#My doctor lecturing me about my blood pressure

[wyrmapalooza]

love when life finally gets quiet and nice and things are finally starting to settle for the fall + winter , 50 horrible stressful things all pile up in one week . I feel like I’m going to explode .

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[brooke121000]

bad cooking • spencer reid

a teeny tiny blurb in which, during a playful argument, reader injures herself in the kitchen. bf!spencer proceeds to tend to her small wound and (lightly) lecture her.

warnings: sharp things, brief desc of injuries/blood

a/n: is it a problem all my writing has been food related lately?

———————————౨ৎ———————————-

“You do not have an oral fixation.” Spencer said firmly, chopping the tomatoes.

“You know what-“ you sighed. “I think that I do!” 

Before long, Spencer had chopped the vegetables and dumped them in the pot, the soothing smell of vodka pasta in the making filling your kitchen.

“Freuds theories are highly debatable. He himself was severely mentally ill- trusting him for advice on child development would be like.. trusting an eighteenth century plague doctor to administer a vaccine.” He chided, watching you strain out the pasta.

“Still, he was a pioneer in neuroscience-“ you retaliated. “He made his theories the same way anyone else did.. pattern recognition! You have to admit there’s at least some validity to the ego and the ID.”

He sighed, turning up the heat on the pan. 

“You have been biting your nails all night because you have an anxiety disorder and one too many glasses of wine- not because you were neglected.”

“I was formula fed! Don’t you think that might be the reason-“” You said, your tone rising a bit. Shaky hands navigated to the drawer, pulling out a large kitchen knife and grabbing a bulb of garlic from the basket.

“Okay, maybe I just need some alcohol. You know- you’re too stubborn for your own good.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Now-“ you turned to meet his gaze, and- in your emotion, fumbled with the knife. “I think that’s..”

He winced when he saw your wound- “you’re bleeding.” 

“What?”

As soon as you looked down, your brain became cognizant to the pain. Red hot pain shooting up your arm, crimson pooling on the side of your index finger and dripping onto the cutting board, defiling the garlic.

You huffed in frustration. ��Ow! You distracted me, I wouldn’t have-“

He smiled, grabbing a paper towel. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, planting a kiss on the side of your cheek and wrapping your finger, applying pressure.

“We don’t.. need to argue about whose fault it is.”

“Well..” you pouted. “I totally ruined the garlic.”

“The pasta is fine, I promise you onion is perfectly satisfactory. Anyway, it’s almost done.”

He trailed off down the hall, coming back with a bandaid. He wrapped it tight around your finger, oaken eyes meeting yours as you wrinkled your nose at the stinging sensation. “Better?”

“..I guess. Still mourning that garlic.”

“The pasta-“ he sighed. “Is just fine.” Grabbing a forkful straight from the pot, he placed a hand underneath and held it up to you. “Here. For your oral fixation.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, tentatively taking a bite. The soothing tomato flavor calmed your nerves, as did his hand on yours. 

“Wow.. not bad.”

[ellecdc]

'Doctor' Sirius?

chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who injures herself at work

CW: fem!reader, description of injury (slice to hand) that needs stitches, blood, hospital, A&E, Jeffrey, bullying Jeffrey part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

The familiar ache in the middle of Sirius’ shoulder blades alerted him to the fact that he was officially half way through his shift.

He took a moment to straighten up, letting his arms fall lax beside his body as he pointed his face to the ceiling. 

He could already hear Regulus berating him for his abysmal posture and Lily lecturing him about how he clearly hasn’t been doing the yoga routine that she sent him whilst James and Remus snickered at his expense.

He hated (loved) them all.

Almost as much as he hated how Jeffery kept showing up in his sodding kitchen. 

“If you’re coming to try to pilfer one of my staff, you’re barking mad.” He spat angrily as he carried on in his sautéing.

“Uhm, I’m sorry chef, but I really need to borrow Caleb.” Sirius heard you reply as his cheeks immediately heated up in embarrassment.

“Dammit; sorry Y/N.” He apologized quickly, lowering the heat on his burner and turning to give you what he hoped was his most sincere (yet dashing) apologetic smirk.

The salacious comment he had prepared died on his lips when he noticed you looking a tad alarmed as you instructed Caleb to take over the bar for you.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked quickly, barely remembering to turn the burner off completely before he was making for you.

“I’m okay...” You offered, not sounding like you completely believed yourself.

“That’s not what I asked.” Sirius grumbled as he took in your form, noticing you holding a black bar towel in your fist; knuckles turning white from how hard you were holding it.

The black of the fabric may have hidden evidence of what had taken place prior to you entering his kitchen, but he could make a deduction from the blood collecting between your fingers as it began to drip down your knuckles.

“You’re hurt.” He surmised, pulling your hand toward him.

“I’m okay.” You offered again, this time in a whisper. 

“Let me see it.” He instructed just as softly, encouraging the towel from your hands to expose a deep slice across the palm of your hand. 

Sirius made an embarrassingly sympathetic cooing sound as he replaced the towel on your hand and applied pressure to the wound. “What happened?”

“Was slicing lemons.” You offered quietly, refusing to look at Sirius as you kept your gaze down towards where your hand was sitting in his. 

Sirius tsked as he pulled your hand further into his chest as if proximity alone could heal it. “You have a kitchen full of well-trained staff and you thought to slice lemons on your own?”

You chuckled self-deprecatingly at that, but Sirius could tell your usual enthusiasm was dimmed. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“If anyone in my kitchen ever accuses you of being a bother, you tell me; got it?”

“Yes chef.” You answered quickly, and though you still wouldn’t look at Sirius, he could see a small smile grace the corner of your lips. 

He would take it. 

He realized then that his kitchen was far too quiet and looked up to notice that everyone’s attention was directed at the two of you. 

“You lot can stare at people in your own time; get back to work.” He barked, causing everyone to quickly avert their gazes and carry on in their tasks. 

“Bunch of sods.” Sirius mumbled as he turned back to you, fighting the urge to push some of your hair that had fallen from its elastic behind your ear.

“Come, we’ll get you fixed up.” He said quietly instead, ushering you out of his kitchen towards the office and – more importantly – the first aid kit. 

Sirius shoved everything that looked like it might be of some importance to Jeffrey to the far edge of the desk and directed you to sit; fighting the urge to smile when he heard a few of Jeffrey’s things go tumbling to the floor. 

“I’m rather miffed with you, you know?” Sirius murmured as he stood between your legs and began to unwrap the towel-turned-tourniquet from your arm.

“With me?” You asked with a chuckle, though it was perhaps more strained than usual. 

“I have made quite the name for myself thanks to my fine slicing and chopping skills, and not only do you not give me the honour of showing those off to you, but you also go and hurt yourself whilst you’re at it.” He continued in his scolding as he poured some surgical spirit onto a square of gauze. 

“S’gonna sting, doll.” He murmured quietly, waiting for your nod of approval before wiping at the wound.

Sirius could feel every muscle in your body tense as you let out a pained breath, and Sirius doesn’t think he can be held responsible for the sympathetic whispers and apologies that fell out of his mouth as he finished up when he had you – his formidable mixologist – sat so vulnerable and injured below him.

“I know, I’m sorry; you’re all done.” He assured you as he binned the now bloody gauze and moved to grab the antiseptic cream.

“So? What’s the verdict doc?” You tried to joke. “Think I can go back to serving drinks?”

Sirius furrowed his brow as he delicately placed a new square of gauze onto the palm of your hand that was quickly saturated with red-tinged ointment. “You are absolutely not cleared for work.”

You chuckled self-deprecatingly as your shoulders slumped. “Keep it elevated and rest, then?” 

Sirius hummed noncommittally. “We’ll have to see what an actual doctor thinks.”

You whimpered at that, and Sirius paused in his wrapping of your hand to consider you.

Your brows were furrowed as you chewed aggressively on your lower lip and stared at Sirius’ work, mind seemingly miles away. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked as he taped off the gauze, though he never relinquished his hold of your hand. 

“I think you did a good enough job, yeah? If I leave it be, it’ll be better in no time?” You asked him.

Sirius could tell that his responding grimace was answer enough to your question when your eyes quickly filled with tears. “Fuck.” You whispered as you hastily used your good hand to wipe at your eyes. 

“I’m sorry doll.” Sirius murmured as he considered momentarily rushing to medical school so that he could fix this for you.

He wanted to fix this for you.

Alas, he was but a chef. 

And soon, he was going to be a convicted felon charged with aggravated assault.

“Sirius, why is Caleb– what happened to my stuff?” Jeffery sputtered as he nearly hit Sirius in the back with the door. 

“There’s been an incident, Jeffrey, your stuff is a little inconsequential at the moment.” Sirius sneered.

Jeffrey pursed his lips as he considered Sirius before his eyes moved to you. “What happened?”

“Cut myself whilst slicing lemons.”

“Have you filled out an incident report?” Jeffrey asked then.

“Christ, Jeffrey; the woman’s hand is still bleeding. Unless the form requires her signature in blood, maybe you can relax about your paperwork for a minute?”

“Are you going to need to leave?” Jeffrey asked you as he pretended Sirius wasn’t even there.

“I-”

“She needs stitches.” Sirius interjected plainly.

“Fuck.” Jeffrey muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. “So, Caleb’s going to need to man the bar for the rest of the evening?” 

“Yes, and Charlie will have to man the kitchen.” Sirius responded as he all but shouldered past Jeffrey in order to grab his jacket. 

“What?” You and Jeffrey chorused; Jeffrey in panic and you in bemusement. 

“Charlie...” Sirius drawled slowly as he stared down Jeffrey and offering you his arm as he encouraged you from the edge of the desk. “You know? Weasley? Ginger hair? Has been working for me since he left school?”

“I know who Charlie is, Sirius.” Jeffrey spat.

“Oh, good. I was getting worried about you, mate.” Sirius said as he pat Jeffrey aggressively on the shoulder. 

“Where are you going?” Jeffrey continued as he followed the two of you out of the office; Sirius’ hand at the small of your back as he ushered you through the halls. 

“Taking her to the hospital.”

“Sirius, the-”

“Chef.” Sirius corrected harshly from the doorway of the kitchen; the room falling quiet as everyone turned to watch Sirius and Jeffrey stare each other down.

“Chef,” Jeffrey corrected, “the kitchen needs you here.”

“My kitchen and its staff are more than capable of surviving without me for a few hours. I have highly skilled and well-trained individuals here, do not insult them by insinuating they ought to be babysat.” 

One could have heard a pin drop in the kitchen at the end of Sirius’ sentence.

When it became clear Jeffrey had no response, Sirius turned to the kitchen staff.

“Weasley.”

“Yes, chef?”

“Take over for me for the rest of the evening, yeah? Caleb will remain on bar so shuffle everyone around as you see fit; text me if you need anything. But don’t need anything.”

“Yes, chef.” Charlie answered quickly; a muted yet proud smile gracing his face as he nodded at his boss. 

“Have a goodnight, guys.”

“Night, chef!” The rest of the staff called as Sirius guided you towards the back door to the parking lot. 

The streetlights flickered as the two of you stepped out into the evening; Sirius relishing in the cool evening air against his kitchen-warmed skin. 

“You don’t have to come with me, you know?” You said quietly. 

Sirius turned to see you standing near the door of the restaurant; arms wrapped around yourself as you chewed your lip nervously. 

“Would you cut that out?” Sirius sniped at you with no heat. 

“What out?”

“Chewing on your lip; if you’re hungry I’ll make you food, if you want to bite lips, bite mine; but leave yours alone.” He scolded as he marched over and gently pried your lip from between your teeth. 

“Wha- your lips? Are you offering me your lips, chef?” You asked slowly; eyes flitting from between both his before travelling down to his lips and back up again.

“I hardly think that’s surprising; I’m a very selfless person.” Sirius explained, emboldened by your reciprocal flirting to leave his hand cradling your jaw. 

You hummed. “So that’s why you shoved all of Jeffrey’s stuff off the desk; you just didn’t want me bleeding all over it.”

“Quite right. God forbid we ruin Jeffrey’s things.”

You barked a surprised laugh at Sirius’ inability to utter Jeffrey’s name without sneering it like a curse word, causing him to laugh as well as he took a step backwards towards his car. 

“Sorry doll; I can’t fix this for you,” he said as he gestured towards your injury with one hand as he opened the passenger door with the other, “but I can find you someone who can.” 

You pretended to be tetchy with Sirius the entire way to the hospital, but he could see your ill-hidden smile through the reflection of the passenger window at his quips and shameless begging for your forgiveness. 

You apparently had a thing about needles, and generally needing to be sewn up like some “moth eaten patchwork quilt”, which Sirius guessed wasn’t completely unreasonable. But by the third hour of waiting in uncomfortable plastic chairs in A&E, you were actually starting to get antsy.

“It’s like they don’t even want to use me as a pin cushion.” You muttered as you watched a coughing child get escorted down the hall.

“Do you think we ought to be worried?” Sirius murmured as he craned his neck to watch the child disappear down the corridor. “Not one person they brought back there has returned.”

You snorted rather inelegantly and sank further back into your chair. “I hope it’s nice, wherever they’re ending up...nicer than this.” You said as the light above you started to flicker ominously. “I bet they even have food.”

“Are you hungry?” Sirius asked quickly. 

“Sort of; figure they’ve got a canteen here?”

This time, it was Sirius who snorted inelegantly. “We are not eating canteen food.”

“Sirius, you should go.” You tried again, ignoring Sirius’ warning glare seeing as the two of you had discussed (read: argued about) this four times already since arriving. “You’ve been working all evening, and you’re probably starved too.”

“I am starved too, and that’s something I can fix.” 

“How exactly can you fix that if you’re not willing to order canteen food?” You deadpanned.

“Doll, we work at a restaurant.” Sirius explained earnestly. 

You rolled your eyes as you let your head fall back against the wall with a thud. “Jeffrey might actually have an aneurism if you call in an order right now.”

Sirius was quiet for a few moments, and by the time you peeled your eyes open, he was standing on the opposite side of the hall with his phone pressed against his ear.

“Sirius!”

“Shush, Y/N; we’re in a hospital.” He scolded. “Jeffrey! Hi! It’s Sirius! Can you put Weasley on the line. Good chap, thanks.”

You watched as Sirius began pacing, counting a tile between each step as Charlie picked up the phone. 

“Hey, I need you to make some food for pick-up; actually...make it delivery, please?” He corrected with a devilish smirk, watching as you brought your hand to your lips in a silent gasp. 

And though this isn’t exactly how Sirius saw his first real meal with you (save the hastily shared plates during shifts), he couldn’t deny that this potluck style picnic in A&E felt like the beginning of something really special.

And If Jeffrey’s blood pressure skyrocketed from having to cover the bar so that Caleb could deliver it for him, well, that was just a bonus. 

[thatguywhofedme]

I got a huge lecture from my doctor today. I’ve put on 112lb in the last year. My cholesterol is terrible, my blood pressure is high, and I’m teetering on the edge of diabetes. My doctor basically told me if I don’t course correct soon I’m fucked. And it made me so fucking wet. 112lb in the last year, from 235 to 337. What should I do to double that gain in the next 12 months? 561lb my this time next year if my health issues don’t kill me first… my pussy is creaming just thinking about it.

MY OH MY !!! Now that's what I call good progress, you will definitely blow up in the next 12 months, maybe even more than 561 lbs which would be the hottest thing 🥵

Your doctor might be right, but I'm sure that will never stop you from gaining and getting fatter like the good piggy you are, no matter how bad your health gets 🐷

You should definitely message me 😈

[mammameesh]

Telehealth

So to take care of my health (because living is generally good) I often have to adjust my meds. Because I'm a special needs mom, going to the Doctor in person alone is a feat I can't accomplish. Also...normally I honestly just *tell* doctors what is wrong, and they just prescribe me something. If my shoulder is acting up they might order physical therapy but it's not like they can order physical therapy for my cramps or anxiety. (getting off the topic Meesh). So I have a phone number I can just call and they help me? If my blood pressure is constantly high I can just call and they can up my blood pressure meds. (Typically they also give me a lecture about eating better and blah blah but still it works). Anyway, this service is called Telehealth. I had a friend ask about it. I'm not sure if this service exists everywhere in the world, but it is invaluable in my corner of the world.

[anotherseverussnapelover]

Ok folks,

Should I make a tik tok account to speak about why I've to starve myself to be taken seriously by doctors ?

🚨 TW : Fatphodia, médical violence 🚨

Hear me out :

I've been fat since I was 3yo - obese since I was 6 (yes I did diets, yes I did sports (up to 8h/week besides PE in school), yes I've seen many doctors)

I easily gain weight since I have a 56% of the genes that ease obesity (according to DNA analysis that was made when I was around 12 for research purpose)

I have had a surgery cuting 2/3 of my stomach ~10 years ago

I lost 60 kg in ONE YEAR and the surgeon who did the surgery told me that I will NEVER be under 100kg since I never have since I stopped growing (and this means that I will ALWAYS be obese according to BMI)

When I was around 100kg, I had many health issues : dizziness (lasted up to 1,5 month, when weather/shower is warmer than 25°C), low blood pressure (down to 8/6), VERY PAINFUL PERIOD, ARTHRITIS, and the list can go on. Which eased or DISAPPEARED when I gained weight again.

So why now ?

Because I've been to my GP a few days ago, because my arthritic knee has been hurting and swollen for 2 weeks, since I hurt myself during a physiotherapy appointment (2 to 3 app. a week for 3 years now and it's a lifelong situation since it's a degenerative condition). And since my period was about to begin, I've had the "usual" inflammatory response so some other articulations was swollen too, especially my wrist which I had a surgery on like 4 months ago.

As I already knew it, it's a twisted knee (for like the 12th or 13th time in 15 years, and no, I can't wear a brace, since my knees are making an X and the surgery that could have prevent both the twisting and the arthritis was refused because of 🥁🥁🥁 MY WEIGHT).

BUT, when I asked about applying for a Recognition as a disabled worker, which basically compel my boss to adapt my post (the most part being working remotely since some days I can't drive because of the pain, and even 10 minutes of driving CAN CAUSE pain) and being paid from the first day of sick leave when I need one because of my knee (according to the law, you're not paid for the 3 first day of a sick leave, and then you go back to work or the NHS compensates the loss), he opposed me that I need to lose weight before speaking about this recognition like. What ?

THIS IS A DEGENERATIVE CONDITION. IT WILL NEVER HEAL. IT WILL ONLY GET WORST.

LOSING WEIGHT WILL JUST BRING UP OTHER ISSUES, WHICH ARE OTHERWISE DISABLING (e.g when I can't walk straight nor drive because of dizziness, can't take a hot shower because it causes dizziness, can't move for days because of period's pain, etc. see above)

He told me that my wrist which I had a surgery on will probably always hurt because it can happen when the carpal tunnel syndrome is too advanced AND GUESS WHO'S THE ONE THAT DIDN'T WANT TO ADDRESS ME TO A NEUROLOGIST FOR 15 YEARS BECAUSE HE DIDN'T BELIEVE IT WAS THAT ????!!! AND IT WAS ??!! AND IT WAS WAY MUCH WORST THAN EXPECTED??!!!

And that's just for the actual GP, because I've almost NEVER met a physician who didn't lectured me about my weight, EVEN WHEN I DIDN'T COME FOR THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE (I literally went to a physician to fulfill paperworks, HE LECTURED ME FOR 20 MINUTES ABOUT WHY I SHOULD LOSE WEIGHT, the anaesthesist I met prior to my wrist surgery DID THE SAME, EXCUSE ME BIATCH, IT WILL NOT CHANGE WITHIN 10 DAYS, and, OF COURSE the anesthesia became a fucking trauma because she didn't sent the right infos to the surgery aisle, my prior GP I've met when I was in internship in Paris told me to DO ANOTHER A SURGERY TO REDUCE MY STOMACH, and so on, once again)

So, since I'm not listened to, nor taken seriously, I decided to lose weight by the only efficient way so far : starving myself (100g of white rice, 100g of kimchi, 2 eggs, 2 toasts, 2 milk coffees and 1 milk tea a day), no matter what happens.

[innerangeltoadlover]

26. Psychiatrists are also offering additional therapies which add some variation to their one sided treatment methods. My former psychiatrist decided that vitamin therapy was a worthwhile adjunct. She took about a year explaining how good I would feel - this included graphs , and lots of science talk . She sat very close to me and her eyes shone with enthusiasm as she explained how many people had lowered their antipsychotic medication because of them - a blood test ensured your program was suited to your condition. I felt better on them but not so much that they were worthy of the price tag that nearly broke my bank balance. I’m not sure how other people afforded them but as I was working I was ok to pay for a while. The most off putting part of taking them was that she spent much of my appointments spruiking them and monitored when I was purchasing them so that she knew I was taking them properly. I found the pressure and the constant droning at every session about them a complete turn off . I also have a weak stomach and for some reason swallowing them made me feel like regurgitating. My vitamin d remained low during every test and I would be lectured on not taking them . In my opinion the vitamins were much like a distraction from the limitations of anti psychotics but came from the same place and belief system of brain chemistry. Psychiatrists actually can’t get away from brain chemistry as an explanation for human behaviour and however obvious environmental issues may be they can’t go there. During a session I spoke of having a fight with my brother - to which she replied , “are you taking your vitamins?”I said I might have missed a few to which she answered “that’s why”. This for me has always been one of those revealing statements that reveals the true nature of psychiatry and the total futility of even mentioning abuse - it’s an ideological stance. It appears to be a throwaway comment but don’t we always remember those moments of contradiction in life when you realise that things aren’t adding up ? These moments for anyone with this illness are moments which doctors coach us to disregard but for someone without an illness they are ‘trust your instinct’ moments. This was a moment when my brother’s actions were insignificant and my psychiatrist had decided that brain chemistry was the reason for this mild dispute - there’s no way out. I eventually complained that she was filling our sessions with vitamin speeches which made things calm down a bit but meanwhile at home I was still having to deal with abuse , apparently this was ok. I have come to the conclusion that vitamins were a way of filling the very large gaps in my treatment. I had become difficult and disgruntled and menopause had heralded a return of the insomnia that characterised my early years. What I needed was a compassionate psychiatrist, one that did not fill my hour with vitamins but real conversation . Medication whether it was vitamins or anti psychotics was a failure and the blind faith in it by my doctors, exposed only in my 50s, how glaringly inadequate it had been in my situation. I also knew that my psychiatrists were capable of much more . If a patient has problems that exist beyond the diagnosis treating them within the confines of the diagnosis is almost criminal.

[whilereadingandwalking]

@janjan1221 : Girl how u deal with the fat comments n self security? I’m having a hard time even my mom tells me I’m fat 🤦🏻‍♀️ like I don’t wanna be skinny fuck off lol

It isn't easy. It really isn't. Some days are worse than others.

Reading has helped me with a lot of it. Digging in, instead of out. Digging into why people are so hateful towards fat people. Aubrey Gordon's What We Talk About When We Talk About Fat helped me articulate a lot of it, and knowing the ins and outs of the cultural mindset around thinness and fatness is of course infuriating, yet also really helps, because I'm able to better understand where the comments come from, and where the anger comes from. She unpacks concepts like 'concern trolling' (I'm just worried about your health) and how people have turned thinness into a moral virtue, when in reality, our bodies are generally, scientifically, the size they are and will always be.

Similarly, it helps to know the science, the facts, and the proof around me. When I was a varsity athlete eating a diet of fruit, oatmeal, pasta, and raw veggies, with a mile time under 8 minutes and 6 practices, 3 games a week, doctors still lectured me about my BMI being too high. While my body image would take a long, long time to catch up, I realized early on that their idea of a healthy weight was physically impossible for me to ever achieve. The thinnest I've ever been as an adult was when I was having panic attacks daily, eating near-nothing, and working out twice a day every day before school began. It was incredibly unhealthy. It was the closest I got to my "ideal BMI"—and I was still 15 pounds over.

I've known rail-thin people who don't exercise. I've known two people who started getting compliments on "how good they looked" when they'd lost an incredible amount of weight from being near-deathly ill. I've seen a friend gain a lot of weight because she was finally healthy after years of struggling with an undiagnosed disease. She has never been more healthy, but is no longer "skinny."

But I've seen, and I know, that people don't care about that. They don't listen. They don't actually care about your health—your blood pressure, cholesterol, thyroid, activity level, flexibility, vitamins, nutrition. They see a body type and size and make their judgments from there.

I'm mid-size and chronically ill. But when I make posts about fatphobia, I generally get hateful comments. Heck—when I make posts about near anything that the internet finds controversial, people go for my weight immediately. People think that weight is about willpower. Is about moral virtue. The pandemic revealed this too.

Because I think it's easier now that I'm sick and have read so much about chronic illness and body politics for me to see that people are scared to confront the truth, which is that most things about our body, disease, and death are unknowable and out of our control. Using fatness as a scapegoat allows people to ignore all the terrifying things that could overwhelm us about our health. It lets people think they're safe—or at least safer. And with family, I think it lets them think that they can help protect us.

That was a long and complicated way to say that it helps me to know. The comments will continue to sting. I will continue to fear that my weight will make doctors misdiagnose or dismiss me. I will continue to feel a little more self-conscious in looks that some thinner people might not even question because I know what people will think about me.

But I'm breaking the cycle of trauma. I won't hurt myself, or others, like others have hurt me. I won't perpetuate those ideas. I will try to make sure the people I love also don't perpetuate those ideas, or work to break their own self-destructive cycles however I can. I will try to use my platform, whenever and however I can, to help inform others and encourage them to also pick up self-compassion. Sometimes I use it to share my worst stories and inform others about how language or certain practices can hurt.

Some days, brushing off the comments involves hyping myself up. Some days, it means refusing to care because I have too much shit to deal with and whether my belly is showing is not a top priority. Some days, I just remind myself that while eating better and being active are priorities for my chronic illness and feeling good in my body, skinniness is not. And some days, honestly, truly? I let myself be inspired by pure and petty spite for the haters.

“don’t care what i look like / but i feel good / better than amazing & better than i could”

I love this Janelle Monáe lyric. As a big girl, people tend to care what I look like. I don’t care what they see, as long as I feel good. And as a chronically ill girl, every day is a negotation between how bad I /could/ feel. So any day when I feel good at all, I feel better than I could feel. Both of those sentiments have made me embrace myself and wear what I want in recent years. I’m not going to waste my feeling good days on other people’s opinions.

Today I’m feeling meh, but I’m feeling way better than I could, and I feel great about the sunflower summer look I put together. I’m off to see Janelle Monáe on her tour. I have her book on hand and am ready to dance!

[traitormithos]

I need to whine

So I took off Monday through Thursday because Chain of Thorns came out on Tuesday and I wanted to read it uninterrupted. And then even better, I somehow got Friday through Sunday, before those days, off as well. Giving me 7 whole days off from work. Exciting, right?

Until Monday that is. I woke up later than normal and felt achey. I pushed it off as fatigue from oversleeping and just watched titanic and '86 challenger documentaries. But then I woke up Tuesday and knew something was wrong. Checked temp, BAM fever. Took tylenol and went back to bed till walmart opened so I could get some cold/flu medicine. (I wore a mask)

Anyway, I figured it would go away, I haven't been sick since 2011 no way I'd get sick now. I'm 5 years flu vaccinated and covid vaccinated. Well, Wednesday goes by with no improvement, just added another symptom (the worst one imo): congestion. But I did start feeling better towards the end of the day, which was good because I was to go back to work Friday (tomorrow).

So I wake up Thursday (today) feeling miserable yet again. Check for fever but honestly I think my thermometer is broken. Took more tylenol and had my brother come home from work to take me to the urgentcare (since the closest one affiliated with my employer is like 25 minutes away and I just wasn't feeling up to driving). I get to the urgentclinic and I have a fever of 101.3, and that's post taking 1000mg of tylenol more than an hour earlier so who knows how high it originally was.

So the verdict: Covid. Which was so funny to me that I laughed when they told me. 3 years of no covid and I somehow get it on my 7 day off stretch? I barely even left the house. So I don't know when I was exposed. So now I'm mid-5 day quarantine. I can't go back to work till Sunday, if I'm fever free. But I'm very symptomatic right now and most of my coworkers who have had covid lately have been asymptomatic. I just hope my hospital doesn't classify it as hospital-onset (I just don't want to be a statistic) because I haven't been there since last Thursday. And I also have to wait to be approved to go back to work by employee health (it would be so much easier if it were the flu)

Also, the urgentcare doctor actually spent more time talking to me about my blood pressure and whether I've gotten a doctor for it yet (because I went to another urgentcare in the same network for that last Monday I worked, which resulted in the ER trip). Like bro it's only been a little over a week. Chill. So yeah, covid with a nice long lecture of make-sure-you-see-a-pcp-for-your-blood-pressure.

All I've ever wanted was for people to believe me about it but now that it's on record, they're going to lecture me about it every time.

[epigstolary]

A New Home

TW: Medical fatphobia and discussion of health issues, sadistic caregiver, immobility

I catch myself nervously fingering the sides of my belly, at the far extent of my reach, wishing I could be anywhere but here. Anywhere but having this skinny doctor, standing at the foot of my bed — one of those reinforced bariatric jobs, which I couldn’t leave without the help of a couple of strong orderlies, even if I could muster the will to try — very clearly disgusted by the sight of me, and lecturing me about what I would have to do if I wanted to salvage my health.

“You realize you’ve gotten yourself into a very dangerous situation, don’t you?” he says, palpating the flesh bulging from my thighs and underbelly, studying the darkening skin spreading from the folds. “You have allowed yourself to become extremely morbidly obese. I can see from the notes on your chart yesterday that you’re not able to lift yourself, not able to reposition yourself without assistance, you become very short of breath from any movement. And your lab numbers are very bad. Your cholesterol is very high, your blood pressure is consistently in the danger zone, and you’re ridiculously diabetic. That’s a very big hole you’re going to have to dig yourself out of.”

I had to scrutinize his expression to see if the double-meaning was intended — no sign of a smirk on that businesslike face, looking at the notes he was jotting on his tablet — but even so, I knew there was more truth in it than just what he meant. Just thinking about my situation was enough to make my blood run cold.

Today is the first day I’ve gotten to rest since I had to leave home. I say “had to,” when what I really mean is that I was made to. The power of attorney my feeder had made me sign — along with the gaining contract, the life insurance policy, and a bunch of other paperwork — had seemed so thrilling at the time, when we were just starting to fatten me up. Now, I wish I’d thought a little more carefully about it. Once I’d passed the half-ton mark, and my feeder had to start spending more time sponging my rolls than getting off to them, my days at home were numbered. I’m surprised he made it almost the full year. But he was well over it by then, and that little piece of paper was all he needed to sign me up for a one-way ambulance ride to this nursing home hellhole, and my bare room with a scenic view of the parking lot.

The ambulance was backed up to our house first thing in the morning two days ago. The first I knew about it was my feeder shaking my belly to wake me up, moments before two burly men in scrubs marched in and pulled off my bedsheets, one of them giving an involuntary whistle at the sight of my body filling the mattress before he recollected himself. I was still out of it, disoriented, and my oxygen wasn’t on yet, but I remember my feeder whispering in my ear that these men were here to help him, that I was going somewhere they could take better care of me, and that he was going to be right behind them. I didn’t even have a chance to protest before they started rolling me around, trying to maneuver some kind of tarp under me and strap a series of harnesses around my body. My bones and joints were sore and aching, and I was winded and out of breath just from the movement of all my weight, by the time they finished with me, trussed up like a Christmas turkey and totally unable to move.

Then a troupe of even more men joined them, the group having to exert all their effort just to slide me a couple of inches at a time, slowly working me closer and closer to the front door, with a heave and a plop each time. The whole thing was mortifying — I knew I was big, of course, but I had no idea I was so heavy that I could barely be moved by a half-dozen men exerting all their effort. I’ve never wanted to disappear more than when one young fireman, red-faced and muscles dewy with perspiration, let out a “Goddamn, that’s heavy” on the sixth or seventh heave through the living room. Nobody had to say it, but I knew they were all thinking about me that way, the person not much older than him who’d gorged themselves up to a quadruple-digit weight and beyond like it was their job.

Which it was; but they didn’t know that, and my feeder was doing his best impression of the dutiful but overwhelmed caretaker to leave them none the wiser. I was big when we met, he said, but not this big; he’d always tried to keep me to a healthy diet; I always found ways to fall off the wagon; eventually he had to give in and just help manage the fallout; I’d finally eaten myself too big for him to take care of me anymore, and he just didn’t know what he’d do without outside help. The lead paramedic was nodding sympathetically, saying obesity cases like mine happen more often than you’d think, eating up the entire sob story. If only he could have seen my feeder literally cramming eclairs down my throat the night before. The hypocrite.

It took the better part of the day getting me hauled out of the house, hoisted onto a reinforced gurney, maneuvered into the back of the ambulance, driven several cities over, rolled out at the nursing home, and hoisted onto my permanent bed. At one point, before the drive, they left me laying just outside the front door, having to watch the crowd of neighbors and other onlookers gawking at me, over 1,300 pounds of helpless flab, all bundled up for transport and barely able to wriggle my hands around. The embarrassment would have been obvious on my face if I wasn’t already beet red from just trying to keep my body from jiggling too wildly every time the team tried to move me. By the time I was settled in and able to catch my breath, it was already close to dusk.

The next day was no less hectic, but this time it was a series of doctors’ visits and tests to measure just how fat and out of shape I was. It took the nurse longer than I care to admit to find a vein he could use for blood testing, giving up on my flabby excuse for an elbow before struggling almost as badly on my fat-puffed hands. A seemingly endless rotation of doctors and nurses came to poke and prod me, doing nerve conduction tests on my feet and hands, taking more blood sugar readings, lifting every roll and checking every crevice for signs of lymphedema or other skin ailments. By the afternoon, I was ready to pass out from the combination of activity, the relentless nagging about needing to take better care of myself, and the (for me) complete lack of food their three conventionally-sized meals constituted.

After everyone left, I could hear the nurses talking about me in the hall, although they didn’t realize it.

“…chill for a couple minutes before we go turn them? Even with the winch, they’re heavy as fuck.”

“You get a feel for it after a while. How to maneuver around and everything.”

“How often do they actually get, you know, the really big ones back walking again? ‘Cause they have to lose, like, hundreds and hundreds of pounds to even get there, right?”

“I haven’t known but a couple who actually lost enough weight to discharge them. At least, not here. Most of the time, they can’t get over the food addiction. Like, you wouldn’t think someone the size of a house who can’t get out of bed could find a way to get food in here, but they always do.”

“Jeez. Really?”

“Yeah. It used to take a little bit of effort, before they could order whatever they want from their phones. But now a lot of them’ll just keep getting garbage delivered and putting it away until they have the big one.”

“Damn. Why doesn’t anyone stop them?”

“Do you have time to check everyone who walks through here, when two people don’t show for their shifts and you’ve got fifty beds to do? Bitch, please. Come on, I want a smoke before we go in.”

It was then that my feeder made his appearance. I saw him slip something to the nurse who showed him to my room. He looked at whatever it was in his palm and smiled before pocketing it, leaving the room, and locking the door behind him. Then I felt something warm land on my bare chest: a huge paper bag — heavy, stained with grease, and bearing the logo of my favorite fast food stop. From its weight, I knew it must contain almost a day’s worth of junk; and from the gleam in my feeder’s eye, I knew every bit of that junk would be going down my throat as quickly as my feeder could get it into my mouth.

“You must be starving, sweetheart, after having nothing but hospital fare for the last day or so. I hope you didn’t think I was actually going to make you start slimming down?” he said with a mocking solicitude. “No, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you keep gaining, no matter what your doctors may do to try to rehabilitate you. You’re mine, my half-ton prize pig, and I’m making sure you stay that way until the very end.”

It took him the better part of two hours, but he made sure I ate every bite of food I’d usually eat in a full day, accepting no complaints and giving no comfort. He stared gleefully into my eyes as he gently but relentlessly pressed bite after bite into my overworked mouth. After my feeding was over and he’d cleaned the grease and crumbs off my face, I was panting and sweating, barely able to breathe even with oxygen from the pressure of all the food. It was then that he unlocked the door and summoned the two nurses who were outside earlier, telling them I looked really uncomfortable and asking if they could reposition me. He stood in the corner as they rigged up the bariatric hoist, sneaking videos and watching them work my wobbling body, overwhelmed by blubber, into the harness so it could slowly rotate me onto my belly. I could tell he was enjoying every second of seeing me manhandled, moved around more like some particularly bulky freight or livestock than a person. When the nurses finally finished after what seemed like an eternity and left the room, he followed, taking a handful of my chubby jowl and giving it a squeeze. “Same time tomorrow, slim? I guess I know where to find you, haha.”

I was left alone with my thoughts for what was really the first time since the move. I could feel my cheeks burning with shame, a pit of anxiety and embarrassment growing into a widening chasm in my overfull belly. Getting this fat had always been the goal; needing bariatric care was the apex for every extreme gainer and every encourager who tracked their progress. But now that I was here, and it was an actual fact — now that I really was too fat to move on my own, and had no choice but to submit to strangers for even the simplest tasks, no matter how private — the reality was horrifying. I had wrecked my body beyond the point of no return because my feeder and a bunch of random people on the internet that I would never meet found it hot. I had been proud of my gains, greedy for more, and I never really considered the ramifications of the end game. Now my body was choked with fat, pinned to this reinforced bed, with no hope of slimming down and every prospect of being made to balloon even more, all because some strangers wanted to get off. How could they do this to a person? To me?

“But you’re letting yourself off the hook by blaming them,” my conscience chimed in. “You wanted an easy life just as much as they wanted you to gain, if not more. You wanted to be able to graze and gorge, and to have nothing more to think about than your next meal. And you got exactly what you asked for; you got to kick back and compress a lifetime worth of calories into a few short years. It’s nobody’s fault but your own that you only get to enjoy that life for a couple more years, at the outside. Deal with it, fatass.”

And today here I am, getting harangued by an utterly unsympathetic doctor. Being run through the parade of horribles that will happen if I don’t commit to an ordinary diet, apply myself to an exercise routine designed to recover my mobility, attend to a medication regimen. In the back of my mind, I know this is all a waste of time. That I’m going to be pumped full of greasy burgers and fattening pastas and melted ice cream every day while the nurses are turning a blind eye. That my bloated legs and fat-laden arms and belly the size of a mattress aren’t going anywhere. That I’m ending my days here, probably at a weight closer to a ton than not, depending on how long I can hold out.

The fluorescent lights buzz incessantly above me. I can feel the waves of chilling air driven by the ceiling fan wafting across the expanse of my flab. My body wobbles slowly back and forth with each breath, machines trying to drive enough oxygen into me to keep me going. Outside, I can see one of the elderly residents shuffling by, braced against a tennis ball-bedecked metal walker. Slow. Ancient. And far more mobile than my youthful, three-quarter-ton blob body ever will be again. I fucked up big time. I’m too fat to fix it, and my feeder’s going to make sure I stay that way.

I’m never getting out of here.

Thanks to @gaining-at-all-times for suggesting the idea for this one, and providing a lot of the source material

[cupidlovemail]

( genshin impact ) tighnari x reader

reader :: gender-neutral, trainee doctor

genre :: angst, fluff

word count :: 2.9k

warnings :: tighnari gets struck by lightning, severe injuries, burns, blood, scars, mentions of being unconscious

characters :: tighnari, dehya, lumine, collei

Living in the rainforest had its ups and downs. It was fascinating to get first-hand experience and witness all of the flora and fungi it had to offer, however it was also possible that something would go wrong and you would get a very stern lecture from your boss. As a trainee forest watcher specializing in medicinal herbs and remedies, excelling at your job was critical. If something went wrong it was up to you to ensure the safety of the group and keep the situation under control. That is why today, after accidentally spilling a bottle of medicine you had been working on into the river, Tighnari sat you down to discuss the problems you were having.

"Do you have to be so clumsy? What if someone's life was on the line and you dropped all of the available medicine?"

"I wouldn't! It was an accident, the ground was just softer than I thought it would be and-"

Tighnari's sigh interrupted you, causing you to look at your feet in shame. He was a great boss but sometimes you felt like he was harder on you than the others. If Collei accidentally leaves something in camp it's because she is swamped with work, if you do it it's because you're scatterbrained. If another forest ranger trips and drops their food rations it's because the vines were dense in that area, if you do it it's because you're clumsy. Even if you think you are improving Tighnari always manages to find something to nitpick about your performance.

"Well, I guess it'll have to be fine. The medicine didn't contain anything that isn't native to this area so it shouldn't pose any environmental concerns. Just don't do it again." He makes quick notes in his pocketbook, likely documenting everything you did wrong today.

"I'll do better next time!"

"You always say that."

"I really, really mean it this time!"

"You always say that, too. Look, being a doctor is a hard discipline. These negative traits are not going to help you, institutions in the city won't accept it. You can't spill things, you can't panic under pressure, you can't-"

"Do you not trust me, Tighnari?" You ask quietly, cutting him off mid-sentence. You had listened to this speech many times before and did not want to hear it to completion. "I have helped people, I haven't harmed anyone in the entire time I've been here! You make it sound like I can't do anything right!"

"I'm not saying you're useless, I'm just saying you have a long way to go before you can become a real doctor."

"But I am a real doctor! I'm helping people, I'm making my own medicine, and I'm learning so much by being in the forest!"

"You're going to need a lot more experience, but that's why you're here. The other forest watchers are learning too, you're not the only one who needs to improve before they can succeed."

"Sometimes it feels like you don't want me to succeed at all." You mumble, low enough that any normal human would not have been able to pick up on it. Upon noticing Tighnari's ear twitch, however, you sense you've made a mistake and he lets out a long sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry. Why don't you take tomorrow off? Come back feeling refreshed, we all deserve a break now and then."

You decide to take Tighnari up on his offer, slowly trudging back to your house in Gandharva Ville. This time you wait to grumble under your breath until you are a safe distance away from his ears that pick up everything you don't want them to. With your back turned you don't notice the way Tighnari watches you leave, his tail swishing behind him and a worried expression on his face.

You collapse onto your bed, not realizing how tired you really were after a long day of getting in trouble. It takes all of your willpower to unpack your medicine bag onto your desk and change out of your adventuring outfit before falling asleep as soon as you get under the covers.

You wake up at the crack of dawn out of habit, ready to head into the forest on patrol as usual. You yawn, noticing a note left on the nightstand beside your bed.

"I'm going to Pardis Dhyai for the day, I've left Collei in charge. If you need anything, ask her.

Don't forget you have the day off.

- Tighnari"

You have to reread the note twice in order to comprehend what it was actually saying. It was rare for Tighnari to suddenly leave on such short notice, he liked to create a schedule and stick to it so you imagined something urgent must have come up. This, however, was your excuse to fall back asleep without being bothered. If Tighnari was being so insistent that you get some rest, why not take him up on his kind offer? You quickly fall back asleep, excited to have the rest of the day to yourself.

The curtain on the front of your home was frantically pushed aside, a flustered and panting Dehya leaning against your door frame. The commotion caused your eyes to snap open and you sat up, rising instantly from the bed to meet her where she stood. Forest watcher training taught you to be quick on your feet in an emergency, something that was paying off now.

"You," She paused, gasping for air. "You need to come now."

"What happened? Who's hurt?" You ask, watching as Dehya hunched over to rest her hands on her knees. "Did you run here? Where were you?"

"Pardis Dhyai. It's Tighnari." As soon as his name left her lips you were already hurriedly shoving herbs and other medicinal materials into your knapsack. Trying to be gentle with them was out of the question, the mere thought that Tighnari might be in any sort of danger left you to throw all rationality out the window. Just as you swung one strap of the bag over your shoulder Dehya grabbed your wrist, pulling you behind her and insisting that there was no time to waste.

The two of you sprinted as fast as you could down the dirt path that led from Gandharva Ville to Pardis Dhyai, the dust gradually turning into heavy mud at your feet. Dark storm clouds billowed above your heads and the crackling of thunder grew louder the closer you got. Despite not being as athletic as Dehya due to your different lines of work, the anxiety welling up in your heart caused you to keep a steady pace with her the entire journey. When the large arch marking the entrance to the research facility finally came into view the hair on your arms was standing up due to the electric charge in the air. Leading you to the main building, Dehya stepped aside to catch her breath as you were greeted by a worried Lumine.

"You're here!" She exclaimed, motioning toward an injured Tighnari on the ground.

Rushing over, you instantly dropped to your knees beside him. His breathing was ragged and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. His hair was frizzier than you had ever seen it but his ears still flicked toward the sound of your footsteps.

"He was fighting the Fatui with Dehya when..." Lumine trails off behind you, sighing quietly. "Lightning."

"Oh, thank the Archons that you're conscious." You breathe out a sigh of relief, digging around in your bag. "Where was he struck? Did he walk here? Did someone carry him?"

"He walked, Dehya only helped steady him. Why?"

"I'm checking for broken bones, if he can walk his lower body should only be fractured at the worst." You run your hands along Tighnari's arms, feeling for anything out of place. Moving up his body, you take his face in your hands and slightly move his head back and forth to test his neck. "Does this hurt?"

He quickly averts his gaze and shakes his head. You pull both of his pant legs up to see blood already scabbing from his knees down, likely due to the impact of hitting the ground after the initial shock. Tighnari shook in pain slightly as you cleaned the numerous cuts along his legs and applied medicinal bandages to stop the bleeding before you began working on the rest of his injured form. Lumine watched silently from behind you and Dehya stood near the doorway, seemingly keeping her eye out for anything else that could go wrong.

You could feel Tighnari's eyes watching you as you worked, expert hands moving their way up his body to search for any imperfections that needed to be addressed. Your normal nervousness had completely faded away and you acted like a professional. If he didn't know better Tignari would have assumed you were a licensed doctor and not still in the middle of your training. Each time you glanced up to make sure he was still conscious he looked away, refusing to meet your gaze for even a second.

By the time you got to his chest you requested that he remove his top to ensure you were not leaving any part of him left untreated. As soon as he shrugged it off, however, you could not stop the gasp from escaping your mouth. Starting from his right shoulder was a large, burning lighting strike pattern carved into his skin. The top of his shoulder was the worst, his skin was charred and peeling heavily due to the friction from his shirt. The lines trailing onto his back and chest got less severe the further down they stretched, but they were still a horrid color and smelled of burnt flesh. Tighnari tipped his head backwards and screwed his eyes shut, giving you full access to begin applying the medicinal poultice to his burns.

Lumine had stepped out of the building at this point, whether it be from the smell of burning flesh or because she was unsure how to help was unclear. The storm began to settle, the sound of thunder fading into obscurity in the background. Dehya took Lumine's place, kneeling beside you and occasionally passing more sterilized gauze when the ones in your hand became too dirty to use. Tighnari squirmed each time you touched the medicine to his wounds and you almost felt bad for him. Between the reassurance that he was still alive and your rigorous training taking over you had no time to focus on how either of you was feeling, the anxiety in your chest had long since faded and your job was the only thing on your mind. You silently thanked yourself for pulling so many all-nighters in the Akademiya reading textbooks and taking practice quizzes. While nothing could come close to hands-on experience, being able to recall specific information just when you needed was proving to be very useful. Once the final dressing was applied to his chest, you wiped your hands on your pants and let out a long sigh.

"That should be okay, the bleeding has stopped and I've looked at every part of the burn I could see. I'll have to change the bandages later but for now... for now, he's okay."

"Do you think it would be alright for us to take him back to Gandharva Ville?" Dehya asked, standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

"I think so, as long as we're careful. I don't want him walking alone though, can you help me Dehya?"

"I'm injured, not dead. I can walk." Tighnari says, speaking up for the first time. He stubbornly rises to his feet, leaning against the wall to steady himself as he catches his breath.

"You could be dead." You say, frowning at him. "Dehya and I will help you."

Still not meeting your gaze, Tighnari latches himself solely onto Dehya as she wraps her arm around him to hold him upright. You pause, quickly packing any unused materials into your bag and safely discarding what you didn't need. With the sun almost peaking through the clouds now, it was hard to imagine that such a terrible storm had occurred just brief moments ago. Or had it been hours? You reach up to rub your eyes, feeling as if you were waking up from a long nap. Being focused for so long in such a tense situation drained much of your energy and the trip back to Gandharva Ville was long and arduous.

Tighnari lay in his bed with a light blanket pulled up to his chin. His ears were flattened against the pillow and his normally soft hair was sticking out in all different directions. His breathing, while still ragged and uneven, had calmed down significantly since being in Pardis Dhyai and he was less restless overall. You had stepped out of the room to fetch clean water in order to change his bandages that had already been soaked through with blood. As you re-entered, his head turned away and he began to stare blankly at the wall. Sinking into the chair next to his bed with a sigh, you reached forward to move his bangs out of his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Tighnari?"

"Fine." He says curtly, still making no effort to look your way.

In the entire time you had known him he had never been this cold toward you and, with less of a life-threatening situation on your hands, your emotions began to re-emerge. He constantly told you that you needed to practice more before becoming a real doctor. Your emotions got the better of you, you could be clumsy at the worst times, and it was not uncommon for you to panic when the situation was tense. All of these factors were unfitting for a doctor, he insisted, so you continued to train in Gandharva Ville. And now, just after the two of you had an argument, you were the one sitting beside him as he slowly healed from his burns. What made you think you had the right?

"Tighnari?" You ask quietly, waiting for a response that he never gives. You notice the way his ear flicks as you talk, your only indication to keep going. "I'm going to go to the Akademiya tomorrow. I'll see if they have any doctors available to come and help you recover."

"No!" His gaze finally snaps to yours, a pained expression on his face. "You're my doctor."

"That's exactly why I'm going to see if there's anyone better available-"

"You just saved my life, what makes you think you aren't a good doctor?" He fully turns to face you now, wincing when the right side of his body touches the bedding.

"W-well, I'm still nervous. I almost panicked when I saw you on the ground, I didn't know what to do. I-"

"But you didn't. You didn't panic. You did everything exactly like you were supposed to, I couldn't have done better myself." Words of praise were rare from Tighnari and it caught you off guard. This time you were the one to look away from him, suddenly feeling embarrassed due to the intense way he was staring at you. Shuffling your feet, Tighnari let out a sigh when you didn't answer and relaxed back onto the bed.

"Do you know why I was so hard on you?" He said after a few moments of silence, his voice unusually soft. "Because you have so much potential. If you keep working I have no doubt that you'll be one of the best doctors Sumeru has ever seen. And... I was being selfish. If you're a full-fledged doctor, you're going to have to leave Gandharva Ville someday. There are much better opportunities in the city, it would be a waste to not take your talents there."

"Tighnari..."

"Well, now you know. Can we get this over with, please?" He gestures towards the pile of bandages sitting in your lap, pulling the bed sheet down to reveal what little part of his chest wasn't covered in either scars or gauze.

"Tighnari, I wasn't planning on leaving Gandharva Ville." You say, causing him to stop moving. He balls up the blanket in his fists and you can see the flaky skin move against the dressing on his shoulder. At least his home smelt less like burnt flesh, you opened every window he had to ensure it didn't become suffocating.

"That wouldn't be smart." Is all he says, now staring directly at his hands. "You have no reason to stay here."

"I have you."

His cheeks flushed a visible shade of pink and his ears began to twitch before he brought his left hand up to his mouth, trying to cover his face. "You can't just say things like that."

"I mean it. I'm happy staying here for the rest of my life. I love being so close to the forest, and I love working with you." Your eyes meet and you hope that he can see the seriousness in your expression. You stare at each other in silence for a moment, Tighnari's face getting redder with each second that passes.

"If you wanted me dead you should have just left me on the floor at Pardis Dhyai." He joked, something he always turned to when conversations became too serious for his liking. You decided to let him get away with it this time, he was going to be bedridden for weeks to heal from his burns and you did not want to add any more stress to his situation.

"Don't worry, I'll stick around. I am your doctor after all."

[enhadiares]

Hii ,i hope you’re doing good!<33 … so this is my first time doing a request haha but I’ll try, i was wondering if you could make an yandere enhypen reaction when you accidentally injure yourself like breaking your arm or something like that and they immediately get in overprotective mode .

✧Enhypen reaction when you accidentally injure yourselves.

(Disclaimer: I do not condone this behaviour. This is just imagination and none of the members are like this)

༉ Pairing: enhypen x reader

༉ Genre: Yandere

༉ Warning: typical Yandere themes yea sorry

✧a/n: Here is your request . Hope you like it☺️. Tell me if there are any mistakes because I haven't re-checked it. I'm doing great and I hope you are to <3<3

Heeseung

You were going down the stairs with a heavy box and didn't see one step - so you fell down the stairs. The box fell on your leg and all your body pressure was also on your leg which made you scream in agony. After hearing your scream , Heeseung came running up to you. "What happened , what happened " after seeing your state he didn't waste anytime and took you to a doctor. "Her leg is fractured , she needs to take alot of rest and take these medicines after lunch and dinner" said the doctor after examining you. You got a small lecture about how to not pick up heavy things and take care on stairs.

Jay

You were cooking something when you accidentally cut your finger. Blood started ozzing out and you hissed in pain. After hearing your hiss jay came sprinting into the kitchen and saw blood in your hands and on the knife . He came towards you held you hand Infront of the sink , letting cold water over it. "Where's your mind? Look blood is coming out , you should pay more attention here " he bandages it afterwards and tells you to go in the living room while he cooks. Husband material.

Jake

He was so worried when he saw you fall down the tree you guys were climbing up to. He came to save you but you already fell down hard. You fell on your right hand which made it hurt so bad. You were sobbing while Jake picked you up and took you to the doctor. He was blaming himself.

Sunghoon

You were with him in the ice rink. He was doing great as always. He did the triple axel and it was very fascinating to watch so you tried it aswell. Yeah note the keyword-'tried'. Cuz you fell and sprained your ankles and wrists. He came running up to you to check on you after hearing a thud and seeing you on the floor. He took you to the hospital and started lecturing you on the way.

Sunoo

He was so worried when he saw blood coming out of your head. He asked your hat happened and you told him that when you were cleaning beneath the table , you bumped your head with it and it hurts so bad. He immediately brought a first aid kit and started treating you. "Next time all me okay?"

Jungwon

You can see the concern in his eyes. He saw you cooking and decided to be there and admire you when he saw the flames touch your hand and you screaming in pain. It burned your hand. He brought your hand in the water then applied ice to it and then applied cream on it. He told you to take care of yourselves.

Niki

He panicked

He saw the bruises on your skin after the hot oil burned you. He didn't know what to do but when he saw tears falling from your eyes he immediately ran to bring a first aid kit and treat your wounds. He was scared for you aswell. He scolded you to pay attention.

Kkeut

[oneshotnewbie]

Loves the story about being Amelia younger sister. Can this came to my mind could you pretty please make this a reality lol. So the reader is Amelia and dereks younger sister ( obviously lol) and she gets sick. But she doesn’t want them to know because they will overreact. So without her telling them that she is sick she ends up getting worse and ends up in the hospital, just for Amelia and Derek to find out . Does that make sense. This came to me late at night lol. Thank you:)

For a few days your well being in your body had been lost. From an initial exhaustion and fatigue, for which you had perceived stress as the main cause to slightly stinging in the chest and body aches that you only stamped as tiredness of the last week, there was a lot going at university; lectures until late in the evening, answering 80 quiz questions daily on top of your homework so that you don't forget what you have learned and the tests you had to write in what felt like every subject you could possibly have.

It was almost midnight when you started to finish up your work. You were the only one in this house, at least you thought so, who was still awake to do things that had no time to be postponed.

"You look pale," did you hear your sisters voice and startled for a second out of shock before you looked at the clock for the 10th time this minute and slowly began to collect the papers and pens from the brown coffee table."Is everything okay?"

You just nodded a 'yes', not even bothering to talk out of feeling sick, and got up from your chair to pile up the papers in the back of the table when a wave of dizziness caught up with you and you used your hands to support yourself. "Just totally stressed." you mumbled as you felt a worrying glance and a hand on your back.

Slowly your vision returned to normal, you picked up your things into your arms and turned to Amelia who was standing right behind you. With an attempted smile, you squeezed past her and walked up the stairs. "I'm good."

Before you went to bed, you stole a pill from the bathroom cabinet and disappeared. -It is just a little cold- you thought.

---

"Y/N Shepard, 22 years young." the paramedic called as soon as the doors were opened from the ambulance and he pulled out the stretcher and got out himself. "According to first responders, she passed out while she was about to order a coffee.. Mild sinus tachycardia, blood pressure is low. Temperature is 102,38°F"

You became conscious before the ambulance arrived, but the people around you didn't agree to let you go and wanted to have you examined and now you were here, the attempt to escape from the mess was unsuccessful.

A little confused, you looked around and saw the faces of Owen and Meredith. Almost immediately, before the blonde could even say something, you cut her out. "Don't tell Amy and Derek."

She stroked your hair and looked at you confused and worried. She didn't understood why you wanted to keep your ambulance arrival a secret from your siblings. Even if she had a medical confidentiality obligation towards her patients, she had to tell her sister in law and husband. They were your family.

She nodded to Owen and he understood immediately that he should beep both of them on their pagers. As soon as he disappeared, Meredith pushed you into one of the examination rooms and started to look you up and down.

"Why don't you want the two of them to know?" she asked cautiously while placing some adhesive stickers on your chest and hanging you on a machine. "You know exactly how they are as soon as I am sick. Overprotective - and that is annoying. I am not a little kid anymore."

She stopped moving and looked at you. Her hands found their way onto your shoulder and squeezed them once just before she sat down in front of you and looked deep into your eyes. "They are your siblings, Y/N. Be glad that you have someone who cares about you."

She stopped for a short time and looked at your heart rate on the monitor before turning to you a little worried, adapting a blood pressure cuff on your arm, waiting for the results to show up on her chart. "You have cardiac arrhythmia. Have you had a cold lately?"

"No, I've just been pretty tired and exhausted. I also had a slight sting in my chest once in a while but thought it came from my stomach; I haven't been eating particularly well lately."

---

"What were you thinking by not telling us that you are not feeling well? You don't have three doctors at your home around the clock for nothing!" said Derek a little louder, his face flashed red like a tomato.

When he got the news, he immediately ran down to the emergency room, fearing the worst. He was pissed of when he saw you lying there and he was even angrier when he had to hear every information from Meredith that she had found out and what she suspected. "And that's exactly why I didn't want you to know. You always overdo it!"

"Y/N, heart muscle inflammation is not a joke! If you had carried off the crap and hadn't passed out in the cafe, it could all have been worse than just a few needle sticks and a comfortable hospital bed!" he shouted in disbelief as his hands clenched into a fist and the knuckles were already turning white at the strength of his nervousness which he underpinned by pacing back and forth in front of your bed.

He didn't understand how you wanted to become a doctor but couldn't listen to your own body. It was impossible for him to understand how you could let it get this far. Derek asked for an answer, but you didn't feel like arguing with him anymore so you just stood silent; you were too tired and exhausted to continue this discussion.

You knew it was a fatal mistake, but you couldn't change and jump back in time either.

Just before Derek wanted to let his anger run free again, Amelia, who had previously been quiet, had stood in front of him and gave him an urgent look and some slight knocks on his now crossed arms. "You go now and calm down. The shouting doesn't help anyone here and I don't think the whole hospital has to know our family issues." he bit his lip and looked between you and your sister before he disappeared, but not without slamming the door behind him.

Startled, you let yourself fall back on the pillow, put your arm over your forehead and closed your eyes. You knew you messed up big time. "I'm sorry, Amelia."

"You should have told us, then you might not be here and have to stay for observation." she said calmly, unlike your brother and started moving towards the side of your bed where Amelia sat down on the chair that was already standing next to it and gently stroked the back of your head.

Amelia understood why you hadn't said anything, she had gone through the same with him too. But on the other hand, she could understand Derek. It also hurt her that you hadn't mentioned anything and that you didn't let her help you. "From now on, no more secrets, understand? I don't want to have this horrible feeling in my stomach when I get a message like that ever again. When you are in pain then let one of us know, regardless of whether you think it is a cramped muscle or not."

"You are so over caring." you said annoyed and rolled your eyes.

You knew it was in their nature to react like that, but as a young adult you couldn't understand that exactly this small gesture showed how important you were to a person. You just found it annoying.

"At some point in your life, you will think back to that moment and judge it completely different. Maybe we are far too caring now, later you will perhaps be grateful to us for it and understand why we do this." she sighed.

"We do this because we love you and we don't ever want to lose you."

[animezinglife]

He set the conditions that saved me from my previous situation. He’s consistently put people in my life who needed to be there at that precise moment. 

TL/DR: Tagging @indynerdgirl​!

To elaborate a bit without going into a novel-length version, my last job was destroying me. It was destroying me emotionally, psychologically, and was even negatively impacting my physical health. Keep in mind there was a lot else going on at the time, too, and it wasn’t long after the most heartbreaking family tragedy to date, followed by another devastating loss. There were tiers of the job that got progressively worse as time went on, but early on, He dropped someone into my life that gave me a reason to keep pushing through in that job...and frankly, taught me some other extremely important lessons I also absolutely needed, but that’s a different conversation. Had God not done that, timing for everything wouldn’t have aligned later on as it did.

When my situation progressively got worse at a far more rapid speed after he left--or maybe I just noticed it more--I sent out a pretty uncharacteristic, desperate cry for help. The whole time, I’d been praying like crazy that an opportunity would come up that would allow me to get myself out of there, and I was in the process of creating cushions for myself to fall back on. The therapist who just happened to intercept this email and read it called me into her office to talk to her in person (in confidence and in safety). We talked candidly, and we immediately connected. She told me about a job opening that had come up in an environment she knew was very different than what I was in, encouraged me to apply, and passed my number along to the hiring supervisor. She asked me at the time if I believed in happenstances--at the time, I was too beaten down to hope for a positive outcome. I have versatile degrees, but they wanted one in a very specific science and field of research.

Fast-forward to that night, the hiring supervisor calls me and I have a conversation with her. I can tell she’s different, and she tells me I’m the first candidate she’s talked to who sounds like “an actual adult.” She tells me she’s going to review my materials as soon as she got into the office the next morning, but to plan for a first round interview.

I remember in the short span of the few days that followed and think of the odd occurrences that couldn’t have been anything but God’s work that transpired. Feeling like a complete wreck, I’d gone to a local ice cream parlor for a small treat for myself, and a college student--a complete stranger--came over to me, asked if she could pray for me, and took my hands. We prayed together, and her prayer was unsettlingly applicable to my situation. Maybe I just looked like I’d been through it and she knew I needed help, but somehow, I don’t think that was it. 

I made it to the last round of interviews--something I now know my current employer didn’t want to have even bother doing because they’d already chosen me, but a process is a process and she was being met with a little skepticism over those pieces of paper. Note that the head honcho had not met me, nor did he know anything about me yet--I quickly erased any concerns he had there once he did. I was trying to work twelve hour workdays at my old job on no sleep, trying to prepare myself for that two hour interview (one hour lecture over something I again had no experience in, plus one hour of standard interview questions), and all the while was not able to work on any of it during the work day because we had a mandatory training. I had an annual doctor’s appointment for insurance scheduled in the middle of it, and my then-supe forbade me from going. I went anyway, and when the nurses saw my blood pressure, they panicked. I broke down to the point I couldn’t breathe: full-fledged gasping, sobbing, blubbering, mortifying disaster.

God sent those nurses, too: to completely random, third-party women who didn’t know me at all offered me more comfort and a better sense of hope than I’d had yet. By that point too, I at least had three new job offers on the table (I was interviewing through all of this in secret via Zoom), so if worst came to worst and I didn’t get the job I wanted, I at least had backups. The second nurse came in and I just word-vomited everything. She gave me a hug, told me she knew I was going to get the job, and that everything was going to be okay.

Jumping ahead, I’ve now been in that position I wanted--the one the therapist told me about--for over a year. I’ve come to find out my supervisor was praying hard for the right candidate to come along because she was so overwhelmed without having good backup in that role, and they needed someone reliable, who understood what their mission was about on a personal level, and who would fit perfectly within their team. 

The fact that therapist I will always credit to saving me had such a strong premonition and the fact we happened to connect at the exact right time isn’t coincidence. She’s not a Christian woman. We have very different beliefs, yet very similar dispositions and goals for the work world. But we both somehow knew we needed to meet at that exact moment and have since not only become friends, but have helped each other in a variety of ways.

The little ways God works are important too, because those get you through the day-to-day. I can pay my rent. I have food on my table. I have a great, reliable vehicle to drive. I now have a great job surrounded by wonderful people who each other up instead of trying everything within their power to tear others down. I had NO experience doing a job like this, but I excel at it. I settled into it quickly and easily, and even our head honcho’s thrilled that my supervisor took a gamble on me and fought for me. It’s even changed their entire hiring process and how they look at degree requirements. I’ve already caught up to a lot through certifications and continued education.

But when your faith’s been shaken more than a few times, it’s the big moves that humble you most and remind you there’s still a powerful good. I’m not an easy believer and never have been. I've always believed in something greater and more powerful than myself and all of us, but it's really hard for me to get onboard with the way it's often taught. I greatly dislike that about myself. I’m fairly pessimistic. I try hard not to be. So those reminders have been crucial to me--especially after so many consecutive hardships and tragedies--to reframe my perspective and keep trying. I try to focus on the good and the many blessings I have. I have wonderful parents who are still healthy. I have a good relationship with my cousins. I have great friends, and great co-workers. I have my health--that’s all a tremendous amount to be thankful for.

But that’s the more specific, recent glimpse. I’m leaving a lot out, but hopefully that gets enough of the point across to help someone else as well. God works in many different ways. When your faith gets shaken, keep going and pray anyway. You never know what will happen and it’s better to try.

Thank you for the tag!

I’m in the mood to celebrate God, so let’s start a reblog game!! Say something(s) that God has done for you and then tag your friends! It can be big or small, something that happened within two seconds this morning or something that has been lifelong. Legitimately anything.

For me, He sent His most beautiful souls to surround me to lead me ever deeper into the faith. I am in awe of each and every one of them and see God in them daily, and it blows me away with gratitude how He placed so many spectacular people in my life (probably because He knew I would be lost without them).

@bookdragon1811 @avatardoggo @silverpaintedstars @fairytale-lights @holbytlanna @tessathecaffeinatedbutterfly @distance-does-not-matter @kazoosandfannypacks @intothelionsden @babsbabbles @the-permanent-blur @i-am-a-freg

[engagemachine]

"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.