#Rescue Medications

[ivygorgon]

AN OPEN LETTER to THE PRESIDENT & U.S. CONGRESS; STATE GOVERNORS & LEGISLATURES

Say NO to Loony-Bins: Immediate Action Required for Inpatient Psychiatric Care

2 so far! Help us get to 5 signers!

The current model of inpatient psychiatric care, which primarily focuses on safety and crisis stabilization, falls short in promoting sustained recovery. The prevalent emphasis on ultrashort lengths of stay often overlooks the need for comprehensive treatment plans.

A proposed model of care advocates for rapid diagnosis, goal-setting, and treatment modalities before initiating treatment, organized into three distinct phases: assessment, implementation, and resolution. This approach emphasizes individualized treatment and active patient involvement in treatment planning, addressing critical psychosocial aspects that are frequently neglected.

As we strive to reform the mental health care system, it's imperative to prioritize effective, recovery-oriented treatment strategies. This includes ensuring patient comfort and preferences are accommodated within reason. Considering patient preferences, like comfort items (such as safe stuffed animals; Share-Bears, if you will) and rescue medications (like melatonin,) is essential to upholding rigorous standards of care and safety.

Let's advocate for reforms that enhance patient-centered practices while adhering to established treatment guidelines and advancing recovery-oriented care.

Say no to “loony-bins;” those archaic relics that should be relegated to the distant past.

📱 Text SIGN PWORPV to 50409

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💘 Q'u lach' shughu deshni da. 🏹 "What I say is true" in Dena'ina Qenaga

[zarla-s]

heavy can be a pretty princess if he wants

[patreon]

[teaboot]

you have some really evil, selfish and toxic ideas irt whos allowed to have friends, you know? i see pop psy people like you all the time making lists of things that are clear and obvious trauma induced behaviour, and then immediately flip to how if you have a friend who ever behaves like this they are evil and need to be cut off, theyre not allowed to have support systems to get better! you really hate bad victims, huh? if someone isn't demure and cowering and self effacing in their symptoms they don't deserve anyone? i got assaulted and when my friend group threw me out on my ass and called me too fucked up for acting erratic and strange in the aftermath and being unable to communicate why they used your posts to justify it. its sick that people like you will look at someone uncontrollably acting out their ptsd and go wow you aren't doing this nice enough to be tolerated! people like you talk so much about compassion but when it comes to people in actual crisis you don't give a shit. no, theyre acting too problematic. just cut them off! no one should help their friends!

original post

Please allow me to take this opportunity to make some things clear.

First, you do not know me. You do not know anything about me. You do not know where I've been, where I'm going, or where I am. All that you believe that you know is extrapolated from information I have volunteered to share. Information that is, by clear and honest choice, edited for both safety and personal security. Remember this.

Second, and I say this in the kindest of ways, because I have had to learn this lesson myself:

Nobody Owes You Shit.

Have you ever saved someone from drowning?

I have.

Do you know that a drowning person struggling to get air will instinctively drag you under them?

It's hard to save people in the water. It takes specific skills and knowledge that not everybody has. Not everyone can save a drowning person without drowning in the process.

The lifeguard needs energy, and strength, and expertise, and persistence.

The swimmer needs self-restraint, and composure, and the desire to be helped, and the ability to do what they can to facilitate their own rescue.

I believe in kindness, and generosity, and compassion. I believe in trying persistently, and in giving the benefit of the doubt wherever possible. I believe that people are good, and small, and trying. And I believe that I can give all the energy I have inside of me to help someone and still come up short.

So you're drowning? I'm sorry. That must be terrifying. That must be miserable. You must be experiencing the worst moments of your life. I hope someone nearby knows how to help you. I hope they have a raft you can climb into, or a rope for you to grab, or a float you can cling to. I hope things get better. I'll call for help, and give you what I can to get you to shore.

But don't you dare drag me under water and curse me for saving myself.

Now get out of my fucking inbox.

[turtleblogatlast]

Mentioned this before but as much as I adore the medic Leo headcanon, my favorite type of it is when it’s basically just Leo knowing the most surface level of stuff and carrying around a super basic first-aid kit in his pack. So he knows how to use gauze, and he’s got a ton of Jupiter Jim branded bandaids, and if you really needed it then he can hit you up with some ibuprofen but other than that? Nothing.

But. I love the idea that that changes post-invasion.

They’re pretty sturdy, all of them, so they can take more than one beating and really only need a bandaid for the fun of it. But the invasion hit harder than ice packs and “lots of rest” would help with, and I can bet that a post being beaten to a pulp Leo would have a lot of time on his hands to reflect and, maybe, learn a thing or two as he waits to get better.

It’s nothing excessive, not at first, but he watches veterinary videos, and live surgeries, and other videos in that same realm (because the books are, uh, a bit too jargon-y for him) multiple times over. Just so he knows. Just in case he needs to know.

In his pack, there’s a first-aid kit. With the use of a mini portal for extra space, the kit has grown to include everything from scalpels to butterfly stitches to sutures to even fiberglass patches.

And obviously the Jupiter Jim brand bandaids stay too.

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee hasn’t realized they’ve been rescued. They fight the hands trying to stop the bleeding, wich resulted in them also having to hold them down.

Then there’s a voice. A familiar voice that could never be mistaken. Caretaker speaks just loud enough over the shouts saying “Eyes on me, nothing else matters, don’t look at them. Eyes on me.”

They would never see the blood; or how gruesome and horrific their wound actually was. They never saw the faces of the strangers who had no other goal other than keeping them alive. 

They only saw caretaker.  

[triptychofvoids]

random question, opinion on roller skating/have you ever done it before?

i have an idea! lets not talk about that

[whumpy-bi]

Rescuers/medics bringing in a more “emotionally aware” member of their crew to talk to a recently rescued Whumpee, who has spent the past few days lashing out and refusing any treatment.

They’re crouched behind their bed when Caretaker walks in, wide eyes watching them intently. They know Caretaker can see them—the bed is giving them a sense of security, Caretaker figures, a barrier between them and anyone else.

Caretaker keeps their voice soft, but loud enough that Whumpee can hear them. “Hey,” they start.

“You’re Whumpee, right?” They only nod to themself, knowing the answer. “I’m Caretaker…” They notice the apprehension in Whumpee’s stare.

“I’m not a medic, don’t worry. I just want to talk to you, would that be okay?”

Whumpee finally nods. Good, an acknowledgment.

Caretaker slowly lowers themselves to their knees, stopping at eye level with Whumpee. Notably, they hadn’t attempted to come any closer, nor attempted to move Whumpee from behind the bed.

“I heard you were a little upset this morning. Is that true?”

Finally, a verbal response.

“Yeah.”

“I heard you got pretty angry, with the medic. That true, too?”

“…Am I in trouble?”

Caretaker shakes their head, resting their hands on their knees. “No, not at all. I just want to understand what happened. Do you know why you were angry?”

“…No. I just didn’t want them near me.”

They hummed in thought. “Well…I’ve also heard you haven’t been able to sleep since we brought you here.”

Whumpee was silent, but frowned.

“I know I always feel pretty crappy when I can’t sleep. I get angrier than I mean to. Do you think maybe that’s why?”

“…Maybe.”

“Well, that’s alright. I can help you figure out how to get some sleep, we can talk about that too. But do you remember specifically why you lashed out at the medic today? What did—“

“He grabbed me. I don’t want people to grab me. He wouldn’t stop grabbing me.”

Caretaker nodded again, shifting their jaw as they listened. “That makes sense. I probably wouldn’t like that, either. What if he asked to touch you, before he did?”

Whumpee was silent again, but they quirked their head to the side. Considering.

“I’m sure we can all do that, asking to do things. We can tell you what we’re doing, before we do it. So you know how we’re helping you. Would that help? I think that’d be a lot less frustrating.”

Whumpee mumbled, now. They’d come closer to the other side of the bed.

“Maybe, yeah.”

Caretaker smiled warmly. “That’s good, I can tell them that. Now…I wanna help you get some sleep. I think that’ll help you feel a lot better, too.”

They watch Whumpee quietly as they climb back onto the bed, careful not to move too quickly themselves.

“Is it hard to sleep in here?”

No answer again. Caretaker glances over to the window.

“It’s pretty bright outside, isn’t it? Even with the parking lot lights at night. I can get some heavier curtains, if you’d—“

“It’s hot.” Whumpee’s voice is barely there, a hushed mumble.

Caretaker’s eyebrows raise, their expression a relieved smile. This was good.

“Yeah? I can’t sleep if it’s too warm, either. Here, I can…” They very slowly rise to stand, keeping eye contact with Whumpee as they do so. “I can lower the temperature, that’ll help a lot. I’ll just make it a little cooler in here…I can make sure you have water at night, too. Nice cold water.”

Whumpee watches them closely as they adjust the temperature, less apprehensive than before.

Caretaker suppresses a chuckle at Whumpee’s expression. “You look pretty tired, Whumpee. You wanna try sleeping again?”

“…Maybe.”

They let Caretaker help adjust them into a sleeping position, leaving the blanket by their ankles for now. As Caretaker goes for the light switch, Whumpee calls out one more time.

“Will you come back?”

“Sure I will, Whumpee. I’ll check on you a lot, you can ask for me whenever you want. Why?”

“I…liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you, too, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s prolonged nap that day was the best sleep they’d had in months.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

I see your lab whump and raise you this scenario:

The character that has been held captive is unwell. They have long since given up the possibility of being rescued. The Coats (i.e., the doctors and staff) have been too harsh, their procedures too intensive, and it all comes to a head during their latest session. All life-saving efforts are unsuccessful. Disappointed and frustrated, they order the body to be taken down to the morgue.

Only - the captive is not dead. A member of staff, whether it be a recently promoted intern or an undercover friend of the captive's or even a member of the janitorial crew, knew that they couldn't leave the captive like this. Secretly, they had dosed the captive with a medication that would slow their heart rate. Perhaps the rescuer watched from the sidelines during those nail-biting moments, or perhaps they were playing a part of the team trying to resuscitate the captive.

Now, they're away from prying eyes and security in the morgue and finally - finally they're able to administer the counteragent. The effects are nearly immediate and the captive is gasping and trying to sit up, heart crashing around in their chest as they try to get their bearings because what is this place? Why does my head hurt? Who is that person? Why is it so cold?

Their rescuer shushes them and tries to keep them from standing because they know they'll fall if they try. It's remarkably difficult to be gentle while they're in a rush, but they try their best.

"I know, I know. I need you to listen to me, okay? Are you listening?" The rescuer says, stepping aside to open the metal cabinet. Inside is a stash of clothing they had hidden there weeks ago. They quickly begin to help the captive get dressed, minding what wounds they have.

"Where are we going?" The captive manages to whisper, their voice hoarse and eyes haunted.

The rescuer smiles grimly, as they help them into a lab coat. "Someplace safe. Someplace away from here. Now, do everything as I say."

[ultrabreaksounddownwavemagnus]

Ratchet my love

[daffi-990]

Please let the whole season keep this kind of energy.

[bonanza-7]

Hello! I'm doing a leftover sale of my old merch! You can check it out on my Ko-Fi!

Enjoy!

[sgt-tombstone]

https://www. tumblr. com/tiktoks-repost/664415151341076480

saw this and now i'm picturing soapghost in this situation

link, you’re so right anon

I’m thinking an au where Soap is part of a search and rescue team and Ghost, who was discharged for medical reasons but still lives close to base, gets bullied volunteered by his old captain, Price, to be a casualty victim for the CSAR (combat search and rescue) drills

Ghost would hate it, because it reminds him of actually being injured, but Price always makes sure that his fake injury is vastly different from the real one that got him discharged, and he actually has a lot of fun playing a victim. He knows how real injuries work, how real victims act in the heat of combat, and he really enjoys getting to play “bad” victims (ones who refuse treatment or are combative, because the PJs need to know how to deal with that too)

He’s never really treated it as anything more serious than helping to train soldiers to do their jobs better, but then he’s leaning up against the side of a house in the middle of a field in the base training grounds, and he sees a pair of brilliant blue eyes approaching, startling in their intensity and almost scary in their conviction, and Ghost thinks that maybe, for the first time, he might be in over his head.

The soldier scans the area, gun at the ready, because the first step in a search and rescue situation is securing the premise (and fuck, this guy is well-trained, Ghost thinks to himself, half-sullenly and half-grudgingly impressed, he knows what he’s doing), and then he drops to his knees by Ghost’s side. His gaze drops to the card in Ghost’s hand, marking Ghost as an amputee with a sucking chest wound (a far cry from the brush fire that had caused 3rd degree burns along his entire left side and more skin grafts than Ghost could count). Ghost tries not to be upset about the loss of eye contact, especially when the man opens his mouth.

“I’m Soap,” he says, thick accent distracting from the utter ridiculousness of his call sign. He’s deadly serious, both his tone and face conveying his devotion to rescuing Ghost. “I’m gonnae get ye out of here, I promise.”

Normally, Ghost would thrash around a bit, maybe have some fun letting out a little cry (who ever said he wasn’t a good actor? Price kept bringing him back for a reason, and he was directly responsible for many CSAR operatives developing eye twitches. But they were better soldiers for it, so who really won?) but he can only stare as Soap starts undoing his tac vest (the only time he still gets to wear it) and pulling on gloves to start simulating treatment for Ghost’s fake wound.

He keeps one hand braced on Ghost’s chest, apparently where he’s decided the sucking chest wound would be, applying pressure while preparing a dressing (god, who approved the funds for all of the equipment they wasted in practice? Ghost wasn’t about to start complaining) and pressing a chest seal against Ghost’s bare skin. He tells Ghost to exhale, then secures the dressing. It’s a textbook treatment, as far as Ghost can tell (and he’s done this a lot) but there’s something about Soap’s sure hands, his unwavering haze, his steady presence, that makes it feel like something more.

When Soap moves down to pull up his pant leg, obviously intent on treating his fake leg amputation, Ghost stops breathing altogether, and if he ends the day by receiving very real CPR from a very concerned Soap (as well as Soap’s personal phone number), well… what Price won’t know won’t hurt him, right??

(he’ll be Ghost’s best man at the wedding two years later, and his speech will have many, many innuendos about a certain sucking chest wound, much to Simon’s mortification)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Okay, I'm way late on the prompt thing, but if you happen to still take them - or as something to hold onto for later - I'd love to see a little snippet from the ill-fated cruise ship HC Legend worked on!

Hadn’t there… been a storm? What…?

Link squinted against the bright sunlight, feeling sore and overheated, strangely stationary but still somehow dizzy. He heard seagulls, and—

Seagulls??

Groaning, Link opened his eyes, the sun seeming to shine directly into his eyeballs. What had happened??

“Link? Oh, you’re finally awake!”

He knew that voice. “Marin?”

The familiar face appeared in his vision next, red hair nearly radiant in the sunlight. She looked haggard, clothes a little torn, face flushed, hair a mess. “Oh, Link, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“We’re on a beach,” Link slurred, completely disoriented. “Did we…? Weren’t we in a storm?”

“We were,” Marin answered, shadows covering her face all of a sudden. “We were.”

The heaviness of her tone made him nervous. Sitting up, Link looked around, seeing several life rafts strewn along the beach, alongside a handful of other people in various states of disarray. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

They were… they were stranded, weren’t they?

“The ship…?” He looked at her, asking for confirmation.

She shook her head. “It’s gone.”

He already knew, really. He could put the pieces together. But hearing her say it made him feel his entire world flip. What were they supposed to do? Who had survived? How had he even gotten here, anyway? He just remembered the storm.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Marin repeated. “When you got thrown I was so worried.”

When he got thrown? He remembered huddling in the medical bay with Marin; they’d both known it was too dangerous to be anywhere on the deck, exposed to the weather. He must have hit something.

“How did I get here, though?” He asked.

“Well, you were awake for a bit, just kind of groggy,” Marin explained. “The captain said the ship was sinking, we all got on life rafts, but the storm flipped some and… we managed to make it here with the rest.”

“And the other medical crew?”

“They’re… they’re gone, Link. They’re all gone.”

Gone?? How could they--he knew those people, had worked with them, they were--

Link grimaced as he moved his arm, staring at a large gash slicing along it. Marin helpfully grabbed a first aid kit, noting, “This is all we have left for medical supplies. This and one other, that is. But… it isn’t much.”

It… he… they…

This was insane. This couldn't be happening.

Shaking his head, Link tried to orient himself to the situation, slowly straightening his posture as he reached shakily for the first aid kit. “How many others are injured?”

“A few,” Marin answered, hastily adding, “I’m okay, though, don’t worry.”

Link looked her over. She was certainly run down, but he didn’t see any immediate signs of injury. Based on her story, they… hadn’t been thrown around too much, right?

Right?

But how had he gotten this wound, then?

Shaking his head, Link tried to focus. “Can you help me triage the others?”

Marin nodded, determined, reaching to help him stand. Link refused to let everything sink in all at once.

They had work to do.

[tanglepelt]

Dp x dc 158

When Danny and Ellie are captured frostbite and pandora make it to them once. Only to see them torn apart and signs of experimentation. A ghost shield activated before they could save them forcing them back.

Both are more determined then ever to save their ghost child. Pandora will simply force Wonder Woman to help. Surely she would provide aid.

Frostbite following pandoras lead enter a portal only to exit in some conference room in space.

[biohazbat]

I fully stand by Damian growing into his own mantle as a world class medic for vigilantes

[jordanstrophe]

Without a word, whumpee was taken. 

And without a word, they were returned. 

In much rougher condition than before. 

They’re monitored in the hospital while caretaker tries to find out what happened. They gently ask questions; where they were and what happened. Sometimes whumpee mumbles some vague details, sometimes they just go silent. 

But the heart monitor never does. 

The questions whumpee goes quietest tend to be the monitor’s loudest.