#Reconstructive Foot Surgery

[apachefootusa]

Reconstructive Foot Surgery

Apache Foot & Ankle Specialists is a leading provider of reconstructive foot surgery in Las Vegas. Their team of experienced surgeons specializes in a wide range of procedures, including bunion surgery, ankle reconstruction, and tendon repair. They utilize the latest techniques and technologies to provide patients with the highest level of care and help them achieve optimal outcomes.

[badolmen]

I’m actually getting super excited about my surgery this fall. Sure it only fixes* my right leg but that one is so bad because of how I walked on it as a kid. I won’t have to take prescription pain meds that have been ruining my liver for over a decade! I won’t have to wear clunky braces anymore! I can own more than two pairs of shoes (which don’t have to accommodate the clunky braces)! I can walk on the beach barefoot! Or wear flip flops for the first time ever! I might be able to hike like I used to - or try impact exercises like jump squats or jumping jacks again! I might be able to drive without having my chair pushed all the way forward to accommodate the ‘zero foot or ankle mobility and therefore must use knee or hip to press pedals’ problem!

[aarunresearcher]

The United States sports medicine market size reached US$ 2,643.1 Million in 2023. Looking forward, IMARC Group expects the market to reach US$ 3,662.3 Million by 2032, exhibiting a growth rate (CAGR) of 3.6% during 2024-2032. The market is experiencing steady growth driven by the growing emphasis on fitness and wellness, growing geriatric population striving to maintain an active lifestyle and continual advancements in medical procedures including minimally invasive surgical techniques and enhanced rehabilitation methods.

[snooze-mode]

o7

Not perfect (I'm really not any sort of editor but I tried my best), but here it is!

also if someone manages to datamine the dialogue from the onslaught missions that were cut off from the mission ending (if not already) i will. kees u

[sayruq]

unicef estimates that a thousand children in Gaza have become amputees since the conflict began in October. “This is the biggest cohort of pediatric amputees in history,” Ghassan Abu-Sittah, a London-based plastic-and-reconstructive surgeon who specializes in pediatric trauma, told me recently. I met him in the waiting room of his plastic-surgery clinic on London’s Harley Street, and we walked to a nearby pub for a glass of water. Abu-Sittah, a fifty-four-year-old British Palestinian with an angular face and tender, deep-set eyes, has treated child survivors of war for the past thirty years in Iraq, Yemen, Syria, and elsewhere. Abu-Sittah is the author of “The War Injured Child,” the first medical textbook on the subject, which was published last May. In October and November, he spent forty-three days in Gaza, conducting emergency surgeries with Doctors Without Borders. He shuttled between two hospitals: Al-Shifa and Al-Ahli, which is also known as the Baptist hospital. The casualty rate was so high that, during some intense periods, he didn’t leave the operating room for three days. “It felt like a scene from an American Civil War movie,” he said. In Gaza, Abu-Sittah was performing as many as six amputations a day. “Sometimes you have no other medical option,” he explained. “The Israelis had surrounded the blood bank, so we couldn’t do transfusions. If a limb was bleeding profusely, we had to amputate.” The dearth of basic medical supplies, owing to blockades, also contributed to the number of amputations. Without the ability to irrigate a wound immediately in an operating room, infection and gangrene often set in. “Every war wound is considered dirty,” Karin Huster, a nurse who leads medical teams in Gaza for Doctors Without Borders, told me. “It means that many get a ticket to the operating room.” To mark the gravity of these procedures, and to mourn, Abu-Sittah and other medical staff placed the severed limbs of children in small cardboard boxes. They labelled the boxes with masking tape, on which they wrote a name and body part, and buried them. At the pub, he showed me a photograph he’d taken of one such box, which read, “Salahadin, Foot.” Some wounded children were too young to know their own names, he added, telling the story of an amputee who’d been pulled from rubble as the sole survivor of an attack.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

"You need your ACL reconstructed."

Price stared at the doctor as she leafed through the scans of his stupid bloody knee, blinking rapidly as he tried to process just exactly how fucked he was. He was running the calculations and the answer was coming up: significantly.

After it had given out on a recent yomp with Bravo Company, he has given in and skulked into medical like a whipped hound. There was only so much ibuprofen a man could neck with his coffee before it became farcical. His stomach was beginning a small revolt. Eventually, his mind unable to accept what it had just heard, he cleared his throat. "Come again?"

She sighed, running a hand through her neat crop of grey hair. After dealing with his bullshit for nearly twelve years, she had no patience left for it. "You're having surgery John, and I'm signing you off for four weeks after. From there, it'll be six months before you return to the field."

"Not happening." Price pushed off the gurney and did a rather shite job of hiding the wince as his knee gave another unwelcome spasm when his foot hit the floor. He remembered the landing that had finally done it; a routine jaunt through Belgrade. Nothing too taxing. Uneven ground, some loose gravel and a distraction because of static through Comms, and he'd gone arse over tit. Gaz had been amused until he realised Price had been struggling to get back up again.

Fucking embarrassing.

"You can huff and puff as much as you want, captain. My decision's final," she said, emphasising his rank to put his impending tantrum in perspective, and then, for good measure, "also, your cortisol levels are high, which is probably why you're getting a bit soft in the midsection. The time off is needed."

"Olright, Janie, bloody hell, no need to go for the throat." He placed a hand on his belly, prodding the layer of give with a sad sigh. "What the fuck am I meant to do for four weeks?"

"Read, go fishing, binge Netflix, catch up with family. You know, what normal people do for R&R..." She glanced up at him and rolled her eyes at the deep frown on his face. "Stop thinking of ways to bribe and blackmail me. I'm booking the surgery for a week's time."

"A week isn't long enough."

"Tough shit. Lost your appetite recently? Belching like a retired general at a Number 10 dinner?"

Price squinted. "Yeah."

"Congratulations, you gave yourself a stomach ulcer by slamming the ibuprofen like Polos," Janie murmured, turning over her notes to annotate her recommendations. "Four weeks--

"--fockin' hell, come in with a limp and leave in a fockin' body bag--"

"--so that's five weeks enforced leave."

Price opened his mouth to argue the toss but it clicked shut when she raised an eyebrow at him. He knew better than to push his luck. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me marm, John. It makes me feel old." She tapped her biro against the clipboard and then gripped it against her stomach, her head tilted, as she considered his miserable sulk. "You need to consider that promotion in the next few years."

"It'll take me outta the field," Price grumbled.

"If you snap something else at the wrong moment, then a bullet's going to take you out of the field. Think it over."

Nikprice Hurt/Comfort?

Yeah, it's Nikprice Hurt/Comfort.

[kk095]

Life and Death in the ER: Dr Lindsay

*Good evening everyone, I hope all is well. I greatly appreciate all the positive feedback on my last story Alexa's Arrhythmia! I'd like to try something a little different with the story you're about to read. Although it may not be everyone's cup of tea, I think it's a great opportunity for you guys to get to know some of our go-to characters a little better. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!*

Aside from medicine, Dr Lindsay’s passion in life is running. The cute, sporty tomboy doctor we all know and love was a college track star at the D1 college she attended once upon a time ago. Believe it or not, Lindsay had legitimate Olympic aspirations, and at one point in time, she was set to qualify for the United States women’s track team. But fate had other plans, which came in the form of a sudden, severe ACL and LCL tear in her left knee. Reconstructive surgery was performed and she of course recovered, but Lindsay definitely lost her X factor. Even though Lindsay could still run circles around 99% of humanity as a 33 year old with a bum knee, she lost that slight edge all those years ago, which is all it took for her Olympic hopes and dreams to go up in smoke. Sometimes Lindsay thought “what if?” in regards to her potential professional sports career, but at the same time, being an ER physician fulfilled her in a different way.

Lindsay truly embraced her role as a doctor and caretaker in the emergency department, always going the extra mile for her patients and thinking outside the box to try to save them. Time after time, Dr Lindsay found herself in the midst of life and death struggles in the trauma bay, always seeming to have her hands inside the chest of a beautiful woman. But right now, somewhere in an alternate reality, the role was reversed, with Lindsay being the beauty fighting for her life in the all too familiar emergency department.

The room Lindsay found herself in was quite a scene. A cacophony of sound hit anyone the instant they set foot in the room. Alarms and monitors were going off. Orders were being barked. Footsteps pitter-pattered around the room. The high pitched, electrical whirring of defibrillators charging echoed around the room from yet another unsuccessful shock. The tension was palpable.

All across the floor of the room, various items were strewn about. Wrappers from bits of medical equipment were tossed to the ground. Empty, used up blood transfusion and IV bags found themselves discarded. Lindsay’s bloody, tattered clothes also wound up on the light colored tile after a brief encounter with a set of shears. Small droplets of blood made a trail leading from the room’s entrance, all the way over to where the trauma room table was.

On the table, underneath the harsh, bright, fluorescent overhead light was the center of attention for the room’s occupants. Dr Sarah, Nurse Nancy, and Nurse Heather worked as a trio, each lady knowing their role inside out, backwards and forwards, from A to Z. Everyone knew their jobs at an expert level, but it was easier said than done for the emergency department’s triumvirate to maintain composure and impartiality, considering a friend and colleague was the poor soul requiring their lifesaving services this time.

Nurse Nancy, the 20+ year veteran of the ER who’s been there, done that, and seen it all stood at the head of the bed ambu bagging, sending much needed air into Dr Lindsay’s lungs. The stress, chaos, gore, and shock that came with being an ER nurse never fazed Nancy, especially after being exposed to such things for over two decades. But in this scenario, Nancy struggled. This wasn’t a stranger on the table tonight. Nurse Nancy couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of the ER’s go-to, unanimously loved leader being the one on the table this time. Heck, Nancy couldn’t even bring herself to look down at the table, not wanting to see her friend’s face, or the overall shape she was in. There was a knot in Nancy’s stomach, and her heart was racing. She hoped and prayed Dr Lindsay would pull through, but as each minute ticked by, each one faster than the last, Nancy’s hope was soon replaced by dread.

Heather, our emergency team’s dependable, hardworking nurse who regularly showed her moxie, stood off to the side of the table, tasked with keeping an eye on the heart monitors in order to note any changes, as well as pushing meds and setting up any equipment Dr Sarah may need. Heather’s eyes were trained on the heart monitors, which displayed a squiggly, sinuous, unorganized line. That squiggly line Heather watched signified something called ventricular fibrillation- a situation where a patient’s heart is twitching instead of actually beating, typically requiring a defibrillator shock in order to restore normal cardiac activity. Ventricular fibrillation, commonly known as v-fib amongst healthcare professionals, was something Heather has seen more times than she could count during her handful of years as a nurse. However, Heather found herself stunned when eyeing the heart monitor, coming to the stark realization that a familiar face was the one being resuscitated this time.

Dr Sarah, the cute, petite, nerdy redheaded doctor who, for all intents and purposes, was Dr Lindsay’s right hand man and most important ally in the battlegrounds of the trauma bay, stood right up against the table, doing anything and everything to bring her fellow ER doc back. Sarah had her gloved hands inside Lindsay’s chest, which was splayed open earlier in the struggle via a clamshell thoracotomy. The redheaded doctor’s hands were firmly wrapped around Dr Lindsay’s boggy, fibrillating heart, vigorously massaging away. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Sarah’s internal compressions. “come on Linds… come on….” Sarah uttered under her breath, trying to fight the overwhelming emotions that attempted to consume her. “You were just talking to us Linds… Come on…” continued Sarah, trying to will Lindsay back amongst the living.

Sarah composed herself for a moment. “Let’s shock her again. Recharge the paddles to 30, Heather.” Ordered Sarah, stepping up to the plate. Heather did what she had to do. She set the crash cart to 30 joules and hit the charge button. The high pitched, electrical whining of the internal paddles charging filled the room as Heather handed Sarah the large, spoon shaped devices. Sarah pulled her hands out of Lindsay’s chest cavity and grabbed ahold of the internal paddles. Dr Sarah lowered the internal paddles into the gaping chasm of an incision site, around Lindsay’s erratically fluttering heart.

While her friends worked urgently to save her, Lindsay laid on the table, stripped completely nude, her toned, athletic body on full display in a room full of familiar faces, the violating nature of that fact going to the wayside due to the dire essence of the situation. Lindsay’s sandy, light brown hair was tied back in a messy bun or ponytail of sorts, being held in place with a black headband. The doctor’s icy, sky blue eyes remained open, her pupils the size of dimes, staring up above with a full blown death stare etched onto her face. She was intubated, with the ET tube being secured by a blue tube holder around the area of her mouth and lips. IV lines stuck out of both her arms. Her torso was littered with EKG electrodes and wires. A chest tube stuck out the left side of Lindsay’s ribs, redirecting blood and trapped air outwards. The rest of her upper torso, and belly to a lesser degree, were soaked with a combination of both blood and betadine. However, Lindsay’s chest was the main sight of shock and awe. Her chest had a large, crude, gash just below the nipple line, extending the entirety of her chest horizontally. Not only was there a massive gash, her sternum was sawed in half, and her chest was splayed open via a clamshell thoracotomy. A metal rib retractor sat dead center in her chest, keeping everything open. A large, metal vascular clamp stuck up and out of the incision site. Sarah could also be seen holding the internal defibrillator paddles in place in anticipation of a shock.

“Paddles charged. Everyone… CLEAR!” Dr Sarah called out, everyone else stepping back from the table. THWACK. The shock was delivered. “mmmph…” Lindsay moaned softly, her torso twitching sharply in response to Sarah’s shock. The trio paused after the shock. The monitors beeped fast and loud, everyone’s eyes looking over to see if there was a change. “Come on… she’s still in v-fib. I’m going again at 30. Everyone…. CLEAR!” shouted Dr Sarah, immediately shocking Lindsay again. Lindsay’s shoulders shrugged forward and her arms shivered, a wet thump being heard. Like before, Dr Lindsay’s heartbeat was unable to be restored. Sarah decided to up the ante, shocking her friend and coworker at 40 joules during the next go around. “MMMM!” Lindsay moaned louder, as if she could feel the stronger intensity of the shock. Again, v-fib persisted. “I’m going again at 40! Everyone…CLEAR!” Barked Sarah, determined to keep going. The next shock caused Lindsay’s toes to scrunch up hard at the far end of the table, showing off the bright white nail polish on her toes, along with the wavy, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 11 feet she was always so self conscious of.

Sarah wasn’t giving up, and neither was v-fib, so the fight was on. “Going again at 40! Everyone… CLEAR!!!” Sarah passionately yelled out, shocking Lindsay once more. Lindsay’s torso shot up and plopped back down hard all within the span of a second. The monitors kept alarming, but by that point, the trio tuned out the noise of the monitors, considering they were well aware there was a major problem. In the seconds after that shock, Lindsay’s heart fluttered and danced weakly for a moment, before coming to a sudden, complete stop. The heart monitors flatlined, and Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless inside her cracked open chest. Lindsay’s beautiful blue eyes stayed wide open, staring up above, almost as if she was watching her friends determine their next move.

The flatline on the monitors was an absolute gut punch for everyone. Sarah stood there holding the internal paddles, deep in rumination about her next move. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy shined a pen light into Lindsay’s eyes. Lindsay’s pupils were the size of dimes, completely blown, not reacting to the pen light in the slightest. “oh… poor baby…” Nancy uttered, placing the pen light back in her breast pocket. “Pupils fixed and dilated.” Nancy continued, informing everyone, shaking her head. Heather looked over at the heart monitor. “Asystole on the monitors, down 37 minutes.” Added Heather. There was a collective pause after Heather’s words. Nancy didn’t say anything, but she went ahead and detached the ambu bag from the ET tube, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. The two nurses looked over at Sarah, knowing they’ve done all they could for their friend, but needed Sarah to make the final call.

Dr Sarah stood there shell shocked. Sure, Sarah has lost patients before- any ER doctor has. But this was different. This was a coworker. A colleague. A leader. Someone she looked up to. But most importantly, this was a friend. Sarah felt morally and emotionally obligated to continue resuscitation efforts. How could she just give up on Lindsay? At the same time, Dr Sarah viewed the situation clinically and logically. She knew that all possible options were exhausted. An asystolic patient with a downtime of 37 minutes and blown pupils was too far gone for additional interventions. With all this in mind, Sarah snapped back to reality, eyeing each member of the trauma team. Dr Sarah didn’t say a word to any of them. Finally, her eyes looked over at the clock that sat on the back left wall of the room. Sarah gently placed the internal paddles back down on the crash cart, then peeled her blood soaked, latex gloves off, her heart racing, eventually making the dreaded announcement. “Time of death, 8:08pm…” Sarah’s voice wobbling, on the verge of tears.

Nobody said a word, but everyone knew exactly what to do next. Nurse Nancy switched off the flatlined monitors, silencing the once noisy, hectic room. Heather disconnected the EKG electrodes and removed the IVs from each of Dr Lindsay’s arms. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the open thoracotomy site, obscuring Lindsay’s inert, motionless heart from view. A toe tag was then filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled against the fine, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of Lindsay’s feet. Lastly, a cover was placed over Lindsay, concealing the hauntingly beautiful gaze forever etched onto her face. Unfortunately for Lindsay, a cruel twist of fate- and perhaps irony resulted in her dying in the very place she spent so much of her time. In this alternate reality, Dr Lindsay was now the hottie who laid toe tagged and under a sheet in the emergency department.

[ahedderick]

Vorkosigan

   The thing I love about the Vorkosigan Saga* is that MOST protagonists who go hogwild for Found Family are trying to replace a biological family that is absent or unsatisfactory. Miles comes from a family where his parents love each other dearly and adore their hyperactive disabled son - and he STILL goes out into the galaxy and says

To the strung out jump pilot that he literally met minutes ago - I’ll just adopt YOU here put your hands between mine for the ceremony

To the homeless military deserter who would be under sentence of death if anybody knew where he was OH HEY, you’re mine, too, come with me to my [new] ship with the pilot I’ve known a whole day, now

To the soldier who got her face burned in the first big battle MA’AM I will get you the best possible reconstructive surgery plus also you are family, now

To the 8-foot tall genetically engineered nightmare with fangs crouched in a dungeon (sorta) MISS you are so tall and beautiful I will break you out of here and you can join my mercenaries plus also I want to take care of you at the end of your life, because I love you so much

To the unauthorized CLONE who was raised to assassinate his politically important father WELL, dude, legally you’re my brother so you should really go home and meet Mom and Dad

I just. Love those books so much.

* Lois McMaster Bujold, author

[sarahowritesostucky]

Because I'm pretty sure I loved the movie Fresh(2022) way more than I was supposed to,

😅And because it's totally normal to have thoughts like this 🖤

Look, sometimes things don't always turn out the way that you thought they would, alright? That's just life. But as Steve so wisely observes: happiness lies in accepting that. You know?

So!

You're Steve's Captive/Basement Wife. He loves you and you love him, and he is going to give you a wonderful life full of expensive things, amazing sex - that gorgeous house - a family, exotic vacations, delicious cuisine, and even free plastic surgery (if that's your jam)--everything you could ever want!

There's just one catch: unless you want to lose it all and become meatballs for the next Russian Oligarch who orders the $40,000 spaghetti Bolognese via Steve's gourmet meal delivery service, you have to let Steve sample your flesh.

Like, literally, not in a sexy way. It'll totally be worth it though! 😅

Don't worry! Steve is an excellent surgeon. He can provide you with the best of the best, top of the line prosthetics and cosmetic reconstructive results. He'll take excellent care of you on his operating table, give you oodles of pain meds and dote on you during your recovery, AND he will enjoy the taste of you very very much. It'll fuel his fantasies and love for you forever more! (no second donations required.)

Vote and reblog this horrible lil' poll please! 🖤🖤🖤

[bugdotpng]

back when i was 13 i had my first foot reconstruction surgery, and one of the scars i got from it was a small one on the inside of my arch where they had attempted to reconstruct my arch (unsuccessfully). fast forward to my most recent surgery, and one of my larger incisions, where they attempted to reconstruct my arch (successfully), was cut right over the old one. i’m not poetic enough to explain why it makes me emotional but it does lol

[born2illustrate]

Happy 4th birthday to Disco Elysium!

I had heard about the game when it came out in 2019, but I was unable to play it due to dealing with some major stuff at the time. It wasn't until I was recovering from my sixth reconstructive lower back surgery that I played through the game in bed, and it changed my life forever.

It sounds like a silly thing to say maybe, but as someone who was at a very low point in my life, struggling with otherworldly amounts of pain and dealing with some pretty heavy substance abuse issues in an effort to escape my pain, meeting Harry and the world of Martinaise felt like someone taking me by the hand and offering me a chance. An opportunity to look at the world in a new way and to connect with hope in the face of utter hopelessness. I was and am so unbelievably accustomed to struggling, pushing through, and putting one foot in front of the other even when I don't know why I bother. Yet, at the time of my playing the game, that's all I was doing. Surviving, not living. Being placed in the shoes of Harry Du Bois and caring for him taught me how to begin the steps to care for myself. To be happy even though. To live.

In the years since, I've met so many beautiful people. I've graduated from learning how to walk all over again for the sixth time to regaining my balance fully and driving again. I found my passion for art once more after having lost it for so many heart-wrenching years. I'm happier than I've ever been and have learned to live again after wondering why I should bother. And when it's hard, because it is still very hard, I have hope anyway. Because something beautiful is going to happen. It already has.

[three--rings]

I'm having an absolutely terrible time in my injury recovery RN.

This week my physical therapist looked at me and said, basically, "look, you're not getting better, you're still having this mysterious pain constantly, you need to go back to your doctor and figure out what is wrong in your foot."

So I called my doctor and all I could get was an appointment 2.5 weeks away.

And since then, my foot has gotten worse. Something has gone wrong in it and I'm having terrible pain when I put weight on it, worse than I've had in months. Something is out of place, caught, or whatever and I'm losing my mind.

Like, at this point, the GOOD news would be "we found what's wrong and you need reconstructive surgery to fix it...so you get to start recovery over after 9 months." The bad news would be..."yeah it's just gonna be like this now, maybe it'll get better in a year or so."

Because estimated recovery time for a badly broken calcaneus (which is what I had) is 1-2 YEARS. And you will almost certainly never walk the same again and continue to have pain and problems.

Which I've known but like....okay you'll have arthritis is one thing, but what I'm having now is something ELSE.

All of this because some FUCKER was fucking texting or something. And it also kills me that like, I can't get any recompense or anything from the accident because even if I took him to court, even if he was rich (which I'm fairly sure he's not) and I won, I'd have to turn everything I got over to my health insurance company to cover all this treatment I'm getting. So I'd still just be right back at disabled for life (some more) without even a consolation prize.

IDK I'm just really upset today. There's nothing worse than feeling like things are getting back into place, back to normal and then being knocked the fuck back to helpless.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

questions tag game

*Some time ago* I was tagged by the lovely @oonajaeadira - thanks, friend! - to play along, so here goes:

Do you make your own bed? Always when I change the sheets. Sometimes when I’m in an overly productive mood/ I’m procrastinating something else. Never when I simply don’t feel like it.

Favorite number? 12

What is your job? I run an Etsy shop. It’s mostly geared towards weddings and other events. I have a laser engraver, and I use it to make engraved wooden bookmarks (they’re usually used as party favors but they’ve also been used as fundraiser items & book launch giveaways), photo engravings and replica event invitations. I also drive for Uber eats on the side. Which can be interesting and weird in similar ways that any food service job can be interesting and weird.

If you could go back to school, would you? Are we talking about college? I’m assuming we’re talking about college, in which case I would. I genuinely liked being in school and doing research and writing analysis papers. 🤓

Can you parallel park? Sure. Can I parallel park well? Haha. No. Luckily where I live I don’t really have to very often, and on the off chance that I do have to I either A) find a spot I can just pull right into, or B) take a really long time to get kinda sorta close enough to run into whatever store I need to and run back out.

Do you think aliens are real? Absolutely. The universe is too big to conceptualize and Earth simply cannot be the only planet with life.

Can you drive a manual car? I cannot. I’ve always wanted to learn but it never came to fruition and now I doubt it will because fewer cars are being made with manual transmission. Oh well.

What’s your guilty pleasure? None. Life is short and difficult so I’m going to enjoy my little treats without guilt.

Any phobias? Idk if it’s a phobia per se, but clowns freak me out in a way that makes me want to punch them and run.

Favorite childhood sport? Track. And cross country. I was a runner from the time I could run (my dad was a marathon runner in his younger years and so he would put me in kid races starting at age 4) up until about 10 years ago. In high school I ran the 400m, 800m, 1600m and 5k. Since then I’ve done every road race distance from 5k to a full marathon. I had to stop because of injuries- a stress fracture in my knee that never really healed correctly (my knees sound like a bag of scrabble tiles when I descend a staircase) and a total reconstruction surgery on my foot - but I miss it very much. If I could have new knees and feet I’d be running again in nothing flat.

Do you talk to yourself? Oh heck yeah. All the time. Usually in my head but sometimes out loud. It’s a lot of “what are you doing?” @ me.

Tattoos? Just one little itty bitty one - the number 26.2 (the length of a marathon) with a heart as the decimal point on the outside of my right foot. I dedicated my marathon to my mom, so the heart is for her. I want so goddamn many more though.

Favorite color? Leafy green. 🌱

Do you like puzzles? I do! I love codes and logic problems and word puzzles and even corn mazes. I’ve never done an escape room but I have a feeling I’d ace it.

Idk who may have done this recently or ever or five times already or never, so this is an entirely OPEN TAG - so go crazy, kids. Just tag me so I can see your answers. 💚

[bloodanddiscoballs]

@selfchiller asked me these from this ask game

🩷 dream job?

I always wanted to work as a character designer for horror movies or horror video games. It was actually what I went to college for, but wasn't able to get my degree due to my health and all my reconstructive back surgeries. I'd even gotten my foot in the door with a few different major game companies, but I just was never and haven't ever been in a place where I can truly commit to anything because my health is so poor.

💛 what is your favorite feature on yourself?

Umm I have a nice ass sjfbdkdn it can be hard to find pants that fit well, but oh well I do like what I got back there haha Hmmmmm other than that, I do like my eyes. I like how long my eyelashes are and how dark my irises are.

🍐 if you could make one character real, who would it be

this is the least surprising answer ever

[itzinthemixx]

This, is an unexpected picture of me. Yes. I'm a chef. No, I no longer work here. Why? Well, I'll explain that, but allow me to tell you a bit of my background in terms of culinary.

During the years of 2015 and 2016, I had reconstructive foot surgery. It took a bit to heal up and be able to walk again, but the recovery was a smooth one still. During that time, I was presented with an opportunity to attend a culinary program where I would be taught both Back of House (BOH) and Front of House (FOH) skills for a total of 40 weeks, and we would be getting paid for the time there. We would also meet and get to work with different chefs of color and get a true culinary experience. I've met chefs that I never thought I'd meet and my mind was opened in ways I never really imagined. I'm now friends with a few of them, and that's pretty dope. I worked a big event at the James Beard House and worked with 7 different chefs of color. All in all, my time there was amazing.

With that, I had this thought of owning my own restaurant or bar where I would create simple yet complex dishes that represented me and who I am. As 2024 came in, that feeling just....died. I came in to work, looked at the stove in front of me, and in my head I said "What am I doing?" Then out loud I said "I don't want to do this shit anymore." My co-worker looked at me and said "Travis, you okay?" I said "No. No I'm not. I'm over this. I'm over cooking shit that's not from my mind. I'm over cooking fucking food that truly doesn't tell me about who the head chef is. I'm done with hearing people come here and question the dishes. I put all my fucking chips in, turned down 3 different jobs, 3 different better opportunities, to help someone else with their dream for 2 full years. I'm over it. I'm done. I can't fucking do this shit anymore. I'm not working on my own dreams and doing this, is killing my deep rooted passion for culinary." And with that, I sent an email out and stepped down from my position.

I'm slowly overcoming depression. By being there, it just put me deeper in. It made me a version of myself that wasn't me, so now I'm currently putting all my chips into me.

Yes, I'm still a chef. No, I no longer want to own a restaurant. No, I'm never going to give up on this. Yes, I can cook my fucking ass off......

....and you'll see it soon

[lascapigliata]

spoilers for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow (the book)

like i understand the point of contrasting class, disability, etc and the general theme of creativity and intensity of collaboration driving these two people apart. i really do. but unfortunately one character (sam), no matter his flaws, grew up with his grandparents after his mother died in front of him in a car accident, where he crushed his foot leaving him in constant pain for the rest of his life until the rods reconstructing his foot consistently broke through his skin and he had to have his foot amputated. and the other one (sadie) i am struggling to come up with a word besides j.a.p., grew up in wealth and privilege, and feels slighted that sam lived with his grandparents in a poorer area upon moving to LA in order to recover from major surgery because she felt he was too absent from their video game company in venice. after he had an amputation, which it apparently doesn't occur to her that he needs time to recover and can't be out and about for that. i'm sorry???? sam has his flaws too and Some of sadie's beef with him feels very justified or at least understandable. but it's eclipsed bc unfortunately how the fuckkkkk am i supposed to sympathize with sadie when mostly i want to yell at her to get over herself and remember that um. HE HAD A FOOT AMPUTATED???

the book also described a penis as a "cylindrical chamber of blood sponges" in an extremely badly executed attempt to make sex for sam clinical and distant. but how the hell can i move forward in the scene after reading that my immortal bullshit1?!?!