#Surgical Instruments for professionals

[amaproducts-01]

AMAProducts | Buy Medical Equipments & Supplies Online

Welcome to AMAProducts, your trusted destination for high-quality medical equipment and supplies. We specialize in providing a comprehensive range of professional medical supplies to meet the needs of healthcare professionals and facilities. Our extensive catalog features the latest medical equipment, ensuring you have access to the most advanced and reliable tools for patient care.

Shop medical equipment online for a seamless and convenient experience, with products that adhere to the highest standards of safety and efficacy.

Discover AMAProducts today, where excellence in medical supplies is our commitment to you.

[amaproducts]

The Task Mayo Instrument Table from AMA Products is a versatile and mobile solution for medical professionals. Measuring 60 x 40 cm, this table features a shallow tray, providing ample space for organizing and accessing instruments during procedures. Its sturdy construction and mobility make it ideal for use in various healthcare settings, ensuring efficiency and convenience for practitioners.

[kdlmedtech]

Fistula Needle Guide: How to Choose the Right One

Fistula needles may not be a household name, but they play a crucial role in the lives of many individuals who require regular hemodialysis. These specialized needles are designed specifically for accessing a fistula, a surgically created connection between an artery and a vein, which allows for the removal and return of blood during dialysis treatment. In this blog post, we’ll dive into the importance of choosing the right fistula needle and provide some helpful tips for properly using them.

What is a Fistula Needle? A fistula is a type of vascular access used in hemodialysis, where blood is removed from the body, filtered through a machine, and then returned to the body. The creation of a fistula involves connecting an artery to a vein, usually in the arm, to create a larger, stronger blood vessel that can withstand the repeated puncturing required for dialysis treatments. A fistula needle is a specially designed needle used to access the blood vessel in your arm for dialysis treatment.

Why is Choosing the Right Fistula Needle Important? Choosing the right dialysis fistula needle is crucial for several reasons. First, it ensures the safety and comfort of the patient. Second, it allows for optimal blood flow during dialysis, which is essential for efficient treatment. Finally, using the correct needle can help prevent complications such as infections or clotting, which can be life-threatening for individuals undergoing dialysis.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Fistula Needle • Gauge Size: Needles come in various gauges. Smaller gauges are generally more comfortable but may not provide the necessary flow rates for dialysis. Common sizes include 15, 16, and 17 gauge. • Needle Length: The length of the needle should be enough to reach the walls of the fistula without being too long, which can cause damage. It’s essential to consult a healthcare professional to determine the appropriate length for each patient. • Bevel Design: The bevel is the slanting edge of the needle. A bevel design that is too sharp can cause damage to the fistula walls, while a bevel that is too dull can result in difficulty in puncturing the skin. The ideal bevel design will vary for each individual depending on the size and condition of their fistula. • Needle Material: Aseptic Fistula needles should be made of high-quality, medical-grade materials to reduce the risk of infection. It’s crucial to choose needles from a reputable av fistula needle manufacturer to ensure safety and durability.

The Different Types of Fistula Needles There are various types of fistula needles available, including straight needles, winged needles, and buttonhole needles. Each has its advantages and disadvantages, and the type chosen will depend on the individual’s fistula and their treatment needs.

Tips for Properly Using a Fistula Needle • Always wash your hands before handling the needle and use proper sterilization techniques to prevent infection. • Make sure the needle is inserted at the correct angle and depth to prevent damage to the fistula. • Use a gentle twisting motion when inserting and removing the needle to minimize pain and discomfort. • Monitor the flow rate and adjust as needed to ensure proper blood flow during treatment. • After each use, discard the needle safely and promptly to reduce the risk of infection.

Conclusion In conclusion, fistula needles are a critical component of dialysis treatment for individuals with a fistula. Choosing the right needle and using it properly can make a significant difference in the safety, comfort, and efficacy of dialysis treatment. Consult with a healthcare professional to determine the best type and size of fistula needle for your specific needs. Remember to follow proper sterilization and handling techniques to ensure the best outcomes.

Source : Fistula Needle Guide: How to Choose the Right One

[anthonyhoffmansworld]

Top Medical Equipment Supplier Worldwide

Your global source for top-quality medical equipment and supplies. From state-of-the-art devices to essential consumables, we're committed to delivering excellence in healthcare worldwide. Discover reliability, innovation, and affordability with us.

[seospicybin]

INCISION.

I.N x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: In a bustling hospital, you and Jeongin are two doctors trying to navigate the fine line between professionalism and desire. (11,2k words)

Author's note: I'm obviously not a doctor but I've done my research so apologies in advance if you find any inaccuracies. Nevertheless, pls enjoy my first medical au!

The sound of surgical instruments clinking fills the operating room as the soft hum of machines keeps a steady rhythm in the background. You focus on the task at hand, making precise movements as you and Jeongin work side by side.

The tension is palpable, though, even beneath the masks you both wear. The nurses and assistants know this is nothing new.

"You're not positioning the clamp right," Jeongin says, his tone clipped but quiet enough to stay professional.

You shoot him a sharp glance from behind your mask, but hold back from snapping. "I know what I’m doing," you mutter under your breath, trying to stay calm as the situation intensifies.

He glances at the monitor, his eyes flicking between the patient’s stats and your work. "The tissue is too delicate for that much pressure. You’ll cause excessive bleeding if you keep going like this."

You feel the heat rising, frustration bubbling up. "I've done this procedure before, and I know the limits. This is—"

"Stop," Jeongin interrupts, his voice firm but composed, "We’re not here to debate. Just adjust the clamp."

There’s a pause in the room. You don’t miss the way the others subtly glance at each other, wondering if they’ll witness another argument. Reluctantly, you adjust the clamp the way he suggested. Moments pass, and the bleeding stops.

Damn it. He’s right.

Jeongin doesn’t say anything further, just resumes the surgery without acknowledging the tension in the air. Your irritation simmers quietly as you continue, but it doesn’t escape you that he’s proved you wrong in front of the entire team.

It's excepted of you to storm off once the operation is finished, he scoff under his breath as you leave him behind to deal with the post-op responsibilities. He rolls his eyes, tugging off his mask and gloves as he makes his way to the waiting area.

As soon as he steps out, he’s met with anxious eyes—the patient’s family, clinging to each other for support, waiting for any news.

He clears his throat, slipping effortlessly into his professional persona. "The surgery went well," he announces, offering them a reassuring smile.

There’s an immediate sigh of relief from the family. The wife’s eyes well up with tears, her hands shaking as she clutches her husband’s.

"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much," she whispers, voice cracking with emotion.

"The team will keep monitoring him closely, but everything went as expected," he replies with practiced humility. "Don't worry. Your loved one is in good hands."

The gratitude they shower him with is met with his usual calm professionalism, nodding politely as they thank him profusely. Despite the warmth of the moment, a part of his mind lingers on you, and the irritation bubbles back up.

-

When the surgery is over, and the patient is stable, you storm out of the operating room, ripping off your mask, gloves and surgical gown in one swift motion, crumpling them before tossing them into the bin with a sharp flick of your wrist.

Everyone around you barely spares a glance—it only takes one look to know you and Jeongin are at it again. Good. Let them know. That way, they’ll stay out of your way.

People might think you’re pissed at Jeongin for what happened in the OR, but the truth stings deeper than that—you’re mad because he was right. Again. And you hate that. You hate him, not for what he does, but for always proving you wrong. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve been pissed at Jeongin for no real reason since the day you started working together.

You head straight to the locker room, blessedly empty since not many staff are working the night shift. The irritation gnawing at your insides pushes you to undress quickly, stepping into the shower.

The water hits your skin, warm and soothing, the perfect antidote to the storm brewing inside you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face. It’s a temporary release, but it helps. Slowly, the anger ebbs away, replaced by the calming rhythm of the water.

The creak of the locker room door breaks the silence, but you don’t pay it much mind. People come and go—it’s part of the routine. You brush your wet hair back, tilting your head again, letting the warmth wash over you.

Then the shower curtain pulls open, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Jeongin steps in behind you, the heat of his body unmistakable as he presses against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist. Without hesitation, he pulls you close, his firm chest pressing into your skin, his breath hot against your neck. You can feel every inch of him, including the unmistakable hardness that pokes against your lower back.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does. Instead, he leans down, licking the droplets of water from your neck before placing soft kisses there, each one more deliberate than the last. You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access, and he takes it, his lips moving to capture yours in a deep, consuming kiss.

His hands trail down your sides, slow and teasing, until they reach your breasts. His fingers curl around them, squeezing lightly, and you glance down to see your nipples harden under his touch.

You bite back a moan, your body betraying you as your hand snakes its way behind you, finding his cock. You wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly at first, and then with more intent as he groans softly against your ear.

Jeongin responds in kind, his hand slipping between your legs, finding your most sensitive spot with ease. His fingertips circle your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through you, and the tension between you builds, the steam from the shower doing nothing to cool it down.

It’s not long before Jeongin can’t take it anymore. He spins you around, pinning you against the cold tiled wall, his body pressing urgently into yours. One of your legs hooks around his waist as he positions himself, his eyes focused as he pushes into you with a low growl. You whimper, feeling the stretch as he fills you completely, his hard length fitting perfectly inside you.

His lips part as he looks down, watching himself enter you before his gaze flicks back to your face. His hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your feet are off the floor. The new angle sends him deeper, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he thrusts into you, setting a steady, unrelenting pace.

Every movement, every grunt, every gasp is a channel for the frustration you’ve been carrying. You’ve been doing this with Jeongin for weeks now—fucking to release whatever tension builds between you during the day. It’s twisted, getting off on the mutual annoyance and frustration, but it works. For both of you.

You don’t want to admit that you’ve already cum once, and you’re not sure if he realizes, but your body is already building towards another. You clutch his shoulders harder as he speeds up, his hips snapping against yours as water cascades down his flushed skin.

He looks damn good, and you hate him for it. His dark hair slicked back, lips swollen and red from your kisses, his ears tinged pink. You hate that you can’t help but kiss him again, because despite everything, he’s good at this. He knows how to unravel you.

The contradicting emotions swirl inside you, and before you know it, you’re coming undone for the second time, your body tightening around him as you moan into his mouth. The intensity of it has you seeing stars, and Jeongin grunts as he continues thrusting into you, chasing his own release.

He pulls out just in time, his hot release spilling over your thigh, marking you in the process. Neither of you speaks, just panting against each other as you come down from the high.

No words are needed—there’s never a conversation about this. No being civil, no apologies. Just this. Just sex. Nothing more.

-

Jeongin stretches his neck, feeling the stiffness from working for eleven hours straight finally ease after his short nap. The break helped reset his brain, and after washing up and throwing on his coat, he heads to the breakroom to make himself a much-needed cup of coffee.

Inside the lounge, a handful of doctors and nurses are scattered around, grabbing a quick bite or drink between shifts. Jeongin grabs a mug, pouring coffee into it when a nurse glances his way.

"So, Dr. Yang, what do you think of our new director?" she asks casually.

Jeongin pauses mid-pour, eyebrows raised. “What new director?”

“The new hospital director," she repeats with a slight smile, pulling up a stool across the table from him. “You didn’t come to the announcement earlier?”

He shakes his head. "I was taking a nap."

"Ah, that explains it," she laughs softly, taking a sip of her own coffee.

Jeongin adds a teaspoon of sugar into his cup, curiosity starting to creep in. “So, who is he?”

"He’s the grandson of the chairman," she answers, setting her cup down.

Jeongin lets out a quiet sigh, stirring his coffee. "As expected."

"And," she leans in slightly, lowering her voice, "he’s one beautiful man."

He snorts, shaking his head and then jokingly says, "Be careful, or HR’s going to call you in for that.”

As much as the thought of a "beautiful" new director amuses him, the fact that he got the position through family connections—nepotism—already has Jeongin losing a bit of respect for him. Still, he pushes the thought aside as he finishes his coffee and heads off to do his patient rounds.

After checking on everyone under his care, Jeongin makes his way to his shared office, eager to update patient records in peace. As he steps inside, he spots you already there, seated at the desk. But what catches his attention isn’t just you—it’s the man sitting across from you, the two of you deep in conversation.

The moment Jeongin walks in, the talking stops, and both of you glance his way.

The man sitting across from you turns in his chair, revealing himself to Jeongin. He looks like he’s around the same age, but he's dressed in a sharply tailored pinstripe suit, hair slicked back like he walked straight out of a magazine.

"May I know who’s this?" the man asks, his voice low and smooth, the kind that commands attention.

"That’s Dr. Yang Jeongin, also a general surgeon," you introduce him politely. "We’re sharing the office."

"Ah..." The man lets out a soft, amused sound, standing up from his seat and extending his hand toward Jeongin. "I’m Felix. Nice to meet you."

Jeongin’s eyes flick over Felix briefly, sizing him up. After a beat, he takes Felix’s hand for a quick shake.

“Jeongin,” he says, offering a terse introduction.

The handshake doesn’t last long, but he catches Felix studying him for a moment longer than necessary. There's an air of appraisal in his gaze, one that makes Jeongin immediately wary.

"He’s the new hospital director," you mention, glancing between them.

Oh. So this is the infamous new director—the chairman’s grandson, the "beautiful man." Jeongin internally rolls his eyes but keeps his expression neutral.

"Nice to meet you, Director," Jeongin says, offering the obligatory respect he assumes Felix expects.

Felix waves his hand dismissively. “Just call me Felix, like your office mate here does.” He gestures toward you with a friendly smile.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. You, of all people, referring to the new director by his first name? The same you who’s earned the nickname "Ice Princess" because you keep a cold expression, even for patients?

Felix notices the curious look in Jeongin’s eyes and quickly adds, "We went to the same university, but unlike her, I didn’t finish my medical studies."

"But you now you’re directing the hospital I work in," You chime in playfully.

Felix chuckles, clearly enjoying the banter. "Anyway, we’re going for lunch. Care to join us?"

Jeongin glances at you. There’s an ease in your body language that makes it clear you’re comfortable around Felix—more comfortable than Jeongin has ever seen you, especially in his presence. Deciding not to intrude, Jeongin shakes his head.

"I’ve got to update some patient records," he says, keeping his tone light.

Felix nods, flashing him a quick smile. "No problem. Maybe next time."

With that, the two of you gather your things and leave the office together, leaving Jeongin alone. He watches the door close behind you, his mind swirling with thoughts.

So, not only is Felix the hospital director thanks to his family connections, but he’s also an old friend of yours—and he must admit that he's indeed a "beautiful man."

-

Jeongin wouldn’t call it luck that no one in the hospital has caught the two of you yet. It’s more about timing—and the fact that people know better than to hang around when you’re both in the same room. They all think it’s just the constant tension, the arguing. If only they knew what happens when the doors are closed.

However, Jeongin doesn’t take their obliviousness for granted.

When the urge strikes, he doesn’t risk anything at work. He knows exactly where to go. You both live in the same apartment building, which makes things much easier.

Now, after a grueling seventeen-hour shift, he stands outside your door, balancing a bag of food in one hand as he presses the doorbell.

A few moments later, the door swings open. There you are, dressed in a simple nightdress, your hair slightly tousled, as if you’ve just crawled out of bed. The soft fabric clings to your figure, and he knows right away that the food isn’t what this visit is really about.

“Food,” he says, holding up the bag as if it’s some peace offering.

You give him a look that says you’re not fooled. You know exactly why he’s here, and it’s not for a meal.

"Come in," you say, stepping aside to let him enter.

Jeongin strides in with the ease of someone familiar with the space. It’s not his first time here. He knows where everything is, where your bedroom is—everything. You gesture toward the dining table, where an open book and laptop suggest you’ve been studying a procedure for an upcoming surgery.

“You can put it there,” you say, nodding toward the table.

He sets the bag down, but his mind is already elsewhere. His gaze turns back to you, and he finds you standing in the doorway of your bedroom, leaning against the frame with a calm, collected air.

“We better make it quick,” you say, voice steady, “I have to be back at the hospital by four.”

Jeongin glances at his watch. There’s time. More than enough to do a few things. Without another word, he follows you into the bedroom. His eyes track your hands as they reach for the hem of your nightdress, and in one fluid motion, you pull it over your head and let it drop to the floor.

You stand there, nearly bare, save for the low-cut white underwear that clings to your hips. The silky fabric leaves little to the imagination, hugging the curves he knows all too well. He watches the way your body moves as you climb onto the bed, the way your legs cross beneath you as you sit there, waiting.

Your gaze is expectant, eyes smoldering as they meet his. You don’t need to say anything—the look is enough. Jeongin knows what’s required of him.

Without hesitation, he begins to undress. One item after another is discarded until there’s nothing between the two of you. He stands before you, unashamed, fully aware of your eyes roving over his body, taking in every inch.

You don’t hide your interest. Your eyes travel down his chest, lingering for a moment before settling lower. It’s clear in the way you’re watching him that you like what you see, and Jeongin feels the tension building, the air thick with unspoken desire.

This—what you have—is simple. It’s physical. You both know what to expect, and right now, there’s nothing more on either of your minds than satisfying the need you both feel.

Jeongin climbs onto the bed, crawling over you with a swift urgency that sends your head sinking into the pillow. His lips crash into yours in a deep kiss, tongues tangling as the tension between you shifts, blending desire with need. His hands, quick and sure, glide down your body, finding the heat between your legs.

His dainty fingers trace your wetness with a familiar intensity—gentle yet deliberate, coaxing every reaction he knows so well. But when his touch isn’t enough, he moves lower, his mouth replacing his fingers, tongue stroking along your slit before teasing your entrance. The wet warmth of his mouth, the firm pressure of his tongue, sends shivers up your spine.

He slips one arm beneath you, lifting your hips from the bed to give him the angle he needs. His mouth moves deeper, his tongue diving in as he devours you, the sound of your breathless moans fueling his efforts.

It doesn’t take long before you’re falling apart against his mouth, your release coating his tongue, and he revels in the taste of his triumph.

Off the bed, you clash. Your egos, your tempers—always fighting, always biting. But here, now, everything is fair game. No power struggles, just raw, shared pleasure.

Without wasting a second, you shift, getting on all fours, and take him into your mouth, returning the favor. Jeongin groans as you work him with expert ease, not stopping until you taste him—his release filling your mouth as he lets out a low, guttural sound, his body trembling under your touch.

It doesn’t end there.

The final round comes quick, an unspoken understanding between you. You lie on your stomach, and he positions himself over you, sliding into you from behind with relentless thrusts. You cross your legs, creating an extra tightness around him, and it drives him mad.

This is Jeongin’s favorite part. The way your mouth parts with nothing but moans spilling out, no words to bite at him, no comebacks to cut him down—just your breathless sounds of pleasure, your hands fisting the sheets as he takes you deeper, harder.

It’s all because of him, and he watches you, mesmerized by the way you slowly fall apart under him. He likes you like this. Fucked out of your mind, nothing left but the pleasure he gives you.

It’s almost too much, the sight of you, the tight heat surrounding him. It pushes him closer to his edge. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic as he chases his high, and you’re right there with him, your body trembling beneath his as you reach for your own release.

You both come undone at nearly the same time, Jeongin’s head falling into the crook of your neck as he breathes heavily, his lips pressing against your damp skin. He licks a stray droplet of sweat before planting a soft kiss on your neck.

Maybe, after all, hate and desire aren’t so different. Whatever it is that fuels your tension off the bed arouses him just as much on it.

-

Jeongin stirs, sensing the sunlight filtering through the blinds. His eyes flutter open, and for a second, he’s disoriented—until he realizes he’s still at your place. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. Turning his head, he sees your side of the bed empty, a small reminder that you had left early for work, as you’d mentioned last night.

He should be grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with the awkward morning after—small talk, avoiding eye contact—but something nags at him. Maybe it's the quietness of your absence, a hollow feeling he can’t quite place.

Jeongin gets up, slipping on his clothes and heading to the living room to grab his bag. He notices your books and laptop still scattered across the dining table, where you'd been working last night. But the food he brought is gone, an empty container in its place.

Later that day, he enters the shared office at the hospital, finding you lying on the sofa, fast asleep, the fatigue evident in the way your body is curled up under a blanket that drapes down the floor.

He knows you’ve had a long morning with a surgery, maybe even more work after that so as a professional courtesy, he quietly adjusts the blanket over your sleeping form, making sure you’re comfortable before moving silently to his desk.

For a while, he successfully works in peace, checking emails and looking over his schedule without waking you. But the silence shatters when the door suddenly swings open.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Felix says, freezing when he sees you stirring awake. “I didn’t know you were—”

“It’s okay,” you croak, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, still drowsy. “It’s time for me to wake up anyway.”

Felix walks in, flashing a smile at Jeongin when he walks past his desk. He sits on your office chair and quickly offer you one of the drinks with a sheepish smile.

“I brought us food,” he announces, setting a bag down on the table. You take the coffee with a grateful gasp, sipping it as though it's bringing you back to life.

“Feeling better already?” Felix teases, watching as you take another long sip.

You nod with a small smile. “Much better.”

Felix turns to Jeongin, a friendly smile on his face. “Dr. Yang, please join us. I brought enough for the three of us.”

Jeongin glances at you, sensing the tension, knowing how you both are. He can see you’re not exactly eager for his company, and he has work waiting for him.

With a thin, polite smile, he declines. “I’m sorry, but I have to check on my patients.”

“Okay,” Felix says, nodding in understanding.

But just as Jeongin thinks the conversation is over, Felix calls back with a playful grin, “Next time, you don’t get to refuse.”

Jeongin’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but as he walks out, he can’t help but glance back at you, sitting with Felix, looking more comfortable with him than Jeongin’s seen you in a long time.

-

Jeongin's eyes follow you across the room as you chat with Felix, your conversation too friendly for his liking. The two of you have been growing closer with each passing day, and it’s starting to grate on his nerves. He knows what everyone else is thinking—that he's jealous because you're spending time with the new hospital director. But it's deeper than that. He isn’t just annoyed at Felix; it’s you, too. He doesn't like seeing you laughing and being comfortable with someone who isn't him.

Jeongin tries to shake it off, throwing himself into his work, but it's impossible to ignore how often Felix finds a way to be around you. When Felix touches your arm casually during a conversation, something snaps inside Jeongin.

Later that day, the two of you are assigned to the same case, but the tension is palpable. You're standing on opposite sides of the patient’s bed, discussing the best treatment option when the argument starts.

"I think we need to go with a more conservative approach," you insist, your voice sharp, clearly not in the mood to back down.

Jeongin scoffs, shaking his head. "Conservative? This is an emergency. We don’t have time to wait around!"

"And rushing into surgery without considering alternatives could be reckless. Are you even thinking this through?" You argue, insisting that he thinks all these options through.

The nurses and doctors in the room glance at each other, exchanging awkward looks. They’re used to seeing the two of you argue, but today feels different. The tension is thicker, and no one dares intervene.

The argument escalates as you both exit the emergency room, the heated words continuing to fly between you. Neither of you backs down until you're alone in a narrow hallway near the storage closets.

"You never listen to anyone, do you?" you snap, your voice low and laced with frustration.

"And you never stop acting like you’re always right," Jeongin retorts, stepping closer to you, his eyes burning with unspoken frustration—frustration that’s been building not just over the patient but everything between the two of you.

Without thinking, the two of you back into the nearest closet. The door closes behind you, and before you can say another word, Jeongin pulls you to him. The next second, his lips are on yours, the argument forgotten as the two of you collide in a desperate, breathless kiss.

The cramped space of the closet doesn’t stop either of you from tearing into each other. His hands are already under your coat, fingers brushing your skin, while you tug at his scrubs, wanting more.

It's a dangerous game you're playing—this secret, reckless connection between the two of you—but right now, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You don’t need words. You both know how this ends.

-

Jeongin’s hands grip your hips tightly, his thrusts deep and relentless, but there’s something off. The usual fire between you two, the mix of anger and lust that always brings you back to each other, is there, but it feels different—colder, harsher.

You try to steady your breath, but Jeongin’s movements are growing more erratic. It’s almost as if he’s punishing you, though you don’t know why.

Then, suddenly, he pulls back just slightly, just enough to look down at you. His eyes are darker than usual, and there’s something new in them—a flicker of doubt, maybe even insecurity.

“You’ve been... busy lately,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Not around much. Guess you’re spending time with the director now, huh?”

The question stuns you for a second. His tone is cool, but there’s an edge to it. Jeongin never talks like this, not when you’re in bed—or, well, in a closet like now. Heck! He doesn't even talk at all.

“What?” you manage to say, confused and still trying to catch your breath.

He lets out a small, sharp laugh, but it feels wrong—forced. “Just saying. You’ve been with him a lot lately.”

His thrusts slow, almost like he’s making a point, and it’s more uncomfortable than pleasurable now. “Guess you’ve found someone else to keep you company.”

The words hit harder than his body does, and it’s not the physical tension that bothers you—it’s his tone, his insinuations.

You push against his chest, trying to get him to stop, to look at you properly, “What are you trying to say?" you ask, more firmly now.

A bitter scoff escaping his lips. “Sure. You’re just spending all that extra time with him for fun, right?”

The accusation is clear now. He’s not just upset; he sounds like he's... jealous, even if he won’t admit it outright. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer, but it doesn’t feel good anymore. It feels like he’s trying to prove something—to himself or to you, you’re not sure.

“I’m not sleeping with him if that's what you're asking,” you say, pushing back again, harder this time. You need him to hear you, to actually listen.

For a moment, he freezes. His gaze locks with yours, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. He wants to believe you, but the jealousy still lingers in his expression, even as his grip softens slightly. He lowers his gaze, shaking his head as if he’s trying to shake off whatever is gnawing at him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “You do what you want.”

But you can feel it—it does matter to him. He just won’t admit it. The tension in his body tells you more than his words ever could.

The air between you and Jeongin hangs thick with unspoken words, tension tightening every second. His eyes avoid yours, and you're just about to try and say something—anything to cut through this haze—when a shrill ring echoes from your coat pocket.

The sound slices through the moment, making both of you freeze. Your phone. You quickly reach for it, glancing at the screen as you slip out of Jeongin’s grip. The caller ID shows the hospital’s emergency line. Instinct takes over.

“Hello?” you answer, already feeling the shift from personal to professional.

The voice on the other end is urgent. “Doctor, we’ve got a mass casualty event coming in. Multiple vehicle collision on the highway—victims en route. We need you in the ER as soon as possible.”

You swallow, pushing the knot of emotions down. "I’ll be there in five."

Hanging up, you slide the phone back into your coat pocket and look at Jeongin, whose expression has already shifted into the same clinical mask. His jaw tightens slightly, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He knows what the call means.

“We have to go,” you say, breaking the silence. You grab your coat, quickly throwing it on.

Jeongin nods, his face unreadable now. “Yeah. I figured.”

There’s a moment where neither of you moves, standing in the cramped closet, the weight of unfinished business hanging between you. But the urgency of the call pushes it all aside. You decide to be the first to leave, stepping toward the door, pausing briefly, almost waiting for him to say something. Maybe to clear the air or soften whatever this was.

But Jeongin stays silent.

“I’ll see you in the ER,” you say, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hall.

-

The emergency room has quieted significantly after the initial rush, the chaos giving way to a somber stillness.

You check on the elderly couple occupying one of the beds in the ER. The husband is lying on the bed, looking weak but stable, while his wife holds his hand, worry etched on her face.

"Are you still having difficulty breathing?" you ask with a polite smile.

"It's gotten a lot better now," he answers, giving a weak smile.

"That’s good to hear," you reply, glancing at the monitor for his health status.

"Oh, how things turned out," he says with a sigh, "we were just on our way to our little cabin to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary."

You can’t help but smile at the shared information. "You've been married for forty years?"

"Yes," he confirms, his smile brightening his pale face.

"Stop it," his wife gently scolds, patting his arm for oversharing. "Just let the doctor do her job."

You sheepishly smile, pulling your stethoscope around your neck. "Take a deep breath for me," you instruct.

You place the stethoscope against his chest, listening carefully. His breathing sounds better, more stable. Still, you decide it’s best to put more oxygen in his system.

"Let’s get you some more oxygen through respiratory treatment," you suggest.

With him settled, you turn your attention to his wife. "How about you? Are you hurt? Are you experiencing any pain?"

"No, no," she says, shaking her head. "But my heart is beating so fast."

"May I have your hand?" you ask, gently taking it to check her pulse. It’s elevated, her heart rate quick and uneven.

"You do have a rapid pulse," you confirm, handing her back her hand. "Do you feel any heaviness in your chest or pain anywhere else?"

She waves you off with a shy smile. "I think it’s just shock. Please, focus on my husband."

You warn her nonetheless. "Please tell me if you start feeling anything unusual."

"Of course. Thank you, doctor," she says gratefully, echoed by her husband.

You leave them to rest, taking one last glance at them. The wife rests her head on her husband’s arm, their hands still intertwined. It’s a sweet sight, and for a moment, it feels like everything might be okay. But that moment doesn’t last long.

A nurse calls out to you. "Doctor, patient on bed eight went into arrest."

Without hesitation, you dash to the bed, assuming it’s the husband. But when you get there, it’s his wife—unresponsive, her husband frantically calling her name.

"Doctor, please, she’s not breathing," he cries, his voice trembling.

You act fast, checking her pulse—weak, barely there. "No pulse, unresponsive. I need her on a bed, now!" you shout, nurses rushing to help move her.

As soon as she’s laid on the bed, you rip open her shirt, connecting her to the monitor. "Prepare for intubation," you order, before jumping onto the bed to start chest compressions.

The room is tense as you pump her chest, determined to bring her back. "Get the defibrillator, now!" you yell between compressions, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead.

But then, the husband’s voice cuts through the urgency. "Doctor, stop!"

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. You keep pressing down on her chest, counting in your head, willing her heart to start again.

But his voice grows louder. "Doctor! Please, stop!"

"What?" You accidentally snap and looking at him in disbelief. You’re trying to save her—why would he want you to stop?

He steps closer, his face pale with grief. "We decided to do it. We signed the papers. A DNR. We don’t want resuscitation."

A Do Not Resuscitate order. As a doctor, you know what it means and you should respect the patient’s wish but you can't bring yourself to do it. You glance at the nurses, who nod in understanding. You should stop, but everything in you screams to keep trying, to save her.

"Sir, please—" you begin, your voice shaking, refusing to stop. Refusing to fail.

"It’s okay," he whispers, placing a hand on yours. "It’s what she wanted."

With a heavy sigh, you stop the compressions and step down from the bed. As soon as you let go, the monitor flatlines, the piercing sound filling the somber stillness in the room.

The husband pulls a chair next to her bed, taking her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Happy anniversary, my love," he whispers.

You stand there, frozen, tears welling in your eyes. You feel tired and angry and... helpless.

A nurse gently touches your elbow and softly mutters, "Doctor, we need to call it."

You glance at the digital clock on the wall, aware of the time but you can't bring yourself to say it. After a while, you manage to finally announce with a trembling voice, "Time of death: 22:02 p.m."

The moment the words leave your lips, you turn and walk out of the ER, needing air, needing space. You find your way to the balcony, the cold night air hitting your face as you pace back and forth, trying to process everything. The helplessness, the failure—it all crashes down on you.

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Jeongin turns you around and pulls you into his arms, and that’s when you break. You sob into his chest, the weight of everything spilling out as he holds you tightly.

"It’s okay," he murmurs softly, his hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing circles on your back. "You’re okay."

Gosh! You want to believe him, but it never feels okay. Death never feels okay.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, breaking the moment. You pull away from Jeongin, checking the screen. It’s a call for work. You reject it, wiping your tears away, trying to compose yourself.

"I have to get back," you croak, your voice barely steady.

Jeongin nods, watching as you force yourself to wipe your cheeks and steel yourself for the rest of the night. You have to keep going, no matter how much it hurts. With one last deep breath, you head back inside, ready to face whatever comes next.

-

It’s an exceptionally peaceful afternoon at the ER. Jeongin leans on the nurse station, typing away at the computer as he reviews his patient's health records. In the distance, he catches sight of you speaking to one of the patients.

"I checked your blood test, and it came out well," you announce to the elderly woman lying in the bed.

"Oh, what a relief!" The lady clasps her chest, the worry on her face melting away in a second.

"Since there's nothing you need to worry about, you can go home tonight," you add with a small smile.

"Thank you, doctor!" The lady beams at you, gratitude in her wide grin.

"The nurse will come by shortly to remove the IV and provide you with your prescription," you inform her before starting to step away.

But then, the lady grabs your hand unexpectedly. "Doctor, you’re not married, are you?" she asks, eyes twinkling with a mischievous curiosity.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow, watching your expression shift into that familiar, polite awkwardness.

You give a small, tight-lipped smile. "No, I’m not."

"My son here..." she pats her son’s shoulder, clearly proud, "he’s still single too. I think the two of you would—"

"Mom!" The son groans, his face flushing red as he glares at his mother.

"What? I think she’s the same age as you," she insists, smiling brightly at you, undeterred.

"You can’t just do that," the son mutters in embarrassment.

"He works at a start-up company," the woman continues, trying to sell her son like a prized item. "He makes—"

"Doctor, you can ignore my mother," the son quickly interjects, his eyes awkwardly avoiding yours. "But thank you for your help."

You offer a polite nod, trying not to laugh at the awkwardness. "Please take care of yourself, ma'am," you say gently, making a graceful exit.

As you walk back to the nurse station, you take the seat next to Jeongin to input some notes into the system. You sign the discharge form and tuck the pen back into your coat pocket.

"I think that's it. I’m done for the day," you mention.

For a second, Jeongin thinks you're talking to him, but then you address the nurses gathered nearby.

"Have a great night, everyone," you say before leaving the station with your hands deep in your coat pockets.

Jeongin watches you leave, something unsettling nagging at him. He can't quite place it. Maybe it's the conversation from earlier in the storage closet that lingers in the back of his mind. Or maybe it’s the strange peace that’s settled between the two of you today, the lack of bickering or tension. It feels... off.

The two of you rarely talk about anything beyond work. You’ve both learned how to be civil by not saying much at all. But tonight, Jeongin senses there’s more to it, though he brushes the thought away, convincing himself it’s best to let things stay as they are.

Later, as he heads to the office to change, he finds you already there, seated on the sofa and scrolling through your phone. You’ve changed out of your scrubs and into casual clothes, but you glance up when you hear him enter.

"Aren’t you going home?" Jeongin asks casually as he drops into his chair.

"I was waiting for you," you respond simply.

Something stirs in his chest, but he keeps his face neutral. "Why?"

"I figured we could have dinner together," you reply, as if it’s no big deal—like it’s not the first time you’ve ever asked him for something beyond work.

Jeongin raises a brow, suspicion lacing his tone. "What’s the occasion?"

"Why? We can’t have dinner together?" You challenge him, deflecting his question.

Jeongin sees this as an opening to address the unresolved tension between you, but he plays it cool, pretending to think over your offer just to make you wait.

"Okay," he finally agrees.

You stand, grabbing your bag from your desk. "I’ll be waiting in my car," you say, already moving toward the door, the usual privacy shield between the two of you slipping back into place.

Jeongin watches you leave, a faint smile tugging at his lips. There you are—the guarded, reserved you he knows so well, unwilling to be seen with him in any context outside of work. But there’s something about it that makes him smile, a sign that maybe, just maybe, you're starting to warm up to him after all.

-

The silence in the car is almost unbearable. Jeongin taps his fingers lightly against his knee, trying to think of something—anything—to say. You’re the one driving, which leaves him with nothing to do but sit and awkwardly glance out the window. Small talk has never been his strong suit, and right now, it feels like the weight of everything unsaid between you is pressing down on him.

"So... dinner, huh?" Jeongin mumbles, feeling awkward as he tries to break the quiet.

"Yeah." Your response is short, almost too casual, but you don’t elaborate.

Jeongin notices you haven’t mentioned where the idea for dinner came from. Not that he minds—it’s just… unexpected. He rests an arm against the window as he glances out at the city lights passing by.

There’s a weight in his chest he hasn’t quite figured out. He wonders if it’s because of the conversation you two didn’t finish in the closet or the fact that things between you feel a little off lately.

"So… where did you find this place?" he asks, trying to push past the awkwardness. He doesn’t even know what restaurant you’re heading to, but he feels like he should say something else.

"A friend recommended it," you reply, again leaving little room for more conversation.

Jeongin shifts in his seat, feeling every second stretch out. He’s not used to this—the awkwardness between you. There was a time when your conversations flowed effortlessly, even if they were mostly about work. Now, every word feels like it has a double meaning, every pause filled with things neither of you are willing to say.

When you finally pull up to the restaurant, Jeongin is relieved to have something else to focus on. He watches as you park the car, then unbuckle his seatbelt and step out into the cool evening air. He follows you inside, glancing around the cozy, dimly lit space.

The atmosphere is intimate, not exactly what he was expecting, but maybe this could work. Maybe it’s the kind of setting where you could finally talk. But as soon as you turn the corner toward your reserved table, Jeongin feels his stomach drop.

Felix is already there. He’s seated at the table, smiling brightly like this is completely normal, like he’s supposed to be there.

Jeongin’s steps falter for a moment, shock hitting him first, followed by a wave of disappointment that sinks deeper than he wants to admit. He thought this dinner would be just the two of you.

"Hey!" Felix greets, waving both of you over. His energy is infectious, but it feels entirely misplaced in this moment. "Glad you two could make it!"

Jeongin’s gaze flickers to you, waiting for an explanation. Did you know Felix would be here? Of course you did. The pieces click into place, and disappointment creeps in. You didn’t tell him because you knew he wouldn’t have come if you did. He tries not to let it show, but it stings. He thought it’d just be the two of you tonight, that maybe you’d get a chance to talk.

"You didn’t say Felix invited us," Jeongin says quietly, trying to keep his tone neutral, though a flicker of something bitter curls inside him.

You glance at him, then shrug lightly. "Figured you wouldn’t come if I told you."

He clenches his jaw, forcing a small, tight smile. You’re right. He wouldn’t have. But now that he’s here, it feels like everything he was hoping to get out of this dinner has been thrown off course.

Felix beams at both of you, completely unaware of the tension settling between you and Jeongin. "Come on, sit down! I already ordered drinks."

Jeongin slides into his seat, feeling more deflated than before. Instead of a quiet dinner, where maybe—just maybe—he could have figured out what’s been going on between you two, he now has Felix sitting across from him. He can’t even be mad at Felix; it’s not his fault. But the disappointment still weighs heavy, gnawing at the back of his mind.

"So," Felix starts, completely oblivious, "what should we order for dinner?"

-

Jeongin feels the weight of being the third wheel settle over him like a suffocating blanket as the dinner progresses.

Felix, sitting across from him, effortlessly commands your attention. You both laugh about some story from work, and Jeongin just sits there, chewing absentmindedly on his food, nodding when needed but otherwise silent.

It’s not like he hates Felix—not even close. But tonight, with the way things are playing out, he can’t help feeling a little out of place.

Felix turns to Jeongin, probably noticing his silence, and asks, “So, Jeongin, how’ve things been at the hospital? Busy?”

Jeongin blinks, caught off guard. He doesn’t particularly feel like talking, so he mutters, “Yeah, busy.”

Felix waits a beat, expecting more, but when Jeongin doesn’t continue, Felix’s gaze flickers to you as if asking for help. You don’t miss a beat, jumping in seamlessly.

"He’s been pulling back-to-back shifts," you explain, glancing at Jeongin as you speak. "Somehow still manages to stay sharp during surgeries. We were just handling a rough case earlier, actually."

Jeongin freezes, surprised by how easily you talk about his work. You even mention the kind of stuff he doesn’t usually share, not because he’s hiding it, but because he didn’t think you’d notice. But you do.

It’s a strange feeling—being known like this. He tries to brush it off, but it stays with him, lingering in his chest.

Felix nods along, smiling warmly. "That’s impressive. I’ve heard you’re pretty sharp in the OR."

Jeongin shrugs, keeping his reply short again. "Just doing my job."

Once more, the conversation starts slipping away from him, with you and Felix talking like old friends. Jeongin isn’t sure if it’s because Felix is easy to talk to, or if it’s just that the two of you seem to have this natural flow. Either way, Jeongin feels more like a spectator than a participant.

“Jeongin, you’re pretty athletic too, right?” Felix asks after a pause, trying to loop him back into the conversation.

“Yeah. A bit,” Jeongin answers, glancing at his plate. He’s tempted to shut down completely, but something in the way Felix keeps trying to engage him makes him feel slightly guilty.

Still, it’s hard to focus when Felix’s attention keeps drifting back to you. Every joke, every story feels like another reminder of how well you and Felix click. And that doesn’t sit well with him.

You’re both laughing at something Felix said, and Jeongin’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. He’s tempted—so tempted—to say something. Maybe drop a line about how you and Felix don’t match, or make some sarcastic comment about Felix’s efforts to befriend him. But he holds back. It wouldn’t be right.

Just as Jeongin feels the tension boiling in his chest, your phone buzzes on the table. You glance at the screen, your brows furrowing.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” you say, standing up and excusing yourself. "I’ll be back in a minute."

Jeongin watches you leave, his thoughts racing. Alone with Felix, he feels exposed. There’s no buffer now, and he’s not sure if he can handle more forced conversation.

Felix, still smiling, leans back in his chair. “So... the two of you. What’s the story there?” His tone is casual, but Jeongin can sense there’s more to the question.

Jeongin’s grip on his fork tightens, and for a second, he considers telling Felix exactly how he feels. About the tension, the confusion, the frustration of trying to figure out what the hell is going on between the two of you. But instead, he stays silent.

Felix chuckles lightly, mistaking Jeongin’s silence for shyness. “I can see that the two of you are close.”

Jeongin finally meets Felix’s eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. He’s tempted to say something—anything—to throw Felix off.

Maybe something along the lines of, *You two don’t even look good together*. But he knows it’s pointless. He doesn’t even know what kind of relationship *he* has with you, let alone how you and Felix fit into the picture.

Before Jeongin can say anything, you come back to the table, phone still in hand, looking a little flustered.

“I’ve got to head back to the hospital,” you announce, already grabbing your things. “Emergency surgery. I’m really sorry.”

Felix waves it off with a grin. “Don’t worry about it. Go save some lives.”

Jeongin’s gaze flickers to you, a sudden pang of disappointment hitting him. Not because you’re leaving, but because he thought this dinner—awkward as it was—might have been a chance to get somewhere.

You shoot Jeongin an apologetic look. "Please, continue with the dinner!"

Before he can respond, you’re already gone, rushing out of the restaurant and leaving him alone with Felix.

-

Since Jeongin rode with you earlier, and Felix insisted on giving him a lift home, Jeongin finds himself with no other option but to accept the offer. He slides into the passenger seat, the quiet hum of the car engine filling the space.

"So, where do you live?" Felix asks, his deep voice carrying easily in the enclosed space.

"Uh... actually, can you drop me off at the hospital? I need to get my car," he replies, keeping his tone polite. After all, Felix is the director of the hospital, and it’s best to maintain a sense of professionalism.

Felix gives him a kind smile, his eyes briefly flicking from the road to Jeongin. "It’s fine, I can drive you home. You can always pick up your car tomorrow."

Jeongin’s jaw tightens slightly. Something about Felix always makes it hard to refuse, no matter how much Jeongin wants to. "It’s just that I... I need to grab something from my car," he lies, feeling the tension creep up his spine.

Felix eyes him for a moment, then nods slowly. "Alright. I’ll take you to the hospital."

They drive in relative silence, the weight of Jeongin’s unease hanging between them. When they finally reach the hospital entrance, Jeongin quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door.

"Thanks again. For the dinner... and the ride," Jeongin says, forcing a smile as he steps out.

Felix waves it off with a warm smile of his own. "Please, don’t mention it."

That smile, so genuine, makes Jeongin feel worse for how bitter he had been during dinner. He watches as Felix’s car pulls away, the taillights fading into the distance before he turns and heads inside.

At the nurse’s station, Jeongin gathers the information he needs, quietly asking for your whereabouts. As soon as he hears you're in the operating room, he makes his way to the observational deck of OR 2.

From behind the glass, Jeongin watches you work. You're in the middle of a liver transplant, your movements precise, focused, and deliberate. It's clear that your approach to surgery differs from his. While Jeongin relies on his instincts, going with his gut and adjusting as the situation unfolds, you’re methodical—each step planned and calculated, every possible complication considered before it even happens.

Yet, despite these differences, Jeongin knows that you share the same ultimate goal: saving lives. It’s what both of you swore to do when you took the Hippocratic oath. And even though your methods diverge, your dedication is something Jeongin has always admired.

Looking down from the observational deck, Jeongin enjoys watching you like this—in your element, calm and collected. Here, in the operating room, it’s like you belong, completely immersed in the task at hand, leaving no room for error.

He watches as you instruct your team, your focus unwavering, and he feels a pang in his chest. He likes that you give everything to your work, pouring yourself into every surgery as if it’s the only thing that matters in the world. But he hates how you don’t give yourself that same care, how you don’t seem to see just how incredible you are, how all the lives you've saved are a testament to your brilliance.

Jeongin leans back, his arms crossed over his chest, a quiet smile playing on his lips. He likes that he knows someone as dedicated as you, someone who can match him in passion and skill. But more than that, he likes you. And that’s something he’s been trying to come to terms with for a while now.

-

It’s always a relief to know the operation went well, but there’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of seeing it go exactly as you anticipated. You peel off your gloves, discard the mask, and shed the surgical scrubs, taking a moment to make yourself presentable before facing the patient’s family. They’re waiting for you, their eyes full of worry and hope.

"The operation went well," you tell them immediately, knowing it’s what they need to hear most.

One of them nearly buckles with relief, her knees giving way as she clutches her chest. "Oh, goodness..."

You keep your tone calm but clear as you explain further, "We’ll be monitoring closely to ensure the body accepts the transplant, but so far, everything looks good."

"Thank you so much, doctor!" another family member exclaims, gripping your hand tightly, her gratitude palpable.

"You shouldn’t thank me. You should be thanking the donor." you say gently, reminding them of where their gratefulness should be delivered to.

With that, you excuse yourself and head back inside, the echoes of their thanks fading behind you. Once you reach the locker room, you allow yourself a moment to decompress. Sitting on the bench, you let your body relax, the weight of the day finally starting to lift from your shoulders.

After taking the time to unwind, you wash up and change into fresh scrubs. It’s late, too late to head home, so you decide to spend the night in your office.

When you enter, you’re surprised to find Jeongin sitting on the sofa. The room is dim, the only light coming from the small lamp on your desk. He’s sitting there quietly, his face partially hidden in the shadows.

"Why are you here?" you ask as you move closer and sit down beside him on the couch.

"I just want to," he replies, his tone casual, as if that’s all the explanation you need. Typical Jeongin.

You open a bottle of water and take a long sip, letting the silence stretch for a moment.

"How was the rest of the dinner?" you ask, trying to fill the quiet.

"It was alright," he says vaguely, and it’s just like him to be frustratingly noncommittal. It bothers you a little, but you’ve grown used to it by now.

"He likes you, you know," you say, wanting to clear up any misunderstanding about the dinner with Felix.

Jeongin frowns, clearly confused. "Who?"

"Felix," you answer, watching his expression carefully.

"If he likes me, he should raise my salary and give me a new car," Jeongin jokes, and you can’t help but laugh at his obliviousness. He doesn’t see the difference between being someone’s favorite colleague and being their romantic interest.

You take another sip of water, then put the cap back on the bottle and set it aside. "He likes you as in he wants to date you."

That seems to catch him off guard. He shifts uncomfortably on the couch, clearly trying to process the information.

"But I don’t like him," he says after a long pause, his voice colder than you expect.

"Why?" you ask, turning to look at him. "He’s a great guy."

His eyes meet yours in the dim light, dark and unreadable. He’s quiet for a moment, and then, in a low voice, he says, "Because he’s not you."

The words hit you harder than you expect, lingering in the quiet room like a confession you weren’t prepared to hear.

-

Jeongin doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Felix wasn’t interested in you or uneasy at the idea that Felix wants to date him. Either way, the misunderstanding settles heavily on him, and now that everything is clear, it feels like the right time to speak his truth. He knows it could change things between you, but he’s never been one to hold back when something matters.

"But I don’t like him," Jeongin states, his voice firm, filled with certainty.

"Why? He’s a great guy," you reply, seemingly unaware of the tension in his eyes, the kind of tension that only exists when someone is holding something back.

"Because he’s not you," he finally reveals, the words falling from his lips before he has a chance to second-guess them.

Your eyes lock with his, and instead of brushing it off or retreating, you hold his gaze, searching. You’re looking for any hint that he’s just toying with you, but there’s nothing in his eyes except sincerity.

"I like you," Jeongin admits, his voice softer now, vulnerable. He keeps his eyes on you, giving you the chance to look right into him, to see that he means every word.

"And what are you going to do about it?" you challenge, your voice edged with doubt. "We’re not exactly what people call a match made in heaven."

You laugh, but it’s a bitter sound as you add, "a match made in hell more like."

Jeongin shakes his head, brushing away your cynicism like it doesn’t matter to him in the slightest.

"I don’t care what people think," he says, his voice filled with the quiet confidence that defines him. He never has cared about others' opinions, especially not now, when something real is at stake.

Before you can say anything else, before you can retreat back into doubt or second-guess his intentions, he cups your face in his hand and pulls you toward him. His lips meet yours in a kiss that leaves no room for misinterpretation. It’s not rushed, not hesitant—just honest, as if he’s pouring every unspoken word into that moment. If words weren’t enough to convince you, maybe this will.

-

The room is dim, shadows pooling around the edges, but the quiet has dissolved into a symphony of shared moans and the sound of skin meeting skin.

Your naked bodies are entwined on the sofa, Jeongin’s weight pressing you firmly beneath him. Your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer with each steady thrust.

His movements are deliberate, each one more intense than the last, as if he’s letting you know with his body that every touch, every motion, has meaning behind it. His lips are locked onto yours, claiming you with kisses that steal your breath, each one deep and consuming.

The occasional moan escapes from you, slipping into his mouth between kisses, but it’s not just the physical that overwhelms you this time. It’s the rawness, the intensity, the vulnerability.

This is more than just lust, more than just pleasure—this feels personal, like every inch of him is offering something deeper.

It becomes too much, emotions stirring within you in ways you can’t control. You need more than just the moment—you need certainty. Your hand moves to his chest, gently pressing him back.

"Jeongin, I want you," you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He halts, his brow furrowed, puzzled by your words. You’re having him right now, aren’t you? His breath is shallow as he props himself up, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"And I want you," he mutters back, bracing himself against the sofa, trying to make sense of the moment.

You push him a little further, enough that his body reluctantly pulls out of yours. "If you want me..." you whisper, your fingers wrapping around the base of the condom, peeling it away with slow intent until it snaps. You look into his eyes, guiding him back toward you, but this time, without any lay of protection between you.

"... Then I want you to show me," you continue, bringing him to your entrance once more, your body inviting him back inside, bare and exposed.

His cock sinks into you, filling you completely, and a shudder courses through both of you as you take him all in. You grip his shoulders, pulling him down until your bodies are flush together again, the heat between you almost unbearable.

You kiss him hastily, dragging your lips to his ear, whispering words that send a pulse of need through him, "Cum inside me. Claim me. Make me yours."

There’s a shift in Jeongin then, something both primal and tender. He knows what this means, the weight of responsibility, the choice he’s making. But more than anything, he’s ready—ready for you, for this, for wherever this takes him.

His lips brush against yours, lingering for a moment before he pulls back just enough to say, "You’re already mine."

And then he’s moving again, thrusting into you with more conviction, more purpose, every stroke filled with the warmth of his feelings for you. This isn’t just about lust or release—this is him claiming you, and in turn, letting himself be claimed by you.

As he continues, his pace growing more fervent, you can feel the connection deepening, the lines between colleagues, friends, and now lovers, blurring into something more.

Jeongin has you now, in every way he’s ever wanted, and nothing feels more right.

-

The tension in the room is palpable as Jeongin stalks toward you, eyes narrowed in frustration. You can see the confusion on the faces of the nurses and residents around you, everyone wondering why the two of you can’t ever seem to get along. If only they knew.

"Next time, think before you act," Jeongin snaps, arms crossed over his chest as he stares you down. "You’re not the only doctor here."

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "I’ll try, but not all of us can make every decision like you, Doctor Perfect."

There’s an audible gasp from one of the nurses, and you feel the tension in the room skyrocket. But instead of getting angrier, you catch the slightest smirk on Jeongin’s lips, just for you.

He steps closer, his voice lowering just enough that only you can hear. "You’re pushing it," he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing.

You glance up at him, your heart racing. "And you love it," you say under your breath.

The others in the room think you’re at each other’s throats again, but beneath the surface, your teasing exchanges carry a completely different meaning. Jeongin’s eyes flash with that familiar mix of frustration and something else, something that always leaves you feeling on edge.

"You keep acting like this, and people are going to start thinking I actually hate you," he says, his voice low but filled with amusement.

"Maybe you do," you shoot back, but your lips twitch as if fighting a smile.

The argument seems heated enough to the others, but you know the truth. This is just a game, one you’ve both gotten dangerously good at. To the outside world, you’re bitter colleagues who can’t agree on anything. But in private…

Jeongin steps even closer, brushing past you as if he’s done with the conversation. His fingers briefly graze your hand, and your heart skips a beat. As he walks away, his voice drops so low it sends a shiver down your spine.

"Meet me in the supply closet in five."

Your pulse quickens, and as he leaves the room, you can’t help but smirk. Everyone else in the room is left awkwardly silent, confused by the ongoing tension, while you’re counting the minutes until you can slip away.

Soon enough, you find each other in the enclosed space. The tension from earlier still clings to the air, but there’s an underlying current of something else now—something electric.

"You know," Jeongin says, standing so close facing you, "for two people who supposedly can’t stand each other, we end up in situations like this a lot."

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight between you. "Maybe we’re just bad at pretending."

He smirks, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "Or maybe we’re just bad at staying away."

There’s a charged silence, the kind that always seems to follow you both around—like you’re constantly on the verge of either fighting or… something else.

"You frustrate me," you admit, meeting his gaze head-on.

Jeongin chuckles, stepping closer. "The feeling’s mutual."

But there’s no malice in his voice, just something warmer, something deeper. His foxy eyes, usually sharp and guarded, soften just a little as he looks at you. You can tell he’s thinking, deciding whether to break the unspoken rules you’ve both built around this secret.

"Why do we keep doing this?" you ask, your voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

Jeongin steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

"Because we don’t know how to stop," he says softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. His touch is gentle, contrasting with the fiery arguments and clashing wills that define so much of your time together.

"Jeongin…" you murmur, but whatever you were going to say gets lost as his lips press against yours.

The kiss is slow at first, almost testing, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. It’s not rushed or frantic, but it’s full of everything that’s been bubbling beneath the surface for so long—the frustration, the tension, the unspoken feelings.

His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. But you’re not going anywhere. Not now.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.

"We’re a mess," he mutters, but there’s a smile on his lips, a warmth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

"Yeah," you agree, your voice soft but teasing. "But we work, don’t we?"

Jeongin chuckles, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Somehow, we do."

You smile, pulling him down for another kiss, this one more playful, as if to remind him that no matter how many arguments or misunderstandings there are, you always come back to this—to each other.

"You know," you murmur against his lips, "we’re going to keep arguing in front of everyone."

Jeongin laughs, his breath warm against your skin. "Let them think what they want," he whispers, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "They’ll never know."

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing there in the quiet. No arguments, no pretense. Just you, Jeongin, and the unspoken understanding that whatever this is between you—it’s real. Messy, complicated, and maybe even a little dysfunctional. But it’s yours.

And maybe that’s enough.

-

Support my works by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Scars

Scars - marks created during the healing of damage to the skin or tissues.

After skin or tissue is wounded, the body releases collagen to mend the damage.

Collagen, a protein, reattaches the damaged skin.

As the wound heals, a temporary crust forms and covers it. The crust is a scab that protects the damaged area.

Scarring is the natural process of repairing an open wound, injury, surgical incision, or other conditions like acne.

Initially, a scar is red - blood vessels are created while the body forms scar tissue.

The damaged area is covered by a protective scab that eventually falls off.

The scar may become brown or pink.

It generally fades over time and becomes less visible.

The healing process takes from one year to 18 months. Some scars heal naturally. Other scars require additional treatment.

Hypertophic Scars and Keloids

Caused by an over-active healing process.

This produces an excessive amount of collagen at the wound site.

Both types of scars are red, thick, and raised above the wound.

Hypertophic scars do not extend beyond the wound site. The scar may itch and usually heals without professional treatment in about a year.

Keloids are large scars that could form after surgery, an injury, burn, or body piercing. This scarring often occurs on the ear lobe or chest.

Sometimes keloids develop spontaneously.

The keloid is raised, rigid, and grows beyond the wound. It can continue to grow.

Scars are generally harmless, but may itch or feel tender.

In addition, a person may feel self-conscious about the scar’s appearance.

Contracture Scars

Caused by the loss of a large section of skin due to burns or other injury.

The scar contracts or tightens around the wound.

This contraction could impact a person’s mobility.

If the scar deepens, it could affect muscles and nerves.

Acne Scars

May appear after the severe stage of acne, a skin condition usually caused by hormonal changes.

The inflammatory condition is seen in adolescence, but acne can occur later in life.

Severe acne is triggered by clogged pores that cause bacteria to multiply.

It occurs more frequently in adolescent boys than girls.

If the acne is not treated, there could be scarring.

The types of scars include pit-like pockmarks.

TREATMENT

A scar is permanent and cannot be completely removed.

However, treatment can alter a scar’s appearance.

Procedures range from the application of over-the-counter ointment to surgery.

Scar treatment should start after an injury because wound care affects scarring.

The wound should be cleaned and covered.

Picking at the scab breaks the collagen and allows germs to enter the wound.

Time also helps with healing.

Scars become smaller, and the color fades.

However, additional treatment is required for some scars.

While some procedures are more effective for keloids and hypertrophic scars, the procedure for acne scars is based on the type of scarring.

Treatment for burn scars may include skin grafts surgery.

Surgery - "scar revision"; the procedure modifies the scar’s appearance.

Steroid Injections - a singular form of treatment for scars, particularly keloid and hypertophic scars. Corticosteroids are an anti-inflammatory drug that helps to lessen the scar’s red color and thickness. The treatment flattens the scar and helps with itching.

Cyrosurgery - involves the freezing of freezes tissue with a probe containing nitrous oxide. It is used to modify scars, especially keloid and hypertrophic scars.

Dermabrasion - the removal of a layer of the skin’s surface. Scars including those caused by acne are smoothed or sanded by an instrument.

Silicone gel sheets - an be purchased over-the-counter. The sheets are worn over the scar area to seal moisture. The treatment helps with itching and to reduce scar thickness and color.

Alternate methods - of treating scars range from applying Vitamin E to massaging the skin. People should consult with a doctor or other healthcare professional before starting treatment involving contact with the scarred area. These procedures include applying obtained Vitamin E, aloe vera, or cocoa butter to the scar. Vitamin E is sold as an oil or obtained by opening a vitamin capsule. Aloe is an African plant and is sold in capsule form and as a skin care product. Cocoa butter is a fat made from cacao seeds. Those items are thought to help with healing so that a scar is less visible. However, time also helps to lessen the scar’s appearance. Those substances should be applied only after a scar is well-healed. Massaging mild scars is done to relax rigid scar tissue. The scar is massaged for about two minutes. Afterwards, Vitamin E oil is applied to the skin. The process should be discontinued if the area becomes sore or red.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Realistic Injuries

[oneshotnewbie]

Hey, could you do an Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader where they are in the OR and one of the interns is just starring at Amelia the whole time and reader gets mad (reader is the head of cardiothoracic surgery and she and Amelia have been together for a long time now)

Authors note: I promised you, so here is a new story from me. I hope you like it & I'll try to post and write a little more from now on. I promise ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The fluorescent lights of the operating room cast harsh shadows on the concentrated faces of the medical team gathered around the operating table. The atmosphere was tense, the silence broken only by the quiet hum of medical equipment. Dr. Amelia Shepherd stood at the head of the table, her gaze focused on the tiny area of the brain she was trying to operate on with extreme precision. Next to her stood you, the head of cardiothoracic surgery, whose hands calmly and confidently guided the instruments to stabilize the patient's heart.

It was a highly complex operation in which every movement had to be precise to the millimeter in order to preserve the patient's life. The surgical light shone into the interior of the open chest, and despite the bright light and busy, intense activity of the situation, you noticed something unusual out of the corner of your eye.

One of the interns, a young doctor in training, who was attending the procedure didn't seem to have his attention focused on the operation, but instead stared steadily at Amelia. His looks weren't one of admiration for her surgical skills, but of something else - something you couldn't approve of.

A feeling of anger and annoyance rose within you as you noticed the inappropriate attention from him. Why couldn't he concentrate on his work and why did he have to stare at your partner like she was the only thing that mattered?

You felt your heart rate increase and you forced yourself to stay calm so as not to jeopardize the operation. But the sight of the intern looking at Amelia with obvious interest gnawed at her. Was it jealousy you felt? Or just annoyed at the lack of professionalism?

Determined to clarify the situation, you abruptly turned to the intern, your expression serious and stern. "Hey, eyes on the operation!" you snapped, your voice sharp and unmistakable. "Dr. Kwan, this is not an act, this is a vital operation. If you are unable to concentrate, please leave this operating room!"

The intern jumped as if snapped out of a daydream and quickly looked down, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Dr. l/n. I'll concentrate on the operation immediately," he murmured before hastily shifting his gaze from the neurosurgeon and focusing back on his tasks.

You took a deep breath, your anger slowly fading as you saw the intern focusing back on his work. But the feeling of unrest remained. As you continued to run the operation, you felt a pang of worry in your heart. Was there more to your emotional outburst - an unpleasant hint of jealousy that you couldn't ignore? Was your relationship really as strong as it seemed, or would the shadows of insecurity and jealousy tear you apart before you even had a chance to grow closer?

The situation in the operating room became increasingly complicated when Dr. Kwan continued to stare at Amelia with inappropriate looks minutes later instead of concentrating on his work. Despite your previous admonition, the young doctor seemed unable to take his eyes off the brunette, and this distraction was beginning to negatively impact the quality of the operation.

Suddenly, in the middle of an intense moment, the monitors around you started beeping wildly and a critical condition jeopardized the entire course of the operation when the intern made a mistake. The patient's vital signs spiraled out of control when an important instrument slipped from his hand, further aggravating the patient's already weakened condition.

"Damn, we're losing him! Y/n, talk to me, what happened?" Amelia shouted, desperately trying to control her position on the brain. The brunette felt the pressure in your body rising as the entire team around you reacted frantically, feeding you everything you needed to avert the impending loss of the patient. "Pericardium was injured. I'm trying to repair it."

You didn't have time to talk. You reacted quickly and precisely, your hands working to the rhythm of a well-oiled mechanism as any professional duty outweighed any personal sentiments. But despite your quick efforts, the patient's condition didn't seem to be improving. Time seemed to stand still as you found yourself in a desperate fight to save the life of the person lying on the operating table in front of you.

Minutes passed, but for you and Amelia it felt like an eternity. The exertion and stress began to take its toll, but you continued to fight, every move crucial before another unexpected complication arose, making the situation even more desperate. An artery that was directly underneath where the instrument slipped began to bleed uncontrollably, and the blood streamed into the surgical area, dangerously close to the patient's heart.

"Damned!" you scolded, pushing the intern, who was still standing at your side in shock, out of the way to give you more space. "Y/n, you can do it. Keep a calm head, you know how it works. You're the best in your field." Your partner spoke calmly and you took a deep breath before sharpening your focus, her voice and words always keeping you at bay.

You worked feverishly to control the bleeding while the neurosurgeon tried to continue the brain procedure. Time seemed to continue to stretch and distort, each second becoming an eternity as you were caught in a desperate dance between life and death.

Despite all the odds, you didn't give up. You continued to fight, your hands melding together in a choreographed dance of survival. And amidst the chaos and hustle and bustle, you finally managed to stop the bleeding and save the patient from imminent death.

But the anger towards the intern was bubbling inside you. When the immediate danger had passed and you could turn your attention back to the root cause of the operation, you turned your burning anger on the young doctor.

"What the hell are you thinking, acting like a schoolboy in love while we're here fighting for someone's life?" you shouted at Dr. Kwan, your voice filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "You have a responsibility to this patient and the entire medical team, and your unprofessional attitude of pandering on my wife not only endangered his life, but also the career of everyone in this room!"

The young doctor lowered his eyes in shame, his cheeks once again coloring with shame. "I'm sorry, Dr. l/n. I was careless and it won't happen again." he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Damn right it won't. For the time being, you won't be able to see the inside of an operating room anymore." You spoke, taking a deep breath, your anger slowly giving way to exhaustion as you felt the tension inside you slowly release. You turned back to the patient, your mind focused on the final task in front of you as you ordered the intern to leave the room.

In the hours that followed, Amelia and you worked tirelessly to continue to keep the patient stable and ensure he would survive the surgery. And as the first signs of success appeared and the monitors flashed gently in confirmation, you felt a moment of gratitude.

But amidst the triumph of saving someone's life also lay an uncomfortable realization - that the lines between professional duty and personal emotions could sometimes become blurred, and that life's challenges exist not only in the operating room but also in the relationships between people.

[ltwilliammowett]

Medicine Chest, 1808

The top contains twelve square bottles (eight with glass stoppers, four with brass lids). The front opens like a cupboard to reveal six drawers with ivory knobs; it contains a balance and weights. The smaller drawers contain two small phials, a prescription and an advertisement for Dalby's carminative.

Surgeons, like other professionals of the day, were expected to provide their own tools and equipment, including herbs, drugs and surgical instruments. They were the main medical officers on board ship. They had lower status than physicians but were highly skilled at amputation. At other times they had to minister to the general medical needs of the crew. A warship would carry one surgeon or surgeon’s mate for about every 200 men.

[sadseungmin]

ahh it’s nice to find a skz writer who is into darker content and dead dove. those kind of fics are the ones i enjoy most. could you maybe do something with minho and darker role play? any type of play you want!

♡ dark sexual roleplay with psychotic lee minho ♡

psychotic lee minho x reader | gender neutral | dead dove | nsfw (MDNI)

p.s. i hope this is to your liking, anon! if you're not too shy, tell me in my dms, ok?

『 ↳♡･ﾟ psychotic!minho likes...doctor & patient roleplay ೃ⁀➷

Minho would turn his bedroom into a makeshift medical room, complete with an examination table, surgical tools, and various medical supplies. The cold, clinical atmosphere would be designed to unnerve you, to make you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You will be naked, lying on the examination table, which is really just his king-sized bed covered with freshly laundered white sheets. Minho, dressed in a lab coat, would play the role of the doctor with unsettling enthusiasm.

"There's no need to be scared, kitten. You're my favorite patient, after all. I just need to conduct some...special examinations."

Minho's touch will be clinical and intimate, his hands tracing over your body slowly with practiced precision. He will explain each step of the examination in a detached, professional tone, but the dark intensity in his eyes will be easily noticed by you.

His hands slowly slip between your thighs, hooded eyes locked with yours...

"Be a good kitten and open your legs wide for me. Hook your arms under your knees and pull your legs as far back as possible. I need to do a thorough physical check."

The idea of medical control is exciting to him. He will use various medical instruments to heighten your anxiety, the cold metal against your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Minho's favorite instrument to use is the speculum.

He takes the bivalve and slowly drags the cold instrument down your inner thighs.

"Do you know what this is for, dumb kitty? This is to measure how wide that pretty hole of yours can stretch. I wonder how far I can stretch it before it starts to tear and bleed?"

He will test your reactions, his touch alternating between gentle and invasive. His questions will be probing, his tone demanding honesty.

He inserts the very tip of the instrument into your entrance and watches in fascination as your hole uselessly clenches around it.

"How many fingers do you use to fuck yourself open when I'm not around, hm? You're too much of a whore to use just two. Do you use three? Or, maybe you use four? There's no need to lie to me, kitten. Patient-doctor confidentiality, remember? Besides..."

Minho slowly pushes the cold instrument further into you, and you whimper as the cool metal burrows deeper into your sensitive walls. You will want to close your thighs, but you know better than to disobey.

"I'm going to find out the truth regardless. I'm a doctor; it's my job to know everything about my favorite patient."

Psychological domination appeals to his psychotic side. Throughout the examination, Minho will assert his dominance, reminding you of your helplessness.

He begins to slowly open your entrance with the instrument, and watches intently as the cold metal pushes your walls farther and father apart. The feeling is unfamiliar; it burns but it accompanies the heat building in your lower abdomen. You whimper pathetically as you are stretched wider and wider, to the point where a part of you fears you might actually tear. There are hot tears beading in the corner of your eyes, and you're trembling and breathing erratically, yet your legs stay wide open for doctor Minho.

"I don't care if it hurts. You need this, kitty. You trust me, right? I'm only doing this for your own good."

The mixture of care and control in his voice will be disorienting, leaving you unsure of his true intentions.

Minho pulls the instrument out of you carefully, leaving you gaping; it's humiliating and the look in his eyes is unsettling. Minho leans forward, and spits. You watch as a big glob of saliva pushes through his pursed lips and falls directly into your open hole. The heat of the liquid coats your walls as it slowly slips deeper into you. You release something between a strangled gasp and a moan, toes curling as any sense of shame dissolves into pure arousal.

Minho reaches into the pocket of his lap coat, pulling out a blue pair of latex gloves. He pulls them on, looking at you with a darkened stare, tone still detached and professional.

"I know you're already fucked out from having your walls opened, but this is far from over. With a hole that wide, further examination is necessary. The next step is double fisting. Are you ready, kitten?"

[baki-tiene-un-simp]

Characters Hanayama, Yujiro (medically? He can see people's health), Baki + maybe Kureha? Hedkanon on how the reader was fine at first, but then their stomach got sick and they didn't know from what. The guys take them to Kurekha for a checkup, who was more or less free and they find out that the doctors left one of the medical instruments in the reader after the last surgery (Yujiro examines them with his eyesight, he's probably surprised? He takes the reader to Kureha).

Situation: Your S/O suffers complications after surgery / Su S/O sufre complicaciones tras una cirugía.

Characters: Baki Hanma, Kaoru Hanayama, Kureha Shinogi and Yujiro Hanma.

Baki Hanma.

He's in anguish when you start to slow down, I swear you look paler with each passing day, is it really just a tummy ache?

He can't stay calm despite your insistence that he pay you no attention, you can't even stand up on your own without doubling over in pain.

He drags you to the hospital, he had been so stubborn not to be treated in the past, but now it's different. Now it is Baki who is in the opposite place, now he is the one who suffers seeing his partner suffer, he must do something.

Kureha is quick to help them and asks for an abdominal X-ray to see what the problem is, Baki is nervous, why can't he come with you and why does he have to stay in the waiting room?

Baki is so alarmed when Kureha says that you have a surgical instrument lodged in your abdomen, apparently it's a blunt object, but being in a complex place it can't stay there any longer.

The Hanma clenches his fists when you remember even while doped on strong painkillers, mention that your doctors performed surgery on you by accident, something about your instructions getting mixed up with another patient who needed a gallbladder removal.

Baki is anxious after you enter the operating room, he is starting to get delirious, his brain has absurd thoughts that are supported by worry.

He can only breathe easy when you get out of danger, he wants to hold you close, but he holds on to let you heal properly. He is holding your hand and won't let go.

Kaoru Hanayama.

Perhaps the second fastest acting, as soon as you start having pain is when Hanayama rushes you to the hospital.

His men patrolling the entire corridor where you are taking a consultation to avoid any inconvenience, you explain to Kureha that you have had persistent pain in your lower abdomen that is increasing every day.

Since you admit that the pain is still tolerable, Kureha will simply check on you. He palpates the area, but superficially he can't say anything out of place. He indicates an X-ray to clear up doubts.

He speaks with concern when the results come back and questions if you've had any previous surgery. You say yes, it was a minor surgery that was done very quickly, in the words of your regular doctor.

Kureha explains that your doctors left a surgical tool inside your abdomen when they closed after the operation was finished and that was what was causing the pain. Before you or Kaoru can react, he reassures them, he says how it can be fixed and that it's an advantage that you came to get help as quickly as possible.

Kaoru wants the procedure done as soon as possible, he will pay whatever it takes, he might even refuse you to try to use your health insurance; he doesn't mind paying any amount of money as long as you're okay.

Your doctors will be visited by Kaoru's men, I just want to add.

Almost like Kaoru is waiting right by the door of the operating room, he wants to see you as soon as the surgery is over, he wants to make sure you're okay and out of danger.

Kureha Shinogi.

He is talking about the deterioration of the professionalism of doctors, how little interest must you have in your work and in your patient for things like that to happen? It's just ridiculous, are medical schools giving away degrees? I could be in a bad mood all day because of it.

He's complaining loudly, but he's seriously worried. He is just looking for a viable way out, but intrusive thoughts and negative scenarios assail him.

Is it really safe to open a wound that hasn't healed yet? What if it gets infected when they remove the stitches from the previous operation? It would be troublesome, but leaving the instrument there is more troublesome.

He is only hot-headed, but returns to his rational self after calming down. You'll be fine, you're in his hands and he wouldn't let anything bad happen.

The grudge he feels for his colleague, who performed the surgery on you, doesn't go away as quickly as one would hope. Kureha is professional, very professional, but he won't forget this.

He wants to be the one to handle the extraction, he just wants to make sure it's okay, and besides, he needs to get rid of that nagging little voice that tells him that others won't be able to deal with this like he can. It may seem like it's his pride talking about him, but no, it's anxiety.

He does not back down despite the refusals, and since he is the splendid doctor Kureha Shinogi, there is no other way than to allow him to assist during the operation. It's not what he wants, but he reluctantly agrees, at least he'll be around in case something happens.

In the end everything worked out, you're fine, he's fine and that little voice is gone.

Yujiro Hanma.

He may notice how lethargic you have become, slower, and more sensitive to pain in your lower belly. He doesn't mention it because he always complains to you about how "insensitive" it becomes when he tells you that you are weak for not taking pain.

Honestly, he is annoyed that a simple pain can take away your strength and mobility, he believes that you make a fuss over nothing.

He can see that something is wrong, a jagged anomaly that's in the wrong place, something that simply shouldn't be there. But he's an idiot and he's convinced that you're just a crybaby.

He complains all the way about how wasteful it is to go to the doctor, yet he is the one who is dragging you to the hospital to be treated.

"It's either this or lock you out of the house so I don't have to listen to you complain," he shrugs and replies with a frown.

He is capable of throwing you on top of the first stretcher he sees when entering the hospital, walk a few steps behind him to avoid this, he is a man of his word.

He'll probably disappear for as long as you're in the OR, though the doctors insist they felt like they were being watched all the time, like someone was pointing at their foreheads to pull the trigger at the slightest mistake.

He picks you up from the hospital, he hopes you get well soon, not good wishes.

Versión en español.

Baki Hanma.

Está angustiado cuando empiezas a ser más lento, juraría que te ves más pálido con cada día que pasa, ¿realmente es solo un dolor de vientre?

No puede estar tranquilo a pesar de tus insistencias de que no te preste atención, ni siquiera puedes pararte por tú cuenta sin doblarte sobre ti mismo a causa del dolor.

Te arrastra al hospital, él había sido tan obstinado a no ser tratado en el pasado, pero ahora es diferente. Ahora es Baki quien está en el lugar contrario, ahora es él quien sufre al ver a su pareja sufrir, debe hacer algo.

Kureha es rápido en ayudarles y pide que te hagan una radiografía abdominal para ver cuál es el problema, Baki está nervioso, ¿por qué no puede acompañarte y por qué debe quedarse en la sala de espera?

Baki se alarma tanto cuando Kureha dice que tienes un instrumento quirúrgico alojado en el abdomen, al parecer es un objeto sin filo, pero al encontrarse en un lugar complejo no puede quedarse allí por más tiempo.

El Hanma aprieta los puños cuando haces memoria aun al estar dopado por fuertes calmantes, mencionas que tus médicos te hicieron una cirugía por accidente, algo sobre que tus indicaciones se mezclaron con el de otro paciente que necesitaba una extracción de vesícula biliar.

Baki está ansioso después de que entras al quirófano, está empezando a delirar, su cerebro tiene pensamientos absurdos que son apoyados por la preocupación.

Solo puede respirar tranquilo cuando sales de peligro, quiere sostenerte cerca, pero se aguanta para dejar que te recuperes debidamente. Está sosteniendo tu mano y no la soltará.

Kaoru Hanayama.

Quizá el segundo que actúa más rápido, tan pronto como empiezas a tener dolor es cuando Hanayama se apresura a llevarte al hospital.

Sus hombres patrullando todo el pasillo en donde estás tomando consulta para evitar cualquier inconveniente, le explicas a Kureha que has tenido un insistente dolor en el abdomen bajo que cada día va en aumento.

Como admites que el dolor todavía es tolerable, Kureha simplemente te revisara. Él palpa el área, pero superficialmente no puede notar nada fuera de lugar. Indica una radiografía para salir de dudas.

Habla con preocupación cuando los resultados llegan y cuestiona si has tenido alguna cirugía previa. Dices que sí, era una cirugía menor que se realizó muy rápido, en palabras de tu doctor habitual.

Kureha explica que tus doctores dejaron una herramienta quirúrgica dentro de tu abdomen cuando cerraron tras finalizar la operación y eso era lo que te generaba el dolor. Antes de que Kaoru o tú puedan reaccionar, los tranquiliza, dice como puede solucionarse y que es una ventaja que hayan venido a buscar ayuda lo más rápido posible.

Kaoru quiere que el procedimiento se lleve a cabo lo antes posible, pagara lo que sea necesario, podría rechazar incluso que trates de usar tu seguro médico; no le importa pagar cualquier suma de dinero con tal de que estés bien.

Tus doctores recibirán la visita de los hombres de Kaoru, solo quiero agregar.

Casi que Kaoru espera justo junto a la puerta del quirófano, quiere verte tan pronto como la cirugía termine, quiere asegurarse de que estés bien y fuera de peligro.

Kureha Shinogi.

Está hablando sobre el deterioro del profesionalismo de los doctores, ¿Qué tan poco interés debes tener en tu trabajo y en tu paciente como para que cosas así sucedan? Simplemente es ridículo, ¿acaso las escuelas de medicina están regalando los títulos? Podría estar de mal humor durante todo el día por ello.

Se está quejando en voz alta, pero está seriamente preocupado. Solo está buscando una salida viable, pero los pensamientos intrusivos y escenarios negativos lo asaltan.

¿Es realmente seguro abrir una herida que todavía no sana? ¿Qué tal si se infecta cuando quiten los puntos de la operación anterior? Sería problemático, pero dejar el instrumento allí lo es más.

Solo tiene la cabeza caliente, pero vuelve a su racional yo después de calmarse. Estarás bien, estas en sus manos y él no dejaría que nada malo sucediera.

El rencor que siente por su colega, quien te realizo la cirugía, no desaparece tan rápido como cualquiera esperaría. Kureha es profesional, muy profesional, pero esto no lo piensa olvidar.

Quiere ser quien se ocupe de la extracción, solo quiere cerciorarse de que esté bien y, además, necesita deshacerse de esa insistente vocecita que le dice que los demás no podrán lidiar con esto como él. Puede parecer que es su orgullo hablando, pero no, es la ansiedad.

No retrocede a pesar de las negativas, y como es el espléndido doctor Kureha Shinogi, no hay de otro que permitirle asistir durante la operación. No es lo que él quiere, pero acepta a regañadientes, al menos estará cerca por si algo pasa

Al final todo salió bien, estás bien, él está bien y esa vocecita se fue.

Yujiro Hanma.

Él puede notar lo aletargado que te has vuelto, más lento y más sensible ante el dolor que experimentas en tu vientre bajo. No lo menciona porque siempre te queja de lo "insensible" que llega a ser cuando te dice que eres débil al no aguantar el dolor.

Sinceramente, le molesta que un simple dolor pueda quitarte la fuerza y la movilidad, cree que haces un escándalo por nada.

Él puede ver que algo va mal, una anomalía irregular que está en un lugar incorrecto, algo que no debería estar allí simplemente. Pero es un idiota y está convencido que solo eres un bebé llorón.

Se queja todo el camino sobre como es un desperdicio ir al doctor, sin embargo, es él quien te está arrastrando al hospital para que seas tratado.

"Es esto o dejarte fuera de casa para no tener que escucharte mientras te quejas" levanta los hombros y responde con el ceño fruncido.

Es capaz de lanzarte encima de la primera camilla que vea al entrar al hospital, camina unos pocos pasos por detrás de él para evitar esto, es un hombre de palabra.

Probablemente desaparezca durante todo el tiempo que estés en el quirófano, aunque los doctores insiste en que sentía que eran observados todo el tiempo, como si alguien estuviera apuntando a sus frentes para jalar el gatillo ante el más mínimo error.

Te recoge del hospital, espera que te recuperes pronto, no son buenos deseos.

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #40: Parasite

Masterlist

content: lab whump, organs, starvation

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

However disastrous his attempt to leave may have been, it didn’t change a lot between them. Heather was upstairs all the time, so he was left to his own devices. They eventually returned to a sort of peace.

That morning, Jackie was curled up on the sofa, reading and gazing out the window at regular intervals. He had not spoken to Heather for about a week now, so he was startled when she burst into the living room.

She seemed to be preoccupied, with her hair in a rough ponytail, her white lab coat somewhat disheveled, absent-mindedly holding a pen in one hand. “Jackie, I’ve figured it out.”

He relaxed a bit, once he realized she just wanted to talk. “Yeah?”

“Yes, I’ve got it.” She hovered by the doorway, leaning one hand against the frame and clicking the pen with the other. “I think it’s a type of chemosynthesis. Wait, I’m sorry, I’m rushing—“ She held up a hand to pause him. “There’s parasites—actually, they’re probably symbiotes, but that’s not relevant. Microscopic ones. Inside you.”

“There is?” He frowned. “Can we get them out?”

“No, Jackie, you don’t understand. I’ve figured out why you’re immortal. The—the organism, it’s adapted for a specific purpose, and—“ She made a few grand gestures, trying to explain whatever abstract concept this was. “It’s… stem cells, you know?”

He did not, in fact, know. He shook his head. 

“It’s—never mind, I’ll explain it later.” She ran a hand over her hair, which only messed it up further. “I need you to come upstairs with me. To the laboratory.”

“You have a laboratory?”

“Yes, it’s upstairs.” She was already turning heel and making her way out. “Hurry up, this is absolutely crucial for my studies.”

“Okay, okay, give me a moment.” He set the book down and hurried after her, since she’d already reached the hallway by that point. He did wonder what she was doing up there. It must have been important, considering how impatient she was acting.

He followed her up the stairs. The second floor was similar to the first, with a hallway leading to three different doors, plus a hatch in the roof above a folded ladder. He had only been here once, and he was blindfolded then. Heather stepped into the farthest door.

Jackie had been expecting something more theatrical, neon acids and smoke wisps and heavy-duty machinery, but it was a clinical place. Mostly clean slates of white, flat tables and counters. Very sanitized. She kept it tidy. It smelled overwhelmingly of chemicals, the same chemicals she cleaned her surgical tools with, which he recognized instantly. There were a few microscopes and sets of glassware, and other instruments he couldn’t name or recognize. Behind another door was a smaller area, what might have once been a walk-in closet or perfume room. There stood a deep freezer, buzzing and humming in the background, and shelves of storage, even more tools and containers all neatly lined up.

“Nice place,” he told her.

“Thank you.” She turned to him, holding a scalpel. “Don’t worry, I just need your skin.”

Ah. His… skin. “All of it?”

She shook her head with a slight, amused smile, before returning to neutral professionality. “A very small amount. I’m studying your cells, you see. I wanted a fresh sample.”

He did not trust her around scalpels, but it was better to just get it over with. He held his arm out. “Go ahead.”

She nodded once, then slid the blade across the side of his arm, where the skin wasn’t so close to the bone. It was a quick and precise motion, like ripping a sticker off. He winced and bit back a hiss of pain. She then placed the cut of skin onto a small, transparent plastic rectangle. It must have been satisfactory, because she nodded in its direction and set it down on a table.

Jackie watched blood well up in the wound, shallow though it was. Heather reached over and pressed a cotton band-aid over it.

“Thanks.” He lowered his arm. “Was that all you needed me for?”

“Yes, but you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.” She moved a few things around, set a few things up—he wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing, as she had her back turned to him. “As long as you’re quiet. I prefer working in silence.”

He entertained her offer for a few minutes but quickly grew bored. Whatever she was working on, he didn’t understand any of it. He didn’t even know where he would start asking questions—maybe why do I have a parasite in me, for starters. But he was sure that she would explain it all in good time, once she finished her examinations. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Then they were back to their normal routine, back to the experiments, though Jackie thought these ones were much more pleasant than the drugs and the cassette tapes. They mostly did not involve him. He spent his days like that, reading or lounging by the window, sleeping on the couch or in the basement, killing time. He was allowed to wander around and do as he pleased, though he did visit Heather from time to time.

The organism, as it turned out, was what allowed him to heal so quickly. It had something to do with stem cells, although she couldn’t give him a straight answer. The important discovery, so she said, was that the organism could only exist inside his body. There was some special thing in his tissues that it needed to live. That was why it was keeping him alive. But she couldn't say what that special thing was, not for certain. Not yet, anyway.

“I don’t think you’ll age,” she told him once.

“Really? At all?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I suppose you might age until thirty or thirty-five, but you won’t grow old. Aging is a form of tissue decay. If your cells can regenerate, they should be able to repair that damage. But I guess I wouldn’t know. We’ll see.”

Alive, even when it was inconvenient for him. Parasite was the right word. It was not symbiosis. 

“That’s cool,” he said.

“Yes, it’s all very fascinating.” She continued musing over a few microscope slides.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

She explained how the organism’s eggs hatched within seconds, the way it could multiply like a hutch of rabbits given a few minutes. The mature specimens could be killed with prolonged pressure or radiation, but the eggs were much more difficult to get rid of. Unless they left his body, at which point they would promptly die. She explained the marvelous regeneration of his stem cells, their undifferentiated, pluripotent, embryonic nature. She spoke of how it was nearly impossible to separate them from his tissues to prevent healing, how a lone cell could divide itself until they repopulated. He was even present for a few of her more exciting experiments.

“Wait behind me,” she said.

She had allowed him to follow her outside, where she had set up a Roman candle. She lit the base of a punk-stick with a lighter then tipped it forwards.

The Roman candle smoldered for a few seconds. She stepped back at a safe distance, meanwhile, putting her arm against his chest so he would do the same.

The explosive set off, amid a patch of ground cleared from snow. His heart—removed from his body, of course, and placed beside the explosive—was decimated to a few chunks of char. Bright sparks popped in the sky above them. And then, slowly but surely, the marred lump reformed, cracking and blooming into another heart. The flesh was rather discolored and misshapen. It wasn’t a pretty thing, but it was there.

“It would heal better in your body,” she explained. “The other tissues could provide healthier cells. It’s the same thing with low levels of radiation—it’s replaced your natural immune system, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why you never get sick. Even if something gets damaged, its destroyed and replaced. That does leave the possibility of autoimmune diseases and allergies, but you were lucky in that regard.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Unfortunately, not all her research involved organs safely separated from Jackie. He enjoyed his break from being a subject, but there were some things hearts and skin samples couldn’t test. 

They were in the kitchen, about a week later. Or, Jackie was in the kitchen, and Heather had just entered. She was hovering near him with a conflicted expression, which wasn’t making it easy to enjoy his breakfast.

“Do you need something?” he finally asked her.

“Yes.” She hesitated. “I need you to not eat anything for three days.”

He glanced at the open pantry. “Starting now?”

“That would be ideal.”

He pushed the pantry door closed with a disappointed expression. “Whatever you say, doc.”

It was a great contribution to science, she told him. It could help a lot of people, she told him. It could be incredibly valuable! Really, what was three days when compared to this piece of eternal knowledge? They could learn how he managed to survive without food—they could discover how he accomplished the impossible! It was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. Still, whatever she told him couldn’t change the fact that he had to starve for seventy-two hours. He had done it before, and he could do it again, but he wouldn’t enjoy it. 

During this period, he mostly lay in his bed in the basement, trying not to think of the kitchen with all its glorious treasures, every piece of food just out of reach. He considered stealing, but ultimately decided against it. Mainly because all the food was locked away. A padlock on the fridge, and one on each pantry door. Where Heather got all those locks from, he had no clue. But he would have given in if he could. The first hours of hunger were always the worst.

By the end he was rewarded with a bowl of pasta, and Heather with her answers: the organism produced energy for him when his body starved. It could create the necessary substances under certain circumstances, using certain chemical reactions, although it was only enough to keep him alive. Hence, the headaches and the fatigue. Jackie barely listened to any of this, however. The food preoccupied all his attention.

In the end, Heather might have thought these things were crucial discoveries, the crux of scientific knowledge, but he couldn’t care less. His worries had narrowed mostly down to base needs—food, water, shelter, a safe place to sleep. It concerned him a little, that he had reverted to such an undignified state of mind. Only animals thought of survival. People thought of living beyond that, to understand their nature, to have awareness and choice. But he wasn't in a position to want something more.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl @lthrboy @whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation @creppersfunpalooza

@vidawhump

[heardatmedschool]

A quick guide on what different titles mean in my posts

(Since education AND healthcare systems vary around the world).

Medical Student (4.5-5 years)

You can get into medical school straight out of high school. College degrees do exist, but they are not the norm, not for medicine, and not for any career, tbh.

You fist 2-3 years are mostly theory. Calculus, chemistry, biology, anatomy, histology, embriology, physiology, pathology, physiopathology, microbiology, pharmacology…. That period end with semiology, and you get a Bachelor’s Degree in Medical Science.

Then, for the next 2 years, you have your clinicals, in which you spend half of the day in the hospital, with patients, and half the day in class, but definitely more focused on patient care and management.

Med student in clinicals = baby of the team (most of the time).

When you finish, you get your Academic Degree, Licenciate in Medicine.

Medical Intern (1.5-2 years)

No longer a student, you are now in your professional practice. Although you are technically still in med school in your university, you can say goodbye to classes, since you’re now a worker.

Probably bottom of the food chain, and probably does all the paperwork that nobody wants to do, but it’s a period where you gain a lot of independence and knowledge through work.

When you finish, you get your Professional Title, Médico Cirujano, but also need to pass a national test (EUNACOM) in order to be able to work.

Once you are a Doctor, you can work with that, or you can specialize.

Resident Doctor

A doctor, who is both working and studying towards a specialty.

Staff

Doctor who is on charge of a team. Tends to be an specialist.

Other titles that may cause confusion:

CNA: I use CNA to refer to TENS (Técnico de Enfermería de Nivel Superior). Technical degree (2.5 years). Takes care of patient’s basic needs, vital signs, may administer non-prescription medications.

Scrub tech: An specialized TENS. Takes care of the surgical instrumental and the sterile field in the OR.

Other TENS specializations: (that aren’t shared with other workers) Ambulance paramedic, anesthesia tech, trauma tech (takes care of plasters).

Medical Technologist: University degree (5Y). In charge of handling the machines and advanced technology equipment. They have 5 sub-specialties: ENT, ophthalmology, morphophysiopathology, blood bank and radiology.

Kinesiologist: University degree (5Y). They encapsulate both Physical Therapy and Respiratory Therapy.

Midwife: University Degree (5Y). Kind of like L&D nurses. Also in charge of reproductive health (i.e inserts IUDs, tests for STIs). Can assist births without a doctor if uncomplicated.

Other professionals that may not need further explanation:

Nurse.

Nutritionist.

Speech therapy.

Occupational therapy.

[death---dealer]

Hi Em and POTA fam 🫶🏼 *deep breath & wipes away tears*

I’m having a difficult time with my career choice and where I’m at in life.

I’ve been accepted into this amazing internship to be a surgical tech (sort assisting but mainly setting up for the cases and passing of instruments) and get on the job training- it’s been something I’ve been wanting to do and I felt like it was something I was going to be like so in love with but- I don’t think I do. At all. And I hate that. Thinking about it long term I just don’t think I can truly see myself doing it. I’m finally doing something that my family is proud of me doing and all but like at the same time they thought I was going to be a sterile processing tech (just cleaning and organizing surgical instruments) in their minds ya know - easy work. Which was depressing to find out once I knew why they encouraged me to do so.

But anyways yeah- I don’t know what to do and I just could really use some words of encouragement and guidance .

A part of me just wants to leave and find another job while I’m studying for medical coding. I’ve been studying for this as it has been my backup plan just incase.

Hi, Hi. I'm so heartbroken to hear about the dilemma you find yourself in. Finding and paving a career is truly something that is not talked about often enough because at the end of the day, we only hear about the success of it all and never the true endeavor it takes for someone to get there. There's no timetable. That's advice I will give to anyone. There's no shame in trying something out and not liking it. There's no true way to tell if you'd like it unless you give it a try! And if you don't want to? No shame in that either, you know yourself the best and you make the choices YOU want to make, not the ones that your family feel are best for you. That's something that's really hard to break away from, I understand. I spent a lot of my young adult life comparing myself to my siblings or doing things that never sparked my interests as far as careers go and it was very depressing. Like I said, I know it's a hard cycle to break but I would start there. Self-reflection is a powerful tool.

We all deserve to do something we love, either professionally or career wise. I work a full time job on top of writing because that's how much it means to me. I really wish I had better words for all of this, it's a really hard decision to make but just know...

You have time.

You are your own person and NOT who your family is expecting. You have the devotion to change your life if you want, not them. It's great to have a backup too. My husband didn't score his dream job until he was 33. He loves it, he's happy now but it look literally all of his twenties building himself into it and to realize that he wanted a career in the field he chose.

Just know. You have time to figure it out, there's never a timetable. Do what you feel is right for you and no one else.

I love you, I will support you no matter what happens. Send me a message when you decide what to do, I will be here to cheer you on.

[killed-by-choice]

“Tara Roe,” 32 (USA 2005)

“Tara” was a 32-year-old Black woman who died after three consecutive abortion attempts.

Tara initially went to an abortion facility for a surgical abortion. However, this attempt failed because of a fibroid that blocked attempts to insert tools into her endocervical canal.

The abortionist administered mifepristone for a chemical abortion on May 21 and sent her home with instructions to take 600 mg of misoprostol on May 24. However, Tara reported that the pill fell out of her vagina. (Note that mifepristone suppresses the immune system and that the FDA had never approved use of the drug as a vaginal suppository.) An ultrasound showed that she was still pregnant.

A third abortion was attempted, this one surgical. The abortionist managed to carry out the abortion despite the fibroid, but Tara suffered severe bleeding as a result. (It is likely that surgical instruments were forced past the obstruction and caused damage.) The bleeding reportedly stopped spontaneously and Tara was discharged despite having low hematocrit from all the blood loss.

Tara later went to the emergency room. It was reported that she “apparently looked OK” but had a white blood cell count of over 14,000, abdominal pain, subjective fever and low hematocrit. She was admitted to the ward.

24 hours later, Tara suffered decompensation, hypotension and shortness of breath. She was transferred emergently to the ICU and had to be intubated. Workup for a pulmonary embolism started, but her condition became so bad that she was brought to the OR for a hysterectomy.

Unfortunately, Tara was so sick that even hospitalization in the ICU, intubation and hysterectomy were not enough to save her. She died on the operating table at 11:20 P.M. on June 22, 2005.

Tara’s family decided not to have an autopsy performed. Pathology findings from her uterus, however, shed light on her condition. The uterus showed necrotic breakdown and endometrial inflammation. The endometrium contained serosanguinous pus. Cultures from the uterine cavity grew Peptostreptococcus. The fibroid that had blocked the first abortion attempts was now degenerated and full of thick, foul-smelling green pus. Cultures of the fibroid grew Prevotella. The CDC listed the cause of her death as “delayed onset toxic-shock like syndrome.”

While the medical professional who submitted a report of Tara’s death to MedWatch did not believe that mifepristone or misoprostol were the cause of her illness, they noted her surgical abortions. It is possible that when the instruments were forced past the fibroid and triggered the bleeding, the injury became badly infected. The CDC included Tara’s death as a maternal death after mifepristone/misoprostol abortion.

MedWatch report

[scotianostra]

John Rattray, the Scottish Jacobite Surgeon and golfer was born on September 22nd 1707, Craighall Castle, Rattray, Perthshire.

John’s father was an Episcopalian priest who became the Bishop of Dunkeld, then of Brechin and was elected Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church. On his death in 1743 his elder son James became clan chief and inherited the estate. As the second son John had no such inheritance and he trained as a surgeon in Edinburgh by apprenticeship to the surgeon John Semple between 1728 and 1735, when he began surgical practice in Edinburgh. To enhance his professional status he applied to become a freeman (or fellow) of the Incorporation of Surgeons of Edinburgh (later the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh) This involved sitting a series of four examinations which were held in the later months of 1740, and, having passed these, he was admitted a freeman of the Incorporation in November 1740.

In his spare time John Rattray was a keen sportsman he joined , The Royal Company of Archers in 1731 winning the archery competition for the silver punch bowl on 4 occasions and The Company’s most prestigious prize, the Edinburgh Arrow, twice. He was also a skilled golfer and his prowess at golf is recorded in this extract from the mock heroic poem ‘The Goff’ by Rev. Thomas Mathison published in 1743, the first poem devoted to the sport of golf.

North from Edina eight furlongs and more, Lies that fam’d field, on Fortha’s sounding shore. Here Caledonian Chiefs for health resort, Confirm their sinews by the manly sport. Macdonald and unmatch’d Dalrymple ply Their pond'rous weapons, and the green defy; Rattray for skill, and Corse for strength renown’d, Stewart and Lesly beat the sandy ground, And Brown and Alston, Chiefs well known to fame, And numbers more the Muse forbears to name. Gigantic Biggar here full oft is seen, Like huge behemoth on an Indian green; His bulk enormous scarce can 'scape the eyes, Amaz’d spectators wonder how he plies. Yea, here great Forbes, patron of the just, The dread of villains and the good man’s trust, When spent with toils in serving human kind, His body recreates, and unbends his mind.

John Rattray was one of the men who drew up the first ever Rules of Golf and on March 7th, 1744, the City of Edinburgh Council provided the Gentlemen Golfers at Leith (now the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers at Muirfield) with a Silver Club on condition they draw up regulations for their competition and rules ‘for the goff’.The following month Rattray won the first ever competition for the Silver Club, was duly appointed ‘Captain of the Goff’ and became the sole signatory of the first known written ‘Rules of Golf’.

18 months later the Jacobites entered Edinburgh and Rattray’s older brother James, the Laird of Craighall, suggested he offer his medical services to Bonnie Prince Charlie, I say suggested, as Clan Chief he chose which side to be on for family members.

Please note not all followed their Clan Chief, this split many families down the middle, you had brothers taking different sides during th ‘45 Uprising.

As the Jacobites mobilised ahead of Prestonpans, Rattray, who lived at South Foulis Close off the High Street, rode to the East Lothian encampment along with John Lauder, a fellow of the Incorporation of Surgeons,according to their records he tended the wounded and travelled as surgeon with the army as it advanced into England and then retreated from Derby, eventually becoming surgeon general and personal surgeon to Prince Charles.

Records also show Rattray and Lauder were captured on the battlefield at Culloden on April 16 1746. The pair were held in a church in Inverness and their medical instruments removed, according to accounts. They were moved to Inverness Prison three days later. Their detention, however, was short lived after Lord President Forbes sought a direct reprieve for Rattray and Lauder from the Duke of Cumberland, Forbes, the same Forbes mentioned in the poem, and a friend of the surgeon.

Following his release, Rattray headed to Culloden House, the family home of his golfing companion.

One account of his release in The Lyon in Mourning, a collection of papers, letters and speeches of Jacobite supporters of the ‘45 Uprising, said: “Mr John Rattray came to Culloden House after his liberation at Inverness. President Forbes told the said Mr Rattray that he had obtained his liberation upon condition that he should become evidence.”

John Rattray was horrified by the prospect of becoming a witness for the state, according to the account.

It added: “This provoked Mr Rattray so much that he told the President in a passion that he would far choose to give himself up in a second and to return to the miserable situation of a prisoner once more than to become an evidence.”

Lord President Forbes convinced him not to surrender with the law man sure he was able to spare the surgeon. The medics returned to Edinburgh and Rattray confided in a friend about Lord Presidents’ offer.

It is said the Lord President, who died the following year, was so taken aback at Rattray sharing details of the proposal that “it had bad effects upon the President’s health, and even hastened his death.

“It is indeed a prevailing opinion that the President died of a broken heart,” the account said.

Rattray was quickly seized in the capital and was again taken prisoner on 28 May 1746 before being sent to London, by Cumberland’s orders, to act as a witness.

He was finally released on January 7 1747 and eventually returned to his usual routine of work and sport.

In 1751, he won the Silver Club for the third time. Today, you can visit a statue of John Rattray on Leith Links, close to the first hole of the original course that was played 276 years ago. He died in Edinburgh on 5th July 1771.

[whumpy-daydreams]

The operation

Masterlist

No, I am not going to fit the entire process of every operation into one post. That's stupid. Instead I'm going to talk about protocols and practices that happen in most (elective) surgeries (in the UK). Nevertheless this might be a long one so buckle in folks

Terminology (that I use)

Sets - trays of instruments. They're labelled e.g. D&C, small hand, tonsillectomy set. The instruments inside are the same in each type (normally, but more on that later)

Soft packs - contains drapes, kidney dishes, swabs, sutures, blades, and other miscellaneous things. These are made for different surgeries/specialties e.g. knee arthroscopy pack, hand pack

Swabs - sterile cloths used to soak up blood and clean surgical sites

Scrubbing in - a surgical handwash and method of making yourself sterile. Once you're scrubbed in you can only touch other sterile things

Scrub nurse - is scrubbed in and therefore sterile, hands things to the surgeon

Circulator - not scrubbed in, helps the scrub nurse with anything non-sterile

Prep - a liquid that sterilises the surgical site prior to incision. Usually either alcohol or iodine based

Patient safety

WHO checks - a series of questions asked through the entire surgical process to make sure we're doing the right operation on the right person and know any allergies, consent, etc.

Surgical count - all instruments, needles, blades, and swabs need to be counted at the beginning (before the first incision) and end of (before the wound is closed) surgery. This is to make sure nothing has been left inside the patient and requires 2 people. It is done by the scrub nurse and a circulator. Everything opened is written down so you don't forget how much stuff you've got

Checking drugs - any drugs that are given e.g. injections to surgical site, have to be checked. Most are checked with the anaesthetist/surgeon by looking at drug name, strength, and use by date

Sterility - nothing unsterile touches anything sterile. If something sterile is suspected to have been contaminated, it should be removed and replaced. This is to prevent infection

Preparing and starting surgery

Usually the surgeon doesn't help with setting up. The nurses and other healthcare professionals do that to protect their fragile egos (this is a joke, surgeons are usually doing something else)

Once the scrub nurse is sterile, they begin to set up their sets and count them against a list with the circulator. The circulator opens extra equipment, swabs, needles etc. without touching the inside to keep it sterile and this is written down.

When the surgeon is scrubbed in they check patient details and start prepping the surgical site: using prep on the skin and applying drapes around it (this may be more complicated on limbs when using a tourniquet)

Before the first incision everyone stops and does a check (right patient, right operation, risks, expected blood loss, etc.). After that everyone's ready to go!

When the operation's done and the surgeon starts to close the final count is done. Everything (and i mean everything) gets counted again, and stuff starts getting packed away. Provided everything's accounted for, the wound can be completely closed. It's usually cleaned a bit and then a big old plaster goes on top.

All the drapes come off and everyone starts cleaning manically! There's one last check (name, operation, total blood loss, all drugs prescribed, iv flushed, any concerns) and then it's time to wake the patient up!