#Pain Management Doctors Texas

[ipsdfwus]

Effective Pain Management Techniques For Chronic Pain Relief

Chronic pain is a complex and often debilitating condition that affects millions of individuals worldwide. Unlike acute pain, which typically resolves with treatment or time, chronic pain persists for months or even years, profoundly impacting the quality of life. Understanding effective pain management techniques is crucial for those seeking relief. This blog will explore several strategies for managing chronic pain, particularly within the context of pain management in fort worth, TX.

Understanding Chronic Pain

Chronic pain can arise from various conditions, including arthritis, fibromyalgia, and previous injuries. It can manifest as persistent discomfort, aching, or sharp pain, often leading to physical and emotional distress. Recognizing the nature of chronic pain is vital, as it informs the development of effective management strategies.

1. Physical Therapy: A Structured Approach to Relief

Physical therapy is a cornerstone of chronic pain management. A licensed physical therapist can design a personalized exercise program to improve strength, flexibility, and overall function. Engaging in targeted exercises helps alleviate pain, enhance mobility, and reduce the risk of future injuries.

For residents seeking pain management fort worth, TX specialists, local physical therapy clinics offer tailored rehabilitation programs to meet individual needs.

2. Mindfulness and Meditation: Harnessing Mental Resilience

The psychological aspect of chronic pain cannot be overlooked. Mindfulness and meditation techniques can significantly reduce stress and anxiety, both of which can exacerbate pain perception. Individuals can foster a more positive relationship with their pain by focusing on the present moment and developing a greater awareness of one’s body.

Integrating practices such as deep breathing exercises and guided imagery into daily routines has enhanced overall pain management outcomes.

3. Medication Management: Tailoring Treatment Plans

Medication plays a crucial role in managing chronic pain, but it requires careful oversight. Collaborating with a healthcare provider to develop a comprehensive medication management plan is essential. Options range from over-the-counter analgesics to prescription medications, each with its benefits and potential side effects.

Consulting with pain management fort worth, TX specialists can help create a tailored plan that addresses specific symptoms while minimizing adverse effects.

4. Alternative Therapies: Expanding Treatment Horizons

In addition to conventional treatments, alternative therapies can offer significant relief for chronic pain sufferers. Approaches such as acupuncture, chiropractic care, and massage therapy have gained recognition for their effectiveness in reducing pain and improving overall well-being. 

These therapies can complement traditional pain management strategies and provide additional avenues for relief. Individuals should consider exploring these options as part of their comprehensive pain management plan.

5. Lifestyle Modifications: Enhancing Overall Health

Implementing lifestyle changes can have a profound impact on chronic pain management. Regular physical activity, a balanced diet, and sufficient sleep are integral to improving overall health and well-being.

Engaging in low-impact exercises, such as swimming or walking, can stimulate the release of endorphins, which act as natural pain relievers. Furthermore, maintaining a healthy weight can reduce the strain on joints, particularly for those with osteoarthritis.

6. Building a Support Network: The Importance of Community

The emotional toll of chronic pain can be overwhelming, making it essential to cultivate a support network. Connecting with others who share similar experiences can provide comfort and understanding. Support groups, whether in-person or online, offer a platform for individuals to share insights, coping strategies, and emotional support.

Building a community can foster resilience and empower individuals in their journey toward effective pain management.

Conclusion: Taking Control of Chronic Pain

Chronic pain does not have to dictate one’s life. By combining physical therapy, mindfulness practices, medication management, alternative therapies, lifestyle changes, and support networks, individuals can achieve meaningful relief and improve their quality of life.

For those in fort worth, TX, it is essential to explore local resources and treatment options available for pain management. Taking proactive steps toward pain management fort worth, TX experts is an investment in a healthier, more fulfilling life.

[spine-and-pain-clinic-of-texas]

Looking for effective Pain Management Longview TX? Visit Spine & Pain Clinic of Texas for expert care and personalized treatment options.

[bluemoonbun]

Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

[pedgito]

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 | Cowboy!Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Through all of his supposed wrong-doing, Joel has never failed you. Alternatively, falling in love with your dad's enemy while he shows you your full potential.

author's note | this is for @kedsandtubesocks's wild ride writing challenge! i struggled with this for a while, but ultimately erika and @hauntedhowlett helped me settle on something after sitting on the struggle bus for longer than i liked. this is all unbeta'd so please go easy on me dsjhkg

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, rodeo cowboy!joel, dbf but they're rivals now, forbidden love, hefty age gap (early 20s, late 40s), daddy issues, switches between present/flashbacks (all titled to differentiate), joel strolling around shirtless in a cowboy hat, mentions of injuries from riding, angst/internal conflict, fluff, smut (inappropriate use of a barstool), joel's such a loverboy

word count — 7.5k

Austin, Texas — Present Day: 

The energy in the stadium is inconceivable.

Austin always had amazing crowds during rodeo season, especially with such a close-knit community of people supporting a passion many have attempted to pursue. For you, it was in your blood, riding on the coattails of your father, you were saddled on a horse before you could even speak full sentences.

You can hear the deep, roaring chants as you stand steadily in the waiting pen, eyes locked on the television as the words echo in your ear, a faint smile growing on your face as you feel the solid press of his hand against your back.

 Joel.

It was a year of tireless dedication to get you back on a horse, somehow managing to entangle yourself in his grasp in more ways than you can explain—he wasn’t just a partner, he was your lover, a confidant, and the only person that could ease the quickly growing nerves.

“Like ridin’ a bike,” He says with an ease that comes natural to his voice, hand climbing up to settle against the back of your neck with a reassuring squeeze, “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“What if she gets startled?” You ask absently, the accident flashing through your mind in snapshots, the subtle twinge of pain in your knee that came and went when it felt like it.

“All she needs is you,” Joel reminds you, “s’never been a time I’ve seen her freak out when she’s got you on her back and you know it.”

Honey had been with you since you were a young girl, a trust built through years of connection and care, having practiced the art of non-verbal communication, you knew there was nothing to worry about, but the fear still lingered.

Joel’s Ranch, One Year Ago — Flashback:

Joel can see the way your hands shake, attempting to grasp the reins a few times with a clammy grip, over-adjusting yourself on the horse he’s ridden for many years, even into retirement. Buttercup was docile but strong and he’s attentive to Joel’s instruction, a rub over his snout as he attempted to reassure you.

It was your first time back on a horse since your accident, months of recuperating on Joel’s ranch with the help of him and his brother Tommy, working through doctor’s visits and physical therapy alongside two men who weren’t your father, but had filled the hole enough that you didn’t have to suffer through your injury alone.

“We’re just doing a few laps and getting a feel on things,” Joel reminds you, “I’m not pushin’ you and I’m not gonna let you push it too soon—what’s your number today?”

You bend and stretch your leg hesitantly, a subtle movement as Joel’s hand rests just above the thick band of your jeans, your face contorting in slight discomfort.

“Five…six,” You say indecisively, looking down at Joel.

“So, an eight,” He surmises with a smile, “alright—just a few laps and we’ll work from there.”

It was a step forward, fearful that you might never ride again. 

But, Joel follows you around the ring from start to finish.

He promised in the beginning that he wouldn’t leave your side and he hasn’t lied once.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

While dressage started their run, you and Joel slipped off into a dressing room to watch the show and deal with the insistence from Joel that you shouldn’t ride on an empty stomach.

You picked at the food sparingly though, still feeling rattled by the energy in the arena.

Joel’s presence comes from behind, palms spread over the arms of your chair as he leans his chest into your back, lips brushing against your ear in an endearing manner, a ghost of his breath against the side of your face as he presses a gentle kiss against your neck.

"Hey," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "You're going to be amazing out there, baby. I believe in you."

You lean back into his warmth, letting out a shaky breath. His arms encircle you, strong and comforting. "I'm just so nervous," you whisper.

Joel turns your face with his fingers at your chin. His eyes, filled with tenderness, meet yours. 

"Remember why you started riding in the first place? That freedom? The connection?"

You nod and his hand flattens against the side of your neck and you tilt your chin up expectantly, eager for a kiss that never comes, instead he chuckles and placates you with another kiss to your cheek.

“No distractions,” He chastises, “I meant that.”

You pout for a brief moment but relent, knowing that you needed a clear head and Joel would give you anything but with how easily he’s clouded your thoughts in the past several months.

Joel’s Ranch, Six Months Ago — Flashback:

When it happens, you aren’t expecting it.

Neither is Joel, which makes the entire situation unfold faster than you’re capable of processing.

The storm rolled in without warning, the wind picking up like someone had flipped a switch. 

But, the lighting strikes unexpectedly from the right and downfield with not a drop of rain in sight.

It startles everyone, but especially Buttercup, Joel’s horse. It was quick buck, with Joel’s hands on your waist luckily, so the decent is smooth but the impact isn’t as graceful as you would have liked while Joel’s horses thrashes wildly until he can calm him down, moving you a safe distance away before he can eventually get Buttercup tucked away in the stables and return to you, jogging toward you as the rain began to mist.

As Joel approaches, his eyes lock with yours, concern etched across his features. 

The misting rain clings to his cheeks, making them glisten in the fading light. He reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping your face. Thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with worry.

You nod, unable to speak as you realize how close he is. 

It’s never been like this, even in the moments of physical therapy and joint dinners with him and his brother—Joel had always been careful about being respectful and keeping his distance.

Joel was prominent in your childhood, weekend dinners with him and his daughters after the death of your mother—it was all a blur now, most of it buried away and forgotten. But, there was an eventual blow-up with your father and then he was gone. 

You’d see him on television and around town when shows were happening and he had a break from his extensive tour through different states, having turned his professional career into entertainment both out of a need for change and necessity.

He constantly remained out of reach, but with your injury and his willingness to yield to you when you needed someone in your life the most, he had stepped in. It made you feel like that little girl again, scraping your knee on the ground and crying for help, but instead of your dad it was Joel and the floating feeling in your stomach wasn’t because he was comforting you, but because he was touching you and neither of you had the courage to speak on it.

He’s never touched you like this. He wouldn’t. 

Joel’s always been careful—too careful.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice trembles slightly. Joel kneels closer, his warmth enveloping you despite the cool rain. His hands find your shoulders, steadying you, “Joel—I swear, I’m okay.”

“M’so sorry, sweetheart,” He apologises despite no wrongdoing, “I should’ve checked the weather or at least held on a little tighter,”

You look up into his eyes, seeing the genuine worry there, and something else – something that makes your heart flutter in your chest. "It's not your fault," You insist, blinking away the rain from your lashes before Joel is helping you to your feet, his touch never once leaving your body.

The rain is falling harder now, but neither of you can find the urgency to move.

Joel's hands slide down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your breath catches in your throat, coming out in a desperate attempt to clear the swell as you make a small, weak noise that seems to break him from his trance.

“Let’s get you dry,” He nods toward the house, grateful for the deflection as you turn, but his hand is still pressed firmly against your back as you both walk toward the door, like he’s too scared to let go - like you were too fragile to leave on your own.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Honey nuzzles into your chest before nibbling at the apple in your palm, always rigid about the time you spent with her before your shows, a moment of quiet and connection that strengthens the bond.

She was full of personality, leaning into the gentle touch you apply to her snout as you rub your hand up and into her mane, a small push into your ribs as she hears Joel approach.

Your heart swells with affection as you lean into Honey's warmth, savoring the sweet moment. 

Joel's footsteps draw near, but you're reluctant to break the spell. 

You press a soft kiss to Honey's velvety nose, whispering words of love and gratitude. As Joel appears, his eyes meet yours and a tender smile spreads across his face. He understands the depth of your connection with Honey, having witnessed your bond grow over countless shows and quiet moments like this. Even when you were much younger and Honey was twice the size she is now.

Your father had purchased her when Joel was meeting Buttercup, how the girls had hounded him over the responsibility to name his horse. He wouldn’t admit how much he liked it, either.

"You two are inseparable," he murmurs, stepping closer. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers as you both stroke Honey's mane, "I swear, sometimes I think you love that horse more than me."

You laugh, giving your horse one last pat before turning to Joel. "Are you jealous?" 

Your head tilts, eyes as wide and vulnerable as they always were with him.

“Not when you look at me like that,” Joel explains, his hand cupping your chin as his thumb rubs against the point of it, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards as Joel mirrors that same admiration, a playful glint in his eyes as you pucker your lips and kiss his thumb, keeping your eyes on him, “boy, you are really pushin’ it today.”

It was silly to think about now, but a few months prior Joel wouldn’t even allow himself to touch you like this, despite the clear indication of how you felt and how he had ultimately fallen first, too scared to admit that he’d fallen for his old friend’s daughter, knowing your father despised everything that Joel was, it was a maze he didn’t know how to navigate.

He still felt lost on most days.

Joel’s Ranch, Five Months Ago — Flashback:

Mornings were sacred on Joel’s ranch - a beautiful sunrise etched out over the hills and through the trees, animals rousing from their sleep, and a silence that reminded you of a simpler time.

Usually you found Joel up this early, nursing a mug of coffee in his hands as rocked in the old chair on his porch, eventually finding the courage to join him after a while, when it didn’t hurt to bend down to his level, taking a seat on the deck near his legs and sipping at your own drink of choice, talking through your pain level on whatever particular day it was.

Your fondness has grown over shared meals and proximity; seclusion, too.

It was you and him, months alone aside from Tommy’s occasional visit.

Maybe it was inevitable—that your injury served a purpose.

You always tried to find a reason to excuse your own mistake, a moment of hesitation that cost you an entire year of your newfound career, excitedly filling in for Joel in his departure. 

It couldn’t have been for nothing.

You felt her heart skip a beat as his footsteps approached, his gaze warm as it descended upon you, peering over your shoulder to be met with a tired smile.

The morning sunlight caught the silver in his hair, and you found herself admiring the lines around his eyes - evidence of a life filled with both laughter and hardship.

"Good mornin’," Joel's voice was a low rumble, softened by the early hour, “something botherin’ you?”

“Why do you ask?” You chirp with a soft laugh, narrowing your gaze in a manner to intimidate. 

Joel smirks half-heartedly, “It’s a good place to think,” He notes, “so—what is it?”

“Can I ask about my dad?” You start hesitantly, not sure how sore of a subject it was for him.

“Whaddya wanna know, sugar?”

“I want your side,” You wanted honesty, not half-truths, “did you cut him out of the deal?”

“He cut himself out,” Joel explains without skipping a beat, “we were partners for a long time, couldn’t have imagined doin’ all I did without him before he turned on me, but it was good money, security—it put Ellie and Sarah through college.

“He’s a sell-out,” If there was any time for your father to disparage Joel Miller, he would, “runnin’ off to Florida and taking some big deal, that shit ain’t right—it’s selfish.”

Joel had never meant to turn his career into entertainment, competing in circuits at a professional level before his body started to take a toll, eventually earning the Old Timer moniker and booking shows around the surrounding cities of Texas before touring the country.

If you were involved in rodeo, or even caught a whiff of it in the media, you knew who the Old Timer was. And even with him gone, you can feel your father looming.

The echoing mantra of his words in your head as you remember watching Joel perform with Buttercup, a long-established Bronc with his own exuberant personality to match Joel’s more subdued one, a perfect balance. 

Ain’t nothing out there you won’t experience here in Austin. 

You weren’t sure where the animosity stemmed from until now—it was a clear path he had pictured for himself and you, riding out the rest of your career in Texas, even as you were starting to climb the ladder as one of the more notorious female riders, still just a whisper for most people, living in the shadow of your father for so long.

“He’s stuck in his ways and that’s not sayin’ I’m any different, but I don’t regret signing that deal for a better way of livin’—a easier way, it got me all of this,” He throws his arms out lazily, property that stretched for miles, a place where he’s come to offer a camp for young riders to learn the ropes and get comfortable around the animals in a safe environment.

But, it was also home.

It was a surprise waking up one morning to a yard full of kids, a handful no older than ten or eleven, showing how easily Joel molded into the teaching role in such a relaxed environment.

You weren’t sure if that was when your feelings for him had evolved or if it was during the early weeks of being injured when Joel would sit with you bedside almost every night, either reading or working on his crosswords like it was religion, glasses perched on his nose as he moved with every subtle twitch you would make, worry etched on his face.

It was a mix of both and more, countless times you’ve found yourself at a loss for words.

“If he knew,” You pause, chewing at your bottom lip with worry, “if he knew—that I was here, that I turned down his help to come to you, Joel, I don’t know how he would react,”

“There ain’t a single reason he needs to know,” Joel assures you, “I’m sure he’s said a lot about me and some of it is probably true, but you deserve a place you feel safe.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. 

Joel's words sink in, and you realize just how much you needed to hear them. The weight of your father's expectations, his dreams for your future, had been suffocating you for far too long.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft whinnying of horses in the nearby stables, and your words linger, like you’re holding back, “I do—I do feel safe…”

Joel hums, turning his body toward you more, his elbow meeting the railing of the ring.

“But?”

“You have to know,” You begin, heart constricting with nerves, a surge of adrenaline rushing through your veins as Joel looks at you, all of you, that familiar full body glance that you’re not even sure he realizes he’s doing, “it’s more than just safety, Joel.”

"I reckon I do know," he says, his voice low and gravelly, still thick from sleep. "Been knowin' for a while now."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning and possibility. Uncertainty.

“I feel stupid,” You laugh away the sudden embarrassment, face heating as the silence grows, “fuck I’m—I’m only a couple years older than the girls and you were helping me with my math homework while trying to teach them how to tie their shoes. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Seems to me like you’re an adult capable of making her own choices,” Joel decides.

You feel a flutter in your chest at Joel's words, at the implicit acceptance in them. 

Your eyes meet his, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but you find only warmth and a hint of something deeper, enticingly haunting.

"I've been making my own choices for a while now," you say softly, not realizing the instinctual gravitation toward him until his chest is pressing into your shoulder. "Some good, some...not so good. But, coming here? It was the first choice I’ve made for myself that felt right."

“It always needs to feel like that, sweetheart.”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Joel tightens the belt at your waist, the leather stiff from lack of wear. You’ve only worn the uniform a few times for fittings, a brightly colored shirt and riding pants to match, which were still hung on the rack behind Joel. 

He takes a moment to tug at the leather to assure it was secure before he drops down to his knees, catching you by surprise with a bubble of laughter slipping past your lips.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

He shrugs, pressing featherlight kisses along the top of your thigh while his hand drags along the back, hooking behind your right leg as he brings your knee to his mouth, his lips pressing over the jagged but healed scar.

You find yourself overcome with unexpected emotion, throat burning with the threat of impending tears, the moment holding still as Joel looks up at you.

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

It was intended to be a simple task, filling the troughs with water as you both lugged the buckets to each individual pen, narrowly escaping Joel’s increasingly boyish behavior as he fills the trough up halfway before he’s tossing the rest of the water at you, gasping at the cold, frigid temperature of it.

“You ain’t smiled today,” Joel reminds you, suddenly sheepish as you realize how big the grin on your face has grown, wasting the rest of the water to return the wet favor, tossing the bucket on the floor before you decide to make a run for the house nearly at the door before you slip on a slick spot of mud.

Squealing, your arms flail out—you accept your fate, arms bracing behind you as you wait for the impact, but instead you’re caught by two thick arms wrapping under and around you and your breath catches as you find yourself pressed against Joel's broad chest, his strong arms holding you securely.

Your heart races with an anxious stir of emotions, interlaced with excitement, suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. Joel aids you back to your feet, shoving him away playfully as you snake your way out of his arms, trying your hardest to seem upset even though you weren’t.

“Careful,” Joel warns, “can’t have you injuring yourself any worse, you’ll be takin’ up a permanent residence here.

“Would it be so bad?” You ask curiously, a hint of teasing to your tone, “I think you like the idea of keeping me here, all to yourself.”

His eyes echo his earlier words. Careful.

The restraint he shows day by day amazes himself with how hard you’ve tried to break him down, some guilt surrounding his own growing feelings, ashamed with how strong they’ve become.

“Where’s your manners, anyways?” You ask, “You get a girl all wet and you can’t even invite her to dinner or kiss her first? And I thought you were a gentleman.”

Joel wasn’t intimidated by much in his life, but the way you see straight through him with ease—he’s helpless under your gaze, the grin on your face that follows is tortuous to his psyche.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, Joel,” You tease, poking at the damp fabric stuck to his chest, his eyes following the movement as you pull away and turn toward the house, “I’m just fucking with you.”

Joel snaps then, pulling at your wrist with a gentle tug, “Now, you ain’t gotta be so crude all the time, mouth like that’ll get you in trouble,”

Like this?

Joel sees the smug expression as it sneaks onto your features, his grip climbing higher until you’re at the lip of his front door and he’s got you crowded, pressing into the flimsy screen as he noses at your cheek like a wolf sniffing out prey, violently aware of how your hand squeezes into his wet shirt and pulls him closer.

“Just kiss me,” You plead, “fuck—please. Just do it.”

It was a craving so unnatural you ache, in your gut and chest, lips parting as your chin lifts in an effort to chase his hesitance. You’ve both been dancing around this for weeks.

Joel's resolve crumbles, his self-control shattering like glass.

With a low growl, he captures your lips in a hurried kiss, weeks of pent-up desire pouring out in a single, passionate moment. His calloused hands frame your face, holding you steady as he deepens the kiss, tongue seeking entrance between your lips.

And you melt instantly, fingers curling tighter into his shirt. It was everything you needed.

Rough but tender, his soft lips against your own with the satisfying scratch of his overgrown beard that tickled your cheeks and nose, hiccuping a breath into the kiss as he tilts your head up to meet his hungry mouth, each press more insatiable than the last. 

When you finally part, both panting for air, Joel rests his forehead against your own and allows his eyes to fall shut for a moment as you giggle, shaking slightly in his hold.

“Now, was that so hard?”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s got you imprisoned this way—body and soul, your hand shifting to rest at the crown of his head, curling into his hair, another gentle kiss before he’s leaning his cheek against the inside of your thigh and offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“You plan on stayin’ down there, cowboy?”

Joel chuckles, shifting to hide his face into your thigh.

It’s a gentle tickle, his mouth against your skin, but it brings you immense comfort.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” You remind him, eyeing the clock overhead, “I think we can manage.”

He shakes his head with relaxed defiance, groaning quietly as he pushes to his feet again.

“Right—right, later. No distractions,” You repeat his earlier words, followed by a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re not making it easy, you know?”

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

Joel’s got you on a strict schedule lately once you’re cleared for training—breakfast, a workout, practice, lunch, repeat, only a few months out until your inevitable return and he’s hammering the routine into your brain, which you appreciate, but a break would be nice.

The run-through was flawless this evening and you retired earlier, savoring the burning heat of water as it melted over your skin, dressed in a loose shirt and panties as you searched through your messy suitcase of clothes and the pile that has grown over time with your extensive stay, down on your knees.

It wasn’t always this easy, depending on Joel for nearly everything in the beginning of your stay.

He was showering in his room simultaneously, or so you thought.

Joel spotted your hat about halfway through the living room, resting on a post outside.

His chest is still wet, jeans unbuttoned but snug on his hips as he strolled barefoot outside and retrieved the item, knowing that you hardly parted with it, it was a strange sight.

You pause in your rummaging, sensing a presence behind you moments later.

Turning, your breath catches at the sight of Joel standing in your doorway, hat balanced on his head as he leaned against the frame and smiled, the muscles in his arms conforming to the stretch and pull as he crossed them, tanned skin glistening with the few droplets of water still lingering.

“Found your hat,” Well, one could only suspect.

You stand slowly, acutely aware of how little you're wearing. "Thanks," you murmur as you make your way toward him, reaching for the hat. Your fingers brush as he hands it over, his own molding around the crown of the hat, bottom side up.

Joel doesn’t let go immediately like you’re anticipating, “I think you deserve a weekend off,”

“No,” You argue instantly, “I’m finally getting comfortable with the routine, I don’t need a day off.”

Joel’s face scrunches up in with a lack of belief in you words, tilting his head with narrowing gaze, “Now, that’s something only a person who needs a day off would say,”

“Joel, no,” You put your foot down, finally prying his fingers away from the hat, seeking a few inches of space from his bare chest and the unbearable heat that radiates from his frame.

While your admission of feelings had led him to be less reserved with the way he approached your or talked, more touchy during practice and at night while you both cuddled up on the couch and watched some old western you could care less about—Joel really loved them, though, so that had to count for something.

He makes you nervous, anticipatory of his next move, waiting for him to put your misery and break the metaphorical seal over your relationship—if you could even call it that, but it never happened. It would have to be you, a choice you made entirely on your own.

Your heart races as you take a step back, clutching the hat to your chest like a shield.

Joel's eyes follow your movement, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his face before he schools his expression back to that easy, warm smile. It’s subtle, but there.

"I get it," Joel levels, "You're afraid of losing momentum.”

You shrug, unsure if that was fully true.

“C’mon,” Joel beckons, uncrossing his arms to offer his hand, your eyes following it with hesitance.

Joel chuckles to himself and pulls the hat from your grip before placing it on your head, fingers circling your wrist before they trail toward your hand and lead you toward the kitchen, through his expansive living room until he’s guiding you toward one of the few barstool, silently ordering you to sit down.

Almost immediately, he squats behind the island to rummage through the liquor collection he kept stored away for the occasional celebration or nightcap, avoiding it mostly out of preference while you trained, but he’s sliding a glass of whiskey over before you can fully piece together what he’s doing, rounding the counter with his own glass in hand.

“Happy early birthday to me, I guess,” You joke before taking a small sip of the whiskey, knowing your 22nd birthday was on the horizon but enjoying the reaction as Joel’s face contorts through phases—first confusion, then fear, before he’s attempting to pull the glass from your grip as he realizes his mistake

You giggle and stretch the glass out of reach, “Oh, calm down—I’m old enough to drink, Joel. Old age is really getting to you, isn’t it? I didn’t celebrate last year because I was so focused on the show, but we all know how that turned out,”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?” Joel asks, downing the rest of the liquid in one go.

He’s drifted closer now, palm pressed into the counter beside your arm, his free hand rising up to tip the brim of your hat up, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth with an impish gaze.

“I’m just so young and impressionable,” You feign innocence, “I blame you.”

Joel's eyes darken, a mix of amusement and something more intense swirling in the depths of brown. Holding his eyes, you slide the glass against the counter and reach for your hat before placing it back on his head, a little on the snug side but still wearable.

“Kinda like it on you better,” You decide, adjusting the brim before your fingers trail toward his shoulders and settle there, feeling the muscle underneath twitch as he laughs, though you find yourself deadly serious and sincere, no longer meeting his eyes as yours trail toward the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, a solid wall of muscle follow—Joel wasn’t defined, but he was large, intimidatingly so. When he wasn’t riding, he was building, working with his hands, lifting and moving things around the ranch, it was mouthwatering to watch.

“Eyes up, sugar,” He warns, not realizing how dangerously low your hands had trailed before your fingers were folding over the open seam of his jeans and how blatantly obvious it was that Joel wasn’t wearing anything underneath and how his cock had swelled slightly with your proximity and innocent touches.

You feel a rush of excitement as your fingers brush against the warm skin just beneath the waistband of his jeans. Joel's breath hitches, his hand moving to grip your wrist firmly.

“But, you’re—”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, “Can’t help that part—bein’ around you ain’t easy lately.”

In any other circumstance you would take those words harshly, but you can see the pain on his face, the self-restraint he’s holding himself to.

“I can—we can,” You offer, legs spreading on their own as you turn toward him, fitting him between your thighs as you lean into him, “I mean—it isn’t like you’ll be stealing my virtue. I’m not that innocent, Joel.”

Joel's grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenching as he struggles to maintain control. 

You can see the conflict in his eyes—desire warring with his sense of propriety.

Impatient, you surge upwards, pressing your lips against his with a hunger he hasn’t seen from you before, taking advantage of his parted mouth and dragging your tongue across his top lip, feeling the restrain in the way he kisses you back subdued with his hesitant touch.

“Think about—what you’re—askin’ for,” Joel interrupts through hurried kisses, his hand curling around the side of your neck to push you back, “What this’ll mean for you.”

“I think you should fuck me,” You respond crudely, “besides—you kissed me first.”

His resolve wavers, and you seize the opportunity. 

Your free hand slides up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Joel's eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft groan escaping his lips at the indecent sight of you looking up at him, lips parted on a breath and eyes wide with desire.

Joel never made great choices, only what felt right in the moment.

And somehow, it has led him here.

“We shouldn’t,” He says softly, “s’just another distraction.”

“My mind has never been more clear, Joel,” You argue.

Joel’s resistance is weakening quickly and with a low growl, he’s capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand leaving your wrist to grip your hip with a natural possessiveness, the same touch he lends while you’re riding, not an entirely different circumstance, but the intention is loud. You moan into his mouth, arching against him as his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, flicking at the hat, your laugh breaking through the tension as Joel parts for a brief second, watching your fingers fold around the hem of your shirt, “help me?”

It’s devious, you know, he knows it. 

But, he listens.

The moment your shirt is thrown to the floor, Joel’s jaw slackens.

Instinctually, his thumb drifts over your nipples, circling the areola before he’s using the full expanse of his grip to cup your breasts, maneuvering the barstool until you’re leaning against the marble top, his lips latching onto your skin, tongue alternate as they circle the sensitive buds.

He’ll repent later, much later.

A gasp escapes you when he grazes his teeth against your nipple, sending a spark of pleasure through your body.

"Joel," you breathe, arching into his touch. He hums against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He knew exactly what he was doing, hesitance out the window and replaced with newfound confidence.

His hands slide down your sides, rough calluses catching on your soft skin as he explores every inch of you. When his fingers reach the waistband of underwear, he pauses, looking up at you for guidance and surety. 

You nod eagerly, lifting your hips in time with his tug, pulling the damp fabric down your legs and leaving you bare. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Joel's eyes rake over your naked form, hunger evident in his eyes.

And you learn quickly that his skilled hands and fingers aren’t entirely for show, two fingers to start as they push inside of your cunt, head tilted back into his empty hand as he watches you carefully - the quickened breath as he curls his fingers, eyes fluttering shut when he reaches a sensitive spot deep inside of you, gasping for air while he brushes it once, twice, until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess, crying out his name until you come over his fingers, the butt of his palm pressed against your clit for added measure.

“She loves me, don’t she?” Joel teases, the gall of that man.

You offer a pathetic sound of acknowledgement, Joel's eyes never leaving your face as you come undone, drinking in every gasp and shudder. As your climax subsides, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His tongue darts out, cleaning up the mess you’ve made, his chest rumbling with a deep groan.

You’ve had enough.

You reach for his jeans, fumbling weakly as you push them down, desperate for as much of him as you could consume—all of him, preferably.

His arousal is evident as you rid him of his jeans, watching as he kicks away the tangled mess to fit himself between your spread legs, his cock bobbing freely against his stomach, thick and heavy against your thigh as you pull him closer. You wrap your hand around his cock, stroking slowly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his hips buck involuntarily.

"I’m good," You assure him without elaborating, guiding him towards your entrance—you could talk later, too desperate to feel him inside of you.

Joel hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes. Whatever he sees seems to convince him, both of your breaths holding as he presses inside with slow, hesitant thrusts.

The sensation steals your words, knowing just by the sight of him that it would be pushing what you were used to, and no fumbling hands either, sure in every touch he laid upon you.

The way he squeezed at your hip and curled his other hand around the back of your neck, protecting you from the hard edge of the counter before he’s slinging your arms over his neck and nearly knocking the barstool to the floor as he leans into you, his hips picking up in their intensity as he listens to your body and your voice, distant and soft but there, floating in some ethereal plane of pleasure.

Your fingers dig into Joel’s shoulders, moaning at how he fills you in the most satisfying way, amiss to the bite of the counter in your back as the chair creaks and rocks with Joel’s hurried movement, breath hot against your neck where he’s buried himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He sighs, mouthing his way to your ear, hissing at the sting of your grip and with that his thrusts become deeper, more forceful— each one pushing you further over the edge. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.

Joel’s lips find yours frantically, in desperation as he groans, a low rumble that seeps into your own mouth, “Gonna gimme one more,” He tells you,

You nod fervently, barely able to form words as Joel's movements grow more insistent.

His hand slips between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a precision that leaves you breathless. The dual sensations of his thick length filling you and his skilled touch on your clit quickly push you towards the precipice.

“Good, good,” He coos, soothing your weak cries with his mouth as your voice muffles under his guise, kissing you soundly, “go on—let go for me,”

His words push you over the edge and you come undone while Joel follows, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan, coming forceful and deep, fucking his spend deeper inside of you as reality resurfaces too soon.

“You alright?” Joel asks almost immediately, slipping out of you with a soft grunt.

The barstool creaks ominously as you adjust yourself and Joel chuckles.

“Probably not the sturdiest spot for that,” He jokes, thankful for the levity as he helps you stand, unsteady on your legs and held up by his firm grip, “I’m blamin’ you for that one.”

The grin it brings out of you is worth the slight discomfort you feel.

You shrug, nonchalant and admit defeat, “Guilty,”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s not supposed to be here.

There was always a plan, something tucked away in his back pocket.

This time it was the element of surprise and a mix of fear, eyes landing on him for the first time since he rushed onto Joel’s property, half-cocked and throwing out demands where he had no position or right.

He knows what he’s doing, eyes locked with yours from several feet away.

“Guest speaker?” Joel asks, the words biting as they leave his mouth, “Seriously?”

“It’s okay,” It was a mantra to yourself mostly, but Joel hears you, “I know what he’s trying to do—it won’t work.”

“You say the word, I’ll take care of it,” Joel promises.

You smirk slightly, rubbing your hand against his cheek and offering a reassuring squeeze.

“Easy, cowboy,” You offer lightheartedly, “I can handle myself.”

Joel’s Ranch, Two Months Ago — Flashback: 

You knew he’d figure it out eventually.

For a while he believed the lie—that you had been transferred to a beautiful place in Florida that dealt with injury and rehabilitation for your line of work and he accepted that, kept his distance.

He almost followed through on his reconciliation with Joel, that is, until he sees you at his side.

It was such a natural moment for the both of you now, Joel’s arm slung around your waist as he pulled you in, lips pressing against your temple before you both called it for the day, Honey’s head slipping between your hands as she noses at your head, suddenly whining at the shadowed intruder as he grew close.

At the sound of his voice, you fade away. 

You’re still here, standing, but Joel’s protectiveness jumps out instantly.

The words were loud and harsh, but the moment you snap back is as your father’s hand squeezes at your bicep and yanks you forward, immediately met with resistance. 

“I forbid it,” He shouts, “whatever brainwashin’ you’ve done to my kid, it’s over.”

“Forbid it?” You counter, “Do you hear yourself?”

“Always liked makin’ a show of things,” He sounds bitter, he is, “come on, we’re leaving.”

“No,” You tell him, voice unrecognizably strong, “I’m finally doing something for myself.”

Your father's face contorts, a mix of anger and betrayal etched into every wrinkle. He takes a step forward, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "For yourself? You think leaving everything behind and letting him influence you is for yourself?"

Joel shifts behind you, a ghosting of his fingers against your back but you don’t waver.

"Yes, for myself," you say, shocked at the steadiness in your voice. “I deserve a chance to figure things out my own way, I don’t have to follow the same path you did.”

Your father scoffs, shaking his head. "Your own way? You don't even know what that means, honey. All we built together, you’re ready to throw that away for him—”

"We?" you interrupt, feeling a surge of frustration. "You built that, Dad. I was a kid, I did what I was told.” It was clear he still saw you as a young girl, his protege, destined to take over after he was gone and carry on the legacy.

The silence that follows is deafening. 

Your father's eyes narrow, searching your face as if seeing you for the first time. You weren’t the same young girl who stared at him wide-eyed, amazed by his ability to wow the crowd and commit to everything he did. The disappointment in his gaze morphs into something else—hurt.

“I’m not gonna sit and wait around if he breaks your heart,” Your father tells you, “let alone how inappropriate it is—you try justifyin’ that to the public. I see what this is and what you did.”

His eyes land on Joel.

Fortunately, he couldn’t be more wrong.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The truth was, no one cared.

You and Joel had created an amazing partnership with natural chemistry and it seared the crowds, grabbed their attention, all eyes on you when you finally took your run out in the arena.

It was weeks that had built to this, following through your routine almost masterfully and without missing a beat, ending with a flourish trick as you stood on Honey’s back for the hundredth time it felt like now, not a single waver in your movement and lasso’d the cowboy hat from the middle of the ring and yanked it in, placing it on your head before the crowd erupted in a loud cheer.

It was the feeling you had searched for since you were younger, fulfillment like no other.

Your father’s appearance couldn’t be further from your mind and as you dismounted Honey and took your bow, your eyes searched the side for the one face that mattered most. Joel's proud grin beamed at you from across the arena, his eyes locked on yours. 

In that moment, the roar of the crowd faded away and it was him.

Joel’s Ranch, One Month Ago — Flashback:

You feel guilty for the way your eyes linger on his back as Buttercup trots around the ring, distracted and smiling to yourself as you step onto the railing and lean over with your forearms.

“Focus,” Joel chirps, “c’mon—put on your best voice.”

You clear your throat dramatically and lower your tone a bit, fighting through the giggles.

“You know him, you love him,” You bellow from deep in your chest, “It’s Old Timer!”

Joel chuckles, “That was horrible, baby.”

“So what?” You shrug, “I know him, I love him—point proven.”

It was rare to get a glimpse of Joel like this, back in his element as you watched him run-through your routine without all the flair, offering a slightly different view—though, he knows it won’t help.

You were barely focused on the routine, preoccupied with how easily Joel could capture a room like this, noticing your glossed over gaze as he finishes and hops off his horse, walking over with a knowing smirk.

"You weren't paying attention at all, were you?" Joel teases, his voice low and intimate.

You feel a heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze.

 "I was... distracted," You admit sheepishly.

His smirk softens into a tender smile. "By what, exactly?"

“Not Joel,” You clarify, grabbing hold of his collar as you pull him close, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “I like it when you ride, Old Timer.”

“All I gotta do is hop on a horse to make you swoon?” Joel asks, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the emotion as he blushes at the affection.

“Among other things.”

“Done and done, sweetheart.”

-

divider graphics: @saradika-graphics <3

[tyrelliotalderson]

Help a disabled, Mexican trans man stuck in Texas 🧍🏽‍♂️

Hi, i lost my job last week with no notice. I was already working paycheck to paycheck, and now I have no source of income. I applied for unemployment but we will see if I even get accepted.

I had to give away my hope for pain management at the start of the year because it cost me too much. My doctors were going to help me get a more specific diagnosis other than fibromyalgia. But i had to let that dream go, along with any hope of physical therapy. My only help is gabapentin at the moment.

My rent, without utilities and wifi and groceries added is $1377ish a month.

I use Mobility aids from a cane, forearm crutches and sometimes a wheelchair.

I was working my ass off as an assistant manager. Working does nothing good for me, but I'm my only source of income.

I had planned to move out of Texas by April, but all my plans got ruined along with losing my job.

i cannot afford this right now. I have no savings for this.

I need help. I'm applying for jobs as fast as i can, but nothing is getting back to me unless it's a rejection letter.

Im stuck in my lease without a way out (that im allowed to do) until August of this year.

with how shits going, i really dont want to be here. Where I have no real support at all. Im on my last thread of sanity. I'd rather be checked into a hospital but I cant afford that. And im responsible for a medically sensitive senior cat. So i cant leave for an extended period of time

If you can, please sending anything helps.

If you cant, i understand, but please share this!

v3nmo - payecorp

Thanks,

Elliot.

[haggishlyhagging]

Between 1984 and 1986, the number of liposuction operations rose 78 percent—but the procedure barely worked. Liposuction removed only one to two pounds of fat, had no mitigating effect on the unseemly "dimpling" effect of cellulite, and, in fact, often made it worse. The procedure also could produce permanent bagginess in the skin and edema, just two of the "variations from the ideal" that the plastic surgery society cataloged in its own report. Another "variation" on the list: "pain."

Furthermore, the plastic surgery society's survey of its members turned up several other unfortunate incidents. A liposuction patient lay down to have stomach fat removed and woke up with a perforated bowel and fecal matter leaking through the abdominal cavity. Three patients developed pulmonary infections and two had massive infections. Three suffered pulmonary fat embolism syndrome, a life-threatening condition in which fat can lodge in the heart, lungs, and eyes. And "numerous patients" required, as the survey delicately put it, "unplanned transfusions." On March 30, 1987, Patsy Howell died of massive infections three days after a liposuction operation performed by Dr. Hugo Ramirez, a gynecologist who ran a plastic surgery clinic in Pasadena, Texas. The same day Howell had her operation, Ramirez performed liposuction on Patricia Rogers; she also developed massive infections, was hospitalized in critical condition, and eventually had to have all her skin from below her chest to the top of her thighs removed.

Howell, a thirty-nine-year-old floral shop manager and the mother of two sons, submitted to liposuction to remove a small paunch on her five-foot-one frame. She weighed only 120 pounds. “This literature she got at a shopping mall said the procedure was so simple,” her friend Rheba Downey told a reporter. “She said, ‘Why not?’” She made up her mind after reading Ramirez's newspaper ad, calling the surgery "the revolutionary technique for reduction of fat without dieting." No one told her about the dangers. Ramirez operated on more than two hundred women, causing numerous injuries and two deaths before his license was finally revoked.

By 1987, only five years after the fat-scraping technique was introduced in the United States, the plastic surgery society had counted eleven deaths from liposuction. A 1988 congressional subcommittee placed the death toll at twenty. And the figure is probably higher, because patients' families are often reluctant to report that the cause of death is this "vanity" procedure. A woman in San Francisco, for example, who was not on the surgery society's or Congress's list, died in 1989 from an infection caused by liposuction to her stomach; the infection spread to her brain, her lungs collapsed, and she finally had a massive stroke. But her family was too ashamed about the procedure to bring it to public attention.

The society's 1987 report on liposuction, however, seemed less concerned with safety than with "the reputation of suction lipectomy," which its authors feared had been "marred by avoidable deaths and preventable complications." It concluded that all problems with liposuction could be easily solved with "guidelines governing who is permitted to perform and advertise surgical procedures." In other words, just get rid of the gynecologists and dermatologists and leave the surgery to them.

Yet some of the liposuction patients had died at the hands of plastic surgeons. And the most common cause of death was the release of fat emboli into the heart, lungs, and brain—a risk whenever inner layers of epidermis are scraped, no matter how proficient the scraper. As even the report acknowledged: "[Liposuction] is by its nature a tissue-crush phenomenon. Therefore, fat embolism is a realistic possibility."

Surgeons also marketed the injection of liquid silicone straight into the face. Vogue described it this way: "Plastic surgery used to be a dramatic process, but new techniques now allow doctors to make smaller, sculptural facial changes." This "new" technique was actually an old practice that had been used by doctors in the last backlash era to expand breasts—and abandoned as too dangerous. It was no better the second time around; thousands of women who tried it developed severe facial pain, numbing, ulcerations, and hideous deformities. One Los Angeles plastic surgeon, Dr. Jack Startz, devastated the faces of hundreds of the two thousand women he injected with liquid silicone. He later committed suicide.

For the most part, these doctors were not operating on women who might actually benefit from plastic surgery. In fact, the number of reconstructive operations to aid burn victims and breast cancer patients declined in the late '80s. For many plastic surgeons, helping to boost women's self-esteem wasn't the main appeal of their profession. Despite the ads, the doctors were less interested in improving their patients' sense of "control" than they were in improving their own control over their patients. "To me," said plastic surgeon Kurt Wagner, who operated on his wife's physique nine times, "surgery is like being in the arena where decisions are made and no one can tell me what to do." Women under anesthesia don't talk back.

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

[exoticalmonde]

So Long, Adele... Was Only Pain and NO Whimsy

Once again, Dr. Eve is a little late to the party, but you must understand that even 11 days into the year, I am already a month and a half behind on everything I wish I could have been doing.

So instead of lamenting my unfinished fanfics and the cross-stitch that's been in box jail since the end of November, we're going on an adventure with Eyjafjalla.

Fair to say, that I didn't finish anything during the rerun last time. It was right after New Year's and let me tell you... I was not in the mood for that at all.

Naturally, we start off with an update on how RI-8 is doing right now.

This means we have the opportunity to look back into it from the POV of someone very opinionated about men and entirely blind to the women on the field.

A...

Ah--- W...Welcome maam. I've been waiting for

A while.

Welcome to the team of my light-hair-coloured women, ignore the Sarkaz sisters, and I hope you have a pleasant stay.

My fields were barren... Still are.

I'm pretty sure whatever I had was already wasted, but that's alright so far. Surely, there's nothing that could possibly mess up your future career as my favourite Instructor...

But why do I hear Kazimierz's music?

Right, it's because Flametail has also joined the team, in an attempt to rally that E1Max Texas that I've been trying to ignore for the last hm 3 years.

Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR from RI-8 and all of Yan, who are here to celebrate with me in a wild mix between 'enjoy this while you can before we all die' and 'RI has never seen such bliss, glad you're here' type of way.

Okay, updates are done. It was a slow descent into madness this time, nothing too fancy-schmancy.

Here's how So Long, Adele went for me.

---

EyjaBerry is THE best medic so far in my experience. She's not just a single target Wandering Medic like the rest of the Berries, her skills just make healing trivial the way W'Alter manages to make dealing damage feel trivial.

Her S1M3? Unlimited and covers 2 people at the same time.

S2M3? Become an AOE Shining, but better for all I know, because I don't have her. Would I have pulled for her now? Absolutely, she is doing a much better job protecting my allies from the enemy than anybody else could.

I'm sorry Lumen, despite Dr. Pinkie's constant confusion between the words, being a Wanderer and a Therapist are two different things and you specialize in the things you do.

S3M3? Don'tDieInator3000, global.

---

Last time I saw Sw'Alter actually being used was during the Icebreaker Event and it was because Dr. Pinkie had the ingenious idea to use her bottles to charge the machines. For any players out there, you know what I am talking about.

After ages of playing this game, I finally realized that some peaceable objects like that charge the SP machines just like that.

She looks good though. Merchant. With Lee and Mr. Nothing, I don't need another DP-leech for the job. I'm comparing her to Lee, so Sw'Alter seems to have less health, but better damage in the base stages. Her abilities have a funky range.

S1M3 - Medic defenders all over the place with 1 block.

S2M3 - A typical Trapmaster ability

S3M3 - An unlimited duration skill, with a knockback that

---

If there were characters who were thrown in a black hole never to be seen again, it's Conviction and Poncirus. From what I know about the story, she only shows up at the end too.

We've been talking with the other Doctors about how recently the characters who are featured on the banner alongside the 6 star are completely irrelevant story-wise.

None of the new Babel characters were ever shown up. They weren't even FROM Babel.

These gripes aside,

Compared to Texas, exact same S1 with the same 12 DP, wait time and everything on M3. However, what I just found out was that her second skill actually looks pretty good. She's with better health, less attack and better defence on the Max levels. Defensive Pioneer Vanguards have served me better than offensive ones.

---

Bryophyta is in a weird spot because he's an Instructor in a world where only 5 in total exist. Which isn't a few, but it's not a lot either.

Pallas is the best by a margin because of Bryo's 5-star debuff (and he's a shop-erator), but since he's Dr. Lundi claimed, I have to say something nice about him or the sniper on the roof next door is going to get me.

I feel like all of them would benefit from the INS-Y Module, being able to be deployed on a ranged tile extends their versatility better since their whole gimmick is 'Don't Block for Damage'.

His S1M3 is a delight to see. The second the words 'Next attack' show up on screen I feel power. Nothing to write home about though.

But what about his S2M3----

Oh. Stuns self. Okay. I didn't need him anyway.

---

That was all for the operators. Now to the event itself.

Did I read anything out of this event's story? I did not. Would I let Pinkie explain everything to me? They did. Did I love the trailer and the music? You bet. Did I hate the event? Entirely.

You see, while I do like this 'being forced to think' situation during events, especially for EX or S stages because I understand that the enjoyment of the game is as much gimmick and working with what you have, as it is... a strategy game.

However, Dr. Eve being Eve, I end up thinking myself into a corner. The operators I level up aren't always the ones that I need.

Very rarely in fact.

Look at my wife's list. Look at my husband's list! Not a single person can handle 3 enemies at once unless they are a defender. Nobody does enough damage the way I needed them to.

I guided Dr. Kryo through SL-S-5 and some of the earlier challenges and he was adamant that he didn't want a W'Alter guide. I respect that, we're all quirky and he didn't get a W'Alter during her run. It worked out well for him.

I knew he struggled for the CM on SL-S-4 because we were in call during the time and I was crying about SL-S-3 CM, thinking 4 and 5 would be worse.

Mind you, this man thinks when he levels up (most of) his characters though. Mudrock Max, Ines, Kal'tsit, Blaze, Hoshi. He got Mlynar, he has Logos, EyjaBerry.

The last time we struggled so much was during Stultifera. A LONG time ago, because back then - me nor Dr. Kryo had Lappland.

I didn't even try to think too hard about the levels at first. EX-1 to 8 were absolutely fine, S-1 and 2, even 3 were great. I managed S-5 in three tries or something with Kryo guiding me since it was late and I didn't feel like thinking.

I spent an entire afternoon on SL-S-4 CM.

Watched every single video guide. Nothing worked.

I couldn't manage to put down bottles for Lundi's Ex'Alter in the top blue exit.

DP not enough at any point.

Why are these bottles taking so long???

My Mudrock wasn't strong enough when I needed W'Alter. She was also not lvl90 or S3M3.

Instead of Mudrock, why not use Penance, she's mean to handle more enemies, right? Wrong. Gets eaten alive by the sheep. You're starting to understand who was being problematic.

My Kal'tsit isn't lvl90 and only S3M1, which was not enough.

Also don't have the modules for Mudrock, nor for Kal.

My allies kept dying on the bottom side. Hoshiguma was useless, using Nian for her innate skill was perfect.

They kept leaking past the 15/20 enemy count. Bam, put Shu behind Nian.

I figured out that the leakage mainly happened topside. I need someone who could do a lot of damage to a lot of people in a line since the magician goats are being a bother.

Hoederer S2M3 but his second phase for the +1 block count. He's too slow, that's not S3, what was I even thinking???

I don't have Ines and Silverash/Puzzle doesn't work the way she does.

I don't have Ascalon. I don't have Reed Alter. I don't have Mlynar.

Logos instead of Eyjafjalla does wonders for my mental health though.

Freaking Kazdelian Bubbling Hotpot, why are my Ling's dragons so easily perishable, she's lvl60 with the module.

Fiddled with this video for a little bit, but my ability to look with one eye in one direction and use the other for the other direction really made things unfortunate when I had to manage Pinecone's skill and also block the oncoming enemies.

If that doesn't work out, fine.

This one should work. I'm just going to borrow a Sk'Alter.

Blaze dies.

Ah, I don't have Nightingale, so I thought putting perfumer there would work. Let's switch it up, Perfumer goes in Ptilopsis' place.

Blaze doesn't die. She leaks instead.

Alright, then I will add someone to help with the enemies. Uh.

Tries again. Mission Failed.

Tries again. Mission Failed.

Tries again. Mission Failed.

Tries again. Mission Failed.

Sanity is still 133 from how much I've been wasting my time

Tries again. Perfects the bottom side strat, so I need to pay attention to my Blaze.

Mission Failed.

Oh, come on.

I'm starting to get angry, because the problem isn't anything else, BUT Blaze.

Civilight Eterna S2, borrow a Nightingale from Dr. Kryo.

Tries again. Mission Failed.

Tries again. Mission Failed.

Alright. I give up. I can't do this anymore. I'm gone. I'm done. I just won't get the complete medal set.

Goes to bed.

Wakes up.

...

...

...

New day, New me. Let's get Arknightsing.

Okay, that previous run should've worked fine. Let's go back and see what I was doing to figure out what to tweak.

Wanqing in front of bottom blue box.

Nian is in the corner. Soda box in front of her.

Myrtle below her to optimize DP.

Exusiai when I have 30 DP, so I can immediately plop Perfumer.

Box blows up a bit late because of the DP drawback with Exusiai and Perfumer, drop Bagpipe to break the box on the top blue exit because the skateboard sheep will be coming soon.

Earn back that 13 DP.

Logos under Perfumer, remove Myrtle after skill.

Blaze > Sk'Alter > Ptilopsis.

Remove Wanqing, put down Shu.

Discrepancy happens for Blaze again.

Wait a minute...

I don't want to look at this event ever again in my LIFE.

SO LONG, Adele.

[thebadgerclan]

Shots Fired: Part 2

Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz x Henry Fox

Summary: Alex is out of surgery...

Part 1 here

Words drifted in in pieces.  His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he couldn’t feel his side.  His limbs felt heavy, and his mouth was so dry.  “....surgery went well…”  “...pain medicine…”  “...suspect in custody…”  “...numbers look good…”  “...Henry…”  That got Alex’s attention.  He tried to sit up, but he was so tired.  “Henry?” he tried to say, but it came out sounding more like a garbled moan.  Weird.  Slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting against the sterile white lighting.

He was in a hospital, that much was clear.  A nurse was adjusting his IV bags, and he offered Alex a smile.  “Good to see you awake, Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”  “Henry,” Alex said, more clearly this time.  “Henry.”  “Yes, sir, Henry is here,” the nurse said.  “So is your mother, your sister, father, and step-father.  I’m sure they’ll be in to see you soon now that you’re out of surgery.”

Alex felt a surge of relief that Henry was here.  He was so tired, but he forced himself to stay awake, at least long enough to see him.  A moment later, the door opened, and Ellen entered, closely followed by Henry.  “Oh, my baby!”  Ellen was immediately at his bedside, clutching his hand and kissing his face.  “Ma,” Alex slurred, whatever pain meds they’d given him kicking in. “I’m here, Sugar, I’m right here.  Oh Lord, you gave us a scare.”

Henry remained in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on a family moment.  Ellen took several deep breaths, cupping her son’s cheek.  “You’re gonna be just fine, darlin’.  The doctor said you’ll be just fine.”  Alex nodded, knowing his mother would likely make a PowerPoint about what had happened later.  Gunshot Wounds and You.  Ellen was stroking his hair, and he leaned into her touch.  For a moment, he was a little boy in Texas again, coming to his Ma after he had a bad dream.

When Alex opened his eyes, they landed on Henry.  Henry, who was standing in the doorframe.  Henry, who had clearly been crying.  Henry, who was too far away from Alex for his liking.  Alex lifted a hand weakly, reaching out towards the Prince.  “Henry,” he croaked.  “Baby…”  Henry let out a soft cry, and Ellen turned to look at him.  “I’ll let you two be,” she said, rising from the chair at Alex’s bedside.

Once she was gone, Henry moved to his boyfriend’s side, taking his hand and kissing it, blinking his tears back.  “Baby,” Alex repeated, and Henry managed a small smile.  “My love,” he said.  “My heart, Alex.  God, I thought…”  Henry trailed off, and forced himself not to cry.  Alex was here, he was alive.  “Baby,” he said, squeezing the Prince’s hand.  “Don’t cry, Hen.  I’m right here.”  “Alex, you were shot,” Henry said.  “I’m well within my rights to be worried.  I almost lost you, my darling.  I was so worried, Alex, I was terrified.”

Alex squeezed his hand again.  “I’m sorry, baby.  How…how did you find out?”  “I couldn’t sleep,” Henry answered.  “And something told me to turn on the news.  And I saw…I was on a plane within a half hour.”  Alex’s heart squeezed at the thought of his boyfriend in his rooms at Kensington, turning on the T.V. to learn he’d been shot.  “And you flew across the ocean to be with me…”

Henry lifted their joined hands and kissed Alex’s knuckles.  “My darling, I would do anything to be at your side, especially when you need me.  I love you, Alex, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”  Alex was crying now, and Henry wiped his tears away, pressing a kiss to his forehead.  Henry cupped his cheek, and Alex turned his face into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

Before Henry could say anything else, Alex’s nurse, Zack, entered.  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said.  “But we got some labs back.  Mr. Claremont-Diaz, your hemoglobin is a bit lower than we’d like it to be, so we’d like to hang another unit of blood.  I have some forms for you to sign before we do that, though.”  Alex nodded, taking the clipboard from Zack and signing the papers attached.  “Alright, we’ll be back in a bit.”

Zack returned about 15 minutes later, another nurse in tow.  Henry watched as they checked and double-checked Alex’s ID band against the computer, the computer against the blood bag, and the blood bag against his ID band.  New IV tubing was hooked up, and once the transfusion was running, Zack pulled a chair into the room from the hallway.  “I have to sit with you for the first 15 minutes,” he explained.  “Let me know if you feel any itching, shortness of breath, or any sort of pain.”  Alex nodded, and Henry returned his complete attention to his boyfriend.  

15 minutes passed without incident, after which Zack took Alex’s vitals and ducked out of the room.  “Hen?”  “Yes, my love?”  “I can’t feel my side.”  Henry nodded, his lips pursed.  “I’d expect that’s normal, dear.  You did have major surgery.”  Alex hummed.  “What exactly happened?”  Henry took a deep breath before explaining.  “The bullet hit your kidney.  Apparently, they were able to remove it and fix your kidney as much as they were able.  The doctor said they’re going to monitor your functions and go from there.”

Alex nodded.  “Was I…the target?”  “No, love,” Henry assured.  “They don’t know much on that front yet, but you weren’t targeted.”  Alex laughed softly.  “Some luck I have.”  Henry bent forward and kissed him, lips soft and gentle.  “Yes, some luck you have.  You’re alive, Alex, you’re here.”  He hummed, accepting the kisses Henry was all too eager to give.  After a moment, Alex spoke.  “We should turn on the news,” he said.  “See if they think I’m dead.”

Henry rolled his eyes, but obliged, turning the T.V. on and finding CNN.  “A statement from President Claremont was just released, stating that Alex Claremont-Diaz is stable and out of surgery.  The President thanks the public for their support and asks that her family’s privacy is respected at this time.”  “Aww,” Alex said.  “I was hoping they’d think I’m dead.”  Henry scowled.  “Alex!  That’s not funny!  You…you nearly…I…”

He dissolved into sobs, and Alex, reached out for his hand.  “Henry, baby, come here.”  It took some coaxing, but Henry eventually found himself curled into Alex’s uninjured side, his face in his chest, Alex’s arm around him.  “I’m sorry, baby, you’re right.  It’s not funny.”  Henry only cried, clutching Alex’s hospital gown.  “I’m alright, H, I’m right here.  I love you, you know that, right?  I love you so fucking much.”

Henry lifted his head, kissing Alex’s cheek.  “I love you too, darling.  I was just so scared I’d never see you again.”  “I was too, Hen.  I was scared I’d die without getting to tell you I love you.  Without getting to see your perfect face again.”  Henry kissed him again, wanting to drown in him.  “Is my phone here?”  Henry looked around, finding a clear plastic bag full of Alex’s things.  

He handed Alex his phone, also finding his–technically Henry’s–signet ring too.  “Here, love,” Henry said, sliding the ring onto his finger.  Alex smiled, kissing Henry’s hand before raising his phone and snapping a selfie.  He posted it to Twitter and Instagram with the caption: “I lived, bitch.”, something he knew would have Zahra in a tizzy.  Alex yawned, letting his phone drop to his side.

“I’m tired, H.”  Henry nodded, once more taking his hand.  “Then sleep, dear.  God knows you’ve earned it.”  Alex smiled, settling back against the pillows.  “Love you, baby,” he said, already dropping off, and Henry beamed.  “I love you too, Alex.  I’m staying right here with you.”  Alex nodded as he fell asleep, and Henry felt a knot in his chest loosen.  Alex was alive, Alex was alright.  Whatever came next, he could handle, because Alex was alive.

[ohhoneato]

I legitimately don't know how people keep jobs with mental illness and chronic pain.

Like, I was laid off last week, because I was hired seasonal and they were done with seasonal workers. Fine, I knew that would probably happen, despite my manager consistently telling me I would become full time.

But I keep having problems with my jobs. When I worked at Amazon, my knees were in so much pain and my IBS was so bad I kept getting written up for being in the bathroom too long and I kept taking time off because my knees would be acting up so bad I could barely walk.

When I worked at a sex shop, I got a 105° fever and they told me if I didn't have a doctors note and a replacement for my shift, I was fired. On an overnight shift I was SUPPOSED to work with another person on, but she literally never showed up and when I asked why she wasn't getting in trouble, or why I wasn't at least told she wasn't going to be there, I was told to mind my own business. So that shift should have been covered, if my coworker were to ever show up for work. I quit, too much stress and if they're going to act like that, then not a place I can reasonably work, especially with my chronic pain. Doctors note wise, if they paid me enough to go to the doctor, I would have done it. But it was just above minimum wage ($7.25 min wage, yay Texas) and I we could barely pay our bills with FOUR FUCKING PEOPLE LIVING IN OUR 2 BEDROOM APARTMENT. I couldn't and still can't afford to see a doctor. I was better the next day, btw.

I quit working at Walgreens because when I had a customer literally threaten to kill me over the phone with corporate over some fucking coupons (literally just enforcing what the coupon says, these particular ones saying only able to use 2 per purchase), and corporate decided that instead of calling the cops or like, doing anything to help the person who was just threatened, to change the coupon policy the next day. I said fuck that and quit. I don't think that was unreasonable, I was threatened and the company that had had my back for over a year before then fucked me over. But every single person irl I've talked to said it was stupid. My opinion: No, what was stupid was doing the exit interview.

I quit Family Dollar after my manager cussed me out over text and tried to fire me for taking the MANDATORY 14 days off for a positive Covid test, June 2020. My friend had a positive test (we now know it was a false positive, but didn't at the time) and came to visit. So when we found out, we called out of work, for the mandatory UNPAID time, despite really needing the money. Biggest mistake was telling her that I quit instead of just letting her fire me. But I had another job lines up beginning of August, new city, so I didn't care too much.

Dog daycares one and 2, first one we needed to pay rent and I didn't realize (since it was literally my first time ever paying actual rent anywhere) that I could go in the next fucking day and talk to them. I was freaking out and I got fired for not coming in, despite actually getting someone to take over my shift. Second one, dislocated my knee, dog ran into it at a gate. Absolute sweetheart the poor giant boy, but it was... hard. I wanted to keep coming in and working cause we needed the money. But I'd have times when I'd be on the schedule and I literally couldn't move at work for a moment. So in the end, with it hurting scheduling and pay for others, I was fired. I agree with this decision after giving it thought, and although I miss it, the owner made the right choice.

Seriously, is it me? Ever since I quit Walgreens, my second job ever btw, I haven't stayed at a workplace for over 3 months. Its rare that it's over 2 months, actually.

It's almost impossible to get hired, I know i have a good personality and can ace an interview, I've done it before. But I have so much fucking with me internally that I just can't keep a job.

I don't know how to fix this. I can't afford a doctor, I don't know where to find doctors and psychologists and psychiatrists that won't fuck me up worse. I live in a small town again and I have bad experiences with a lot of these therapists and doctors. I had a doctor put me on anti-psychotics for suicidal thoughts. That fucked me up. A lot. No depression medication I've taken has worked for the long haul, but now that I'm pretty sure most of my problems stem from ADHD... I still don't know where to go.

How do i get help? How do i get medicated? How do i make myself do... THINGS!? Just anything important, in general.

I was supposed to go out and drive UberEats today. My car bill is due at the end of the month and if I don't pay it, I lose my car. I'm already 2 months behind consistently. I've paid nothing towards it. My last check from my seasonal job, went to food. And any money I've earned since then went to rent to my parents (which they save that money for me) and fucking gas to keep driving.

I don't know what to do anymore. I really really don't. Do i just kill myself? Is that where I need to go from here? Am I just never going to get actual help for things that, if I got help for them, I wouldn't need the shitload of help I need now?

I can't even eat half the time anymore, I either forget or the diet I'm trying to be on says I can't eat right now or the food isn't a part of my diet... Ya'll, I'm a foodie, I love food. My dad is a former cook who never lost his passion, my mom likes to bake and cook, my family has always revolved around mealtime as bonding time. But I can barely eat a half filled plate of food anymore and it's not even helping me lose weight. Its just making me feel disgusting and in pain and I can't stand it.

I don't know what to do.

[ipsdfwus]

Coping with Arthritis: How Pain Management Doctors Can Assist

Arthritis can be a daunting diagnosis, often leaving those affected feeling overwhelmed and isolated. With more than 50 million adults worldwide living with some form of arthritis, it’s crucial to understand that support is available. This blog will explore how pain management doctors in Arlington Texas, can play a pivotal role in easing the burden of arthritis through effective pain management strategies.

Understanding Arthritis: A Common Challenge

Arthritis is not a single disease; it encompasses over 100 different types of joint pain and inflammation. The most common forms, osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis can affect individuals of all ages. Symptoms can range from mild discomfort to severe pain, significantly impacting daily activities. As someone dealing with arthritis, you may find yourself longing for days when moving was effortless.

Imagine waking up one morning and realising that getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. For many arthritis sufferers, this scenario is all too real. However, there is hope. You can reclaim your quality of life with the right approach and support.

How Pain Management Doctors Can Help

Pain management doctors specialise in diagnosing and treating pain disorders, including arthritis. They employ a multidisciplinary approach to pain management, tailoring treatments to meet each patient’s unique needs. Here are several ways pain management doctors in Arlington, Texas, can assist you:

1. Comprehensive Pain Assessment

You'll undergo a thorough assessment when you first visit a pain management doctor. This may include a detailed medical history, physical examinations, and imaging studies. Understanding your pain's specific type and source is essential for developing an effective treatment plan.

2. Customised Treatment Plans

One of the standout features of working with pain management doctors is their ability to create personalised treatment plans. These plans may include:

Medications: Anti-inflammatory drugs, analgesics, and disease-modifying antirheumatic drugs (DMARDs) are commonly prescribed to help manage pain and inflammation.

Physical Therapy: Pain management doctors can collaborate with physical therapists to recommend tailored exercises and techniques to improve mobility and strength.

Injections: For targeted relief, your doctor might suggest corticosteroid injections or hyaluronic acid injections to alleviate joint pain.

3. Alternative Therapies

In addition to conventional treatments, many pain management doctors incorporate alternative therapies into their approach. These may include:

Acupuncture: This ancient practice can help relieve pain by targeting specific points in the body, promoting healing and relaxation.

Massage Therapy: Gentle manipulation of muscles and joints can ease tension and improve circulation, relieving arthritis symptoms.

Mind-Body Techniques: Practices such as yoga and meditation can help reduce stress and enhance overall well-being, which has proven beneficial in pain management.

The Importance of Patient Education

A significant aspect of arthritis management is understanding your condition. Pain management doctors in Arlington Texas emphasise patient education, informing you about your diagnosis and treatment options. This knowledge empowers you to make informed decisions about your health and engage actively in your treatment process.

The Road Ahead: Living Well with Arthritis

Living with arthritis doesn’t mean you have to suffer in silence. Collaborating with pain management doctors can transform your experience. Their expertise, combined with your commitment to managing your condition, and the support of your family and caregivers, can lead to a more fulfilling life.

Conclusion

Arthritis can be challenging, but it’s essential to remember that you’re not alone in this journey—contact pain management doctors in Arlington Texas, who can provide your support and guidance. Together, you can explore effective pain management strategies that will allow you to live your life to the fullest.

If you’re ready to take the next step toward a pain-free existence, consider scheduling a consultation with a pain management specialist today. Embrace the possibilities, and let the journey toward relief begin. Remember, with the right approach and support, a life free from the burden of arthritis is within reach, instilling a sense of hope and optimism in the audience.

[warnersister]

Chapter 10 - Gifts from Sacramento

The Highwayman Series | Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

They’d managed to dig the bullet from your father’s stomach, cleaned it with the finest top-of-shelf whiskey. It was a horrible of thing, 'five-mil' gage and starting to rust, damn thing starting the oxidise while swimming around his guts. Doctor Bates sent him home with twenty-four stitches against his stomach, four bottles of the strongest liquor, courtesy of Penny; and strict instructions to stay on bed rest.

He’d been home four days now, Tuesday it was. And you hadn’t let him do much as lifted a finger. Coyote took over in the Sheriff’s office, and did as the job entailed. Your dad had never and would never admit it, but in a small and unassuming town such as Miramar, there wasn’t much crime; only a little thieving. So honestly there wasn’t much for Coyote to do so he picked up on his tasks very quickly.

But something was mulling over in your father’s mind and he just couldn’t get it out, couldn’t get rid of it. It was itching at him, biting, scratching, taunting. Jake Seresin should be six feet under the ground right about yesterday. Should’ve been hung, mocked and buried two days ago; but he still heard that damned voice outside his window, could still hear his laughs and his conversation flowing as he spoke with you. But Beau couldn’t kill him, not now. Not now him and his little highwayboys had saved his life, he was indebted to Bob and had to admit that fact.

His eyes searched the room, mind trying damn hard to deaden the sounds of your's and his conversations through the open shutters. He looked at the pills Bob had given him, of course they’d been helping. The bullet removal wasn’t half as painful as the one he’d had taken out of his left knee, and the stitches he could barely feel. He squinted and reached for the bottle, looking over the pills and reading the label twice over.

‘To be taken in small doses as instructed by a physician. Better taken with a shot of whiskey. No more than 6 pills to be taken in one 24 hour period. Not to leave the Sacramento area.’

He read it again ‘No more than 6 pills to be taken in one 24 hour period. Not to leave the Sacramento area.’ And again. ‘Not to leave the Sacramento area.’ His eyes widened as a realisation dawned on him. Either these pills were prescribed to Bob on his travels, or they’d been stolen from California state. Which meant these men, either way; were federal criminals. Bob was the suspect, and the other three were harbouring a wanted fugitive carrying illegal narcotics across the country.

He could hang all four of them, get the problem out of his way for good. Away from Texas. Away from Miramar. Away from him. And damn far away from his daughter: six feet below ought to be plenty. He lurched himself out of bed, looking at his stitched stomach; overly weary not to pop the string keeping him together as he headed to the window. “Boys!” He shouted to the grave diggers across the way, the two of them looked at the direction of the voice “Sheriff” the taller acknowledged. “Dig me another three. We gotta hangin’ on Sunday.” The two boys looked at each other and just nodded in response, knowing better than to doubt him, especially now being an injured sheriff.

Now, bob was indeed a physician in Sacramento. A good one at that. He'd helped plenty of folk when they were hurt or injured, but being acquainted with the other Daggers, they'd formulated the idea that Bob's marvellous medicine should be distributed across the US, perhaps even across different continents if they could find someone willing to hitch a ride on a ship over to Europe, hell Payback was in Mexico right now smuggling them across the boarder.

Before they'd made it to Miramar, Coyote and Bob had been North to try sell some of the pills to more secluded towns they'd only heard of in the Rockies. and boy, they were prepared to fork out a fortune for this promise of health but no matter how much they fed him, Bob's mare couldn't make it all the way - which is why they'd made their way south to Texas to try pick up a new horse from the sweet farmgirl they'd bought some carrots off on the way with no intention of returning.

That was all fun until they'd stayed in town too long, and Sheriff Simpson was a very ill man, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid and the fact that he'd caught on brought him some form of satisfaction, pushing aside the pain by clever use of adrenaline and instead, had full intention to have the whole dagger squad hung.

Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

[partisan-by-default]

Amairani Salinas was 32 weeks pregnant with her fourth child in 2023 when doctors at a Texas hospital discovered that her baby no longer had a heartbeat. As they prepped her for an emergency cesarean section, they gave her midazolam, a benzodiazepine commonly prescribed to keep patients calm. A day later, the grieving mother was cradling her stillborn daughter when a social worker stopped by her room to deliver another devastating blow: Salinas was being reported to child welfare authorities. A drug test had turned up traces of benzodiazepine — the very medication that staff had administered before wheeling her into surgery.

[khazadspoon]

Got inspired by that meet-weird list, specifically the one about being knocked out and in hospital. So this is the introduction to my musician/band AU for Rawhide. Nothing major but it’s a start. I love it even if it has only existed in my head and a chat with @westernmeowmeow until now.

—————

It starts, as many things do, with too much alcohol. Gil hasn’t drunk much in years, preferring to stay sober for his performances and so precisely things like this don’t happen.

At least this time it isn’t his fault. It isn’t Pete’s fault either, the two of them were just having a quiet beer after a small but successful show, and then suddenly there are fists flying. Gil is pretty sure he sees a chair fly through the air but any opportunity to check disappears as a young dirty blonde haired man hits him square in the jaw and knocks him out.

He only knows he was knocked out because he has to wake up to remember it.

The lights are fluorescent, too bright and harsh to be in anything but a hospital, and his head feels like it’s being split in half by a railroad spike. A low, pained groan tears from his throat as he tries to sit up and thinks better of it. Laying down is definitely the better option. Wishbone would be proud of him for not trying a second time.

“Oh thank god!” A voice says little too loudly for Gil’s head to deal with at the moment. He winces and waves a hand at the speaker, eyes closed against the bright light. “Sorry,” the voice continues, quieter this time.

“Where’m I?” Gil manages to slur, putting his hands over his face and trying to blindly figure out if he’s still in his own clothes or a hospital gown.

“You’re in Houston, Texas. It’s June-”

Gil resists the urge to open his eyes and glare. It’d probably just hurt. “I know that, I’ve not got amnesia; what building in Houston?” He asks with as little grumpiness as he can manage. The voice is soft and gentle, one he could stand to hear more if it wasn’t for the headache.

“Uh, Memorial Hermann. Southwest. D’you want me to get a doctor?” The voice asks.

He shakes his head, slowly, and risks opening his eyes. Not as bad now, though he still keeps his eyes shaded from the light strips above the bed. He glances over and blinks to clear his vision.

“You,” he manages to croak out. It’s the kid from the bar, the one who had knocked him out. “Why’re you here?”

The kid blushes and ducks his head. “Was the least I could do after, you know, knocking you unconscious. Which was an accident by the way.”

“An accident, huh?” Gil drawls. It’s about the only form of speech he is sure he can do right now. “Sure would hate for you to have meant it in that case…” He rubs at his face and sighs. “How long was I out?”

“A couple of hours,” the kid pours a glass of water and holds it out, seems unwilling to take no for an answer and holds it until Gil takes it and drinks half. “Your, uh, friend? The one with the fringed jacket? He went to get coffee.”

Gil takes another moment to blink and breathe. “So you knock me out on accident, bring me to a hospital, and then stay until I wake up?” He asks, sure his face is doing weird things as he raises his eyebrows and tucks his chin in disbelief. “You some kind of religious?”

The kid laughs, the sound bright and melodious even if it stings Gil’s head to hear, and is coupled with a smile that could give the fluorescent lighting a run for its money. “No, not religious, just had a good ma.”

“Send her my regards,” he replies.

“Oh no, if I tell her I knocked out the Trail Boss she’ll tan my hide!”

Gil frowns, struggling to understand why a complete stranger would know his nickname until the pieces fall into place. “You were at the show.”

“Yeah, been listening to you since I was in my teens. Had your first album on vinyl,” the kid’s grin widens and he looks so proud it almost hurts to see. It’s not often these days Gil comes across fans, not ones who genuinely remember his glory days or have any real attachment to his music at least. Pete always says it doesn’t matter, and he agrees, but the little rush of joy he feels at the idea of someone remembering him for something good is hard to ignore.

“I’m Rowdy, by the way.”

“I can tell.”

The kid’s grin dims in confusion ever so slightly before he huffs a laugh. “I’m Rowdy Yates. And, if you’ll let me get a nurse or someone, I’d like to buy you breakfast.” He flushed again, rushes to stammer out the rest. “As an apology, I mean.”

Gil holds out his hand and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Rowdy.”

They shake hands. Gil has a strange feeling in his stomach he doesn’t think has anything to do with the whole being knocked unconscious thing. It feels like he’s about to have something happen to him, something he can’t and probably shouldn’t fight.

Pete strolls in with two coffees and a nurse who looks about as tired as Gil feels. She tells him he’s fine to leave, but to come back if he throws up or if the headache doesn’t stop in the next hour or two. He ignores Pete’s knowing smiles and stifled laughter as Rowdy explains why they’re going to the Denny’s up on Hillcroft street.

“Want me to go back to the motel, boss? Don’t wanna be a third wheel,” Pete teases him as soon as Rowdy is out of earshot.

“Shut up, Pete,” he shoots back. “The kid’s just apologising. I reckon he owes me, don’t you?”

Pete shrugs and helps Gil tug his jacket back on. He’d been in his own clothes, after all. At least he hadn’t had to flash his backside at anyone when getting out of the bed.

“See if he’ll get you second helpings too in that case.”

Gil lets his friend fuss over him, makes him promise not to tell Wishbone until Gil gets back to the motel himself, and thanks whatever deity is listening for good friends and kind strangers who offer to buy you breakfast. Even if those strangers put you in the hospital before buying you said breakfast.

[cpirits]

// felt like putting this out before sleeping (haha I've been awake all night), but HAPPY 2024 guys.

2023 felt like such a blur with stuff happening and being inside for most of the year and then the move to Texas in September after prepping for the move all year.

I feel like I've been slacking on rp as a whole and hope to write better in the new year. Notice I said better and not more, there's a difference.

I love writing, but I feel like trying to write when I'm not feelin' it is not the thing to do. I get inspired to write at the strangest times too. On the toilet, watching a show, when I'm in the shower, when I should be sleeping.... and it's all well and good.

My goals for the new year are to create a mindset to do better in things like my hobbies, writing (fics and my books,) cooking, photography, and youtube (please sub to my channel, it's free) to name some. And to not stress out if I can't write for a few days to a week sometimes. Writing is a HOBBY first not a job, or really anything to stress over. Also, I want to better manage my chronic pain and frequent headaches, as well as finally see a doctor and get back into mental health services.

I'm also going to make iconning things more priority, because I have all these projects and they take up space in my head. Plus I may be able to make people happy with icon commissions??? My icon sideblog is @heartfeltxicons in case you didn't know~ I want to be another icon blog to help other people that need icons of characters that are either my favs, or they haven't been iconned yet. But commissions would be of great help so I can afford my meds and groceries....

I want to build relationships with my muses. Don't get me wrong, plotted and spontaneous smut is great and I love it, but I want to be more approachable to people... Though having sideblogs is difficult enough.

Still, I hope this year will be kind to me and my system. If anyone ever wants to send my system members asks or anything, please feel free. I'm planning on doing intro videos on my youtube channel probably over time, and I'll probably throw them on my personal sideblog, which they'll write on as well on occasion. @confregistifacile

[transamus]

also ik it's coming from a well meaning place but reading that "hey dont overdo it on the tylenol or you will die" untagged over and over and over again as someone with chronic pain who cant fuckin Get better painkillers And just generally struggles to take meds in the first place just has me filled with so much anxiety. Like. I'm managing my pain the best I can as it is and still cant see a single doctor w/o them dismissing All ov my various issues as "you're obviously just Depressed because you are Transgender." AND texas as a state is. Really not. Good for pain medications to begin with. And just like. Sigh.

[sockeye-run]

I'm still here!!!

If you've noticed my absence I apologize. Things have been wild and crazy for about two weeks now, but have finally started to settle. I look forward to catching up with all my Tumblr faves ❤️ (tldr at the end, sorry it's a novel!)

The tire incident was simple and manageable, thankfully. Just another random, painful expense, and reminder that life is chaotic-neutral and meaningless at best, but possibly chaotic-evil and maliciously masochistic at worst. 🙄

All the stress of the past few weeks or so reminded me that I may have an autoimmune disorder of sorts; it seems any time I experience a high stress load, my body creates extreme inflammation or something, which causes me intense and chronic pain in my muscles, joints, and bones, as well as extreme fatigue. My poor, ever patient and graceful husband reminded me that last year I was prescribed some Celebrex for the very same symptoms, and I should give it a try. It helped almost immediately; I have a telehealth appointment with my PCP today to discuss seeking a specialist's evaluation for this. I'm honestly quite tired of doctors, diagnoses, and medication, but I can't exist successfully in the prior state of pain, so I will do as I must.

We got the new stove installed, finally. The whole process only cost us nearly $2500 from start to finish though lol 😂😭. We had to hire an electrician to wire the correct wire gauge and outlet through the house. We had to hire a plumber to cap off the gas line. We had many delays and miscommunications. But it's finally here! And it's been amazing so far. It's like the electric car of ovens lol: all torque all the time. I've been relishing in simply being able to make myself whatever I want whenever I want. I think I forgot how integral cooking is in my lifestyle until it was no longer accessable. I'm beyond grateful for the ability again. We can also stop spending tons of money on takeout, and can have healthier meals and snacks again, which is a blessing 🙌

Work has been off the rails too lol. It's the busiest time of the year for the bee farm, and it's my first time experiencing it. We're really feeling the pressure, but I think we're all doing our best to make it work. We are simply chronically understaffed and stretched thin. We have a general policy of flexibility; they purposefully cross-train as much as possible so that we can jump back and forth across different responsibilities throughout the day, but there are some fundamental flaws with that. I have noticed a lack of monetary compensation for the added responsibilities and skills, and of course without proper coverage, when someone hops from one need to another, a different hole is created and a new situation can arise. So we're trying to find the balance between what we need as a company, and what the human body and mind are actually capable of lol.

Two weeks ago was supposed to be our first bee pick up of the year. It was pushed to this past weekend due to weather, so we had about 400 orders stacked for one weekend. We sell two types of bees: Italian bees, which we source from California and Florida breeders, and our own specialty, chemical-free bees, which we breed on site. Due to the poor weather (climate change, lets be real), the spring season had yet to kick off, and it was impossible to ship the Italian bees during freezes and floods, as well as initiate the queen breeding process in the cold. So this past weekend our pick up volume doubled.

To make things more interesting lol, we also hosted this year's Texas Mead Festival! It was a fun display of 6 different meaderies from all over the state (including our own meadery, Wildflyer), with samples and gifts and live music and food. All week up to the day of the event, it was down-pouring rain daily. Our farm is mostly grass and gravel. The location for the outdoor festival was now officially Woodstock 1999 lol: a mud pit. But they set up booths and tents nonetheless and we went for it.

On that day, I was meant to run the farm's cafe, and flex between retail/bee pick up as I was needed. They also pinned me with hosting the gourmet honey tastings, and the history tour for the day. Why we allowed these extra events during such a chaotic day is beyond me.

We were busy from hour one. The festival didn't start until noon, and pick ups weren't supposed to start until two, but our owner made the executive decision to start pick ups early since we were technically 'ready', so we were bombarded with already frustrated bee keepers out the gate. Bee folk are strange folk, too; trust me on that. Thankfully I was sequestered in the kitchen for coffee service until noon, when I ran across the yard to host the gourmet tasting. The group was friendly and it went well, but I left right at the start of lunch service, and came back to it in full swing. We were slammed until I had to leave again at two for the history tour, and it was painful to abandon the crew, but I did my due diligence. It was another great group of customers though, and it went well. But when I got back to retail to check in, chaos had broken loose; the shop was overrun with regular weekend customers, day drunk festival goers, and cranky beekeepers. There were only two people at retail trying to do the work of at least four. But I couldn't stay to help, as the cafe had a line out the door and were in the reeds to say the least. We cranked out orders until we literally ran out of everything, and I had to ask the people in line to leave for an hour so we could desperately scramble to prep more ingredients and continue service. People grumbled but I think the mead was playing the part of placater that day lol, and we were barely able to scrape it back together. We stayed open until seven; retail was only open until five. One of the retail gals came and helped us close, because she's an angel and easily my favorite coworker right now lol. We had over-prepped in preparation for the event, and it still took us by surprise, so it was a heavy lesson to learn in the moment. But we survived and probably even thrived; all the customers had positive feedback, and we left for the day feeling satisfied.

Selling delicate livestock has its drawbacks though. We've been fielding calls all week about unsuccessful transport and installation of colonies and queens. I've been playing customer service all week, trying to troubleshoot bee issues and manage replacements and refunds. It's kind of a case by case thing; we're responsible for the bees' wellness up to the point of leaving the property, and the customer must sign a waiver agreeing to such. But accidents can happen despite how seasoned and knowledgeable the beekeeper might be, so we try to be flexible and accommodating if the situation is right. It's been a bit stressful. I've also spent any free time I've had just trying to restock the absolutely obliterated equipment room of all its hive bodies, gear, tools, etc.

I had a nice debrief about the weekend with the owner though, and I think I succinctly communicated the reality of the flex ideology on me and my fellow workers, as well as the needs of the kitchen as an independent entity during big events like this. It was a fruitful talk and I think the next pick-up, this coming Friday and Saturday, will go much more smoothly, and not just because there won't be a festival cherry on top of the chaos pie lol. There will be many more large events at the farm this year, so I think Mead Fest was a harsh but necessary test run.

✨TLDR: It's been trial after tribulation, but I think I'm rounding a corner and coming out better for it.

I'm grateful for everything I've learned, the support of my loving friends, family, and husband, a safe home to come back to every day, a stable job with owners and coworkers whom I think genuinely care, and the general reclamation of my health lol. I'm beyond grateful for the stability and privilege in my life to be able to experience so much struggle at once and somehow bounce right back, possibly even stronger than before.

Thanks for sticking around 💖