persistently negative view on certain parties and the outcome of life, etc. 

Drabbles that were scrapped but would be considered “canon” that relay back to Sophie’s trauma would include:

As Simeon at Lunazul, she ends up getting to a brawl with someone after the table next to hers is repeatedly mentioning the conquests and graphic detail of what has happened to unnamed people (unnamed nationalistic person). Ends up intensely cold, getting up from her seat, and nearly beating the man unconscious with far too much wrath in her body; she rushes out of the bar and has a sobbing breakdown several blocks away.

A confrontation of “Red” that she remembers time and time again; a consistent night terror that follows her nd makes her unable to sleep some nights; actively ‘speaks’ to it while in sleep paralysis and it acknowledges her well. Scene usually ends up with “Red” above her, face reveals to be face heavily mutilated and gouged, screaming loudly and repeatedly at Sophie.

A shutdown in public when there are large amounts of traffic near her because a detour led her to the highway; leading her to hide somewhere and refusing to come out until “they drive away,” which makes her miss the day she’s meant to be working at Miya’s detective office. 

A short meeting with one of her neighbor’s children, a young 26-year-old working at a hospital in Central and professor at UCAT, still wearing their scrubs and the heavy smell of ammonia on them. The image itself leaves Sophie cutting conversation short and retreating to her apartment. 

- - -

Sophie Hatter is a 20-year-old facing the aftermath of exile from her own country and self and the trauma coming with displacement and surviving the horrors of the world. She is by no means a hopeless case or a lost cause. 

But, she is someone who is going to go through development as someone who struggles constantly: as someone who is unsure of what to do with her life, as much as she wants to live normally, her stability and infrastructure has been destroyed her very eyes. She attempts to reconstruct herself but fails to realize how that’d harm her because she is actively avoiding what has happened to her and denies herself that all of this happened. 

She believes she can “make up” for something she calls an inadequacy and blames herself for. She “makes up” for it by being a community figure in a place that she would never feel right in or safe in; she "makes up” for it by being a reputable person who would never turn down anyone and offers help whenever she can; she “makes up” by continuously lying to herself and hurting herself. 

Part of her screams, another part weeps; one part wants to take vengeance, tear apart everything, and the other wants to curl up and lose herself to the numbness. But, she persists in her hurt with a solution that even worsens these parts that want comfort and healing. 

It is a difficult reality she must navigate, which is difficult because she is alone.

No matter how anyone looks at it, the path of exile is a lonesome one when you do not recognize there are someone else’s footprints on the dirt road. Her feet are long tired, dirtied, and bloodied by how far she dragged herself across this time to figure herself out.... But, with each passing day, it seems she’s getting further and further out from anyone’s reach, and before she knows it, she’ll be going down a path of destruction that’d engulf those around her in ash, fire, and death.