#Swollen feet diabetes

[joga-blog]

Diabetic Edema: How Diabetes Can Lead to Swollen Feet

Swollen feet, a common complication of diabetes, can significantly impact the quality of life and pose serious health risks if left unaddressed. Diabetes affects millions worldwide, and its complications extend beyond fluctuating blood sugar levels. Among these complications, peripheral edema, or swollen feet, is prevalent and requires careful management to prevent further complications.

Understanding Swollen Feet in Diabetes

Swollen feet in diabetes, medically termed peripheral edema, occur due to the accumulation of fluid in the tissues. Diabetes contributes to this condition through various mechanisms, including:

1. Poor Circulation: 

Diabetes damages blood vessels and impairs circulation, especially in the extremities like feet and legs. Reduced blood flow can lead to fluid retention and swelling.

2. Nerve Damage (Neuropathy): 

Diabetic neuropathy affects the nerves responsible for regulating blood flow and fluid balance. Consequently, the body may have difficulty managing fluid levels, leading to edema.

3. Kidney Dysfunction: 

Diabetes is a leading cause of kidney disease. When kidneys fail to function optimally, excess fluid and waste products may accumulate in the body, resulting in swelling, particularly in the feet and ankles.

Symptoms of Swollen Feet in Diabetes

Identifying swollen feet due to diabetes is crucial for timely intervention. Common symptoms include:

- Visible swelling in the feet, ankles, or legs

- Tightness or heaviness in the affected areas

- Reduced flexibility and discomfort while walking

- Skin changes, such as shiny or stretched appearance

- Pitting edema, where pressing a finger against the skin leaves a temporary indentation

Managing Swollen Feet in Diabetes

Managing swollen feet in diabetes involves a comprehensive approach aimed at addressing the underlying causes and alleviating discomfort. Here are some strategies:

1. Blood Sugar Control: 

Maintaining stable blood sugar levels through medication, diet, and lifestyle modifications is fundamental in managing diabetes-related complications, including peripheral edema.

2. Healthy Lifestyle Choices: 

Regular exercise, a balanced diet low in sodium, and adequate hydration can help regulate blood flow and fluid balance, reducing the risk of swelling.

3. Compression Therapy: 

Compression socks or stockings can improve circulation and prevent fluid buildup in the feet and legs. However, individuals with diabetes should consult healthcare professionals before using compression garments to avoid complications.

4. Elevating the Feet: 

Keeping the feet elevated while sitting or sleeping helps reduce swelling by facilitating the return of blood and fluids to the heart.

5. Medication: 

In some cases, healthcare providers may prescribe diuretics to help eliminate excess fluid from the body. However, medication should be used cautiously and under medical supervision to prevent adverse effects.

6. Regular Foot Care: 

People with diabetes should inspect their feet daily for signs of swelling, infection, or injury. Proper foot hygiene and timely treatment of any issues can prevent complications and promote overall foot health.

When to Seek Medical Attention

While mild swelling may resolve with self-care measures, individuals with diabetes should seek medical attention if they experience:

- Sudden or severe swelling

- Redness, warmth, or tenderness in the swollen area

- Difficulty walking or bearing weight on the affected foot

- Open sores or signs of infection

Conclusion

Swollen feet in diabetes are a common yet manageable complication that requires proactive management and regular monitoring. By controlling blood sugar levels, adopting a healthy lifestyle, and seeking timely medical intervention, individuals with diabetes can reduce the risk of complications and improve their overall well-being. Effective management of swollen feet not only enhances comfort but also plays a crucial role in preventing more serious complications associated with diabetes.

In conclusion, a multidisciplinary approach involving healthcare providers, diabetes educators, and individuals with diabetes themselves is essential in managing swollen feet and promoting optimal foot health in diabetes management.

[ankleandfootcentersofamerica]

Causes of Retrocalcaneal Bursitis

The most common causes of Diabetic Ankle Swelling in the heel include overuse or repetitive strain, trauma to the back of the heel, abnormal foot mechanics, and medical conditions such as rheumatoid arthritis. Symptoms of retrocalcaneal bursitis may include pain and tenderness at the back of the heel, swelling and redness, stiffness, and difficulty walking or running.

[shreyajainblogs]

When Should You Consult a Diabetic Foot Specialist Surgeon for Diabetic Foot Care?

If you are someone who is living with diabetes, it is crucial to prioritize the care of your feet in order to prevent any potential complications. Consulting a diabetic foot specialist surgeon, such as Dr. K P Meda, a renowned Podiatrist in Dubai, can greatly benefit individuals experiencing issues related to diabetic foot care. One common problem faced by those with diabetes is swollen feet due to poor circulation or other underlying factors. This discomfort can be alleviated through proper treatment and management by a skilled professional like Dr. Meda. The importance of foot care in diabetes cannot be stressed enough since it plays a pivotal role in preventing more serious conditions from developing, such as diabetic foot ulcers.

[shoesparadise]

[tecanewsz]

Schawos Comfort Shoe Stretch 10, Orthopedic Wide Soft Shoes for Men and Women, Diabetic, Swollen feet, for Seniors

Price: (as of – Details) Product Description Schawos – comfortable health shoes Who we are: Schawos is a brand of the German shoe manufacturer Hirsch based in Egweil, Bavaria, specializing in slippers and healthy textile shoes for sensitive feet. For over 70 years. Our textile shoes adapt individually to your foot and offer a pressure-free fit. The comfortable Schawos fit offers plenty of space…

[scientia-rex]

Wound Care

Ok so, take this with a BIG grain of salt, because I may be a medical doctor BUT you need to know how much wound care training we get in medical school: none. Zip. Zilch. There may be medical schools where you do, but mine wasn't a bozo factory and there was NO wound care training. Everything I know I learned from one of several sources: an intensive 2-day wound care course I did in residency (highly recommend), the local Home Health wound care nurse (highly recommend), a completely batshit insane old white male doctor who started our learning sessions by yelling Vietnam War stories at me (do not recommend), a hospital wound care nurse (highly recommend), and experience (oh god do not recommend).

The first thing you need to know is that wound healing varies dramatically across the course of a lifespan. Kids? Kids will heal. If they don't, get their ass to a pediatrician because there's something genetic going on. Young adults will heal. Middle-aged adults will heal. You know who doesn't heal for shit? The elderly, and people with severe illnesses, and people with uncontrolled type II diabetes.

Your body needs several things in order to heal. It needs macronutrients, so you need to be able to EAT protein, fat, and carbs. If you are on total parenteral nutrition, aka TPN, aka IV nutrition, you are going to be worse at healing. If you are starving yourself, you are going to be worse at healing. If your body is desperately funneling all the calories you take in to surviving your COPD or cancer, you are going to be worse at healing.

It also needs micronutrients. If your diet sucks, you won't heal. Take a multivitamin once in a while.

There are two CRITICAL skin components to healing: collagen and elastin. Guess what we stop making as we age. Promoting collagen isn't just good for "anti-aging," it's good for NOT ripping your skin apart. Taking oral collagen is probably bullshit because your body is going to have to disassemble it to get it across the intestinal membranes to absorb, but it's also harmless, and if your diet REALLY sucks, who knows. Give it a try. Collagen is made of amino acids; think protein.

Another absolutely crucial component is blood flow. As people age, they start to develop cholesterol plaques lining arteries that eventually pick up calcium deposits. This makes blood vessels less elastic, which is a problem, but eventually also blocks them off, which is a much bigger problem. If someone has the major blood flow to their feet decreased by 90% by arterial stenosis, they are not going to heal for shit AND their foot's gonna hurt.

One component of blood flow I hadn't thought about before going into medicine is fluid retention. The way your body works, blood exits the heart at a very high velocity, but slows to a crawl by the time it gets into capillaries, the smallest blood vessels in the body. Water is a very small molecule and can leave the blood vessel, especially if there aren't big, negatively-charged molecules like proteins like albumin in the blood vessels to hold the water there. And we're built for this--some water is supposed to leak out of our blood vessels when it gets to real little vessels. It gets taken back up by the lymphatic system and eventually dumped back into the bloodstream at the inferior vena cava. But if you aren't making albumin--for instance, in liver failure--you may leak a LOT of fluid into the tissue, so much that your legs get swollen, tight, the skin feeling woody and strange. This isn't fixable by drainage because the fluid is everywhere, not in a single pocket we can drain. And because it puts so much pressure on the tissues of the skin, it often results in ulcers. Congestive heart failure, liver failure, kidney failure--these are all common causes of severe edema, aka swelling due to fluid in the tissues. And they're a real bitch when it comes to wound care, because we have such limited resources for getting the fluid back out, which is a necessary first step to healing.

Pressure is another common cause of wounds. Pressure forces blood out of those little capillaries, so you starve the cells normally fed by those capillaries, and they die. It's called pressure necrosis. Very sick people who can't turn themselves over--people in the ICU, people in nursing homes--are especially prone to these wounds, as are people with limited sensation; pressure wounds are common in wheelchair users who have lost some feeling in the parts of their bodies that rub against those surfaces, or diabetics who don't notice a rock in their shoe.

So, if you're trying to treat wounds, the questions to ask are these:

Why did this wound happen?

-Was it pressure? If it's pressure, you have to offload the source of the pressure or else that wound will not heal. End of story. You can put the tears of a unicorn on that thing, if you don't offload the pressure it won't heal.

-Was it fluid? If it's fluid, you have get the fluid out of the issues or else it won't heal. You can sometimes do that with diuretics, medications that cause the body to dump water through the kidneys, but that's always threading a needle because you have to get someone to a state where they still have juuuuust enough fluid inside their blood vessels to keep their organs happy, while maintaining a very slight state of dehydration so the blood vessels suck water back in from the tissues. You can use compression stockings to squeeze fluid back into the vessels, but if they have arterial insufficiency and not just venous insufficiency, you can accidentally then cause pressure injury. The safest option is using gravity: prop the feet up above the level of the heart, wherever the heart is at, at that moment, and gravity will pull fluid back down out of the legs. Super boring though. Patients hate it. Not as much as they hate compression stockings.

-Was it a skin tear because the skin is very fragile? This is extremely common in the elderly, because they're not making collagen and elastin, necessary to repairing skin. If this is the case, make sure they're actually getting enough nutrition--as people get into their 80s and 90s, their appetites often change and diminish, especially if they're struggling with dementia. And think about just wrapping them in bubble wrap. Remove things with sharp edges from their environments. I have seen the WORST skin tears from solid wood or metal furniture with sharp edges. Get rid of throw rugs and other tripping hazards. I had somebody last week who tried to a clear a baby gate and damn near destroyed their artificial hip.

The next critical question: why isn't it healing?

-Are you getting enough nutrients? Both macro and micro?

-Are you elderly?

-Are you ill?

-Do you have a genetic disorder of collagen formation?

Fix why it's not healing and almost anything will heal. If you're diabetic, find a medication regimen that improves your sugars and stick to it. If you're anorexic, get treatment for your eating disorder. If you have congestive heart failure, work with your doctor on your fluid balance. Wear the damn pressure stockings. Prop up your feet.

If, after those two unskippable questions are done, you want to do something to the wound--apply a dressing, do a treatment--that's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll write that later. The dryer just sang me its little song and I need to put away the laundry.

[adiproseprose]

Pig Status: Released

You swell with each suckle of the machine, thick shake violently dumping itself down your throat and into your arteries. Into your belly. It stretches down to your shins, now, an endless void of creamy white fat, keeping you pinned to your hospital bed. You don’t know how long you’ve been here. There is no day, no night. No one but you. Pump. Swallow. Pump. Swallow. 

You’re propped up on the bed in a way that gives you a view of your endlessly growing expanse. Diabetic, fat padded feet that grow worryingly swollen and red. Tits two garbage bags of meat stretching down to the center of your stomach. The real centerpiece is all your but hips. A spread of lard, dripping off the sides of your hospital bed, inching towards the floor with each calorie. Tubby hands to fat to close, skin stretched so tight you can hardly feel them. 

A sharp tingle runs down your shoulder, and your increasingly degrading muscles are overcome by weakness. Your swallowing, normally rhythmic and robotic, becomes more panicked. You muffle cries as your heart beats become harder and more painful, quick bursts of sharpness radiate throughout your whole upper body. The fat laden substance being forced into you, clogging each organ and ridding you of basic human function. Wheezing through your nose oxygen barely grazing your blubber, choked lungs as you wiggle your upper arms, cry desperate, muffled cries, anything to make it stop. 

What you didn’t expect, however, was for the tube shoved so far down your throat that refusing to swallow was impossible, wiring and slowly depositing itself from your mouth. You gasp, thick shake still coating your mouth, taking in air for the first time in ages. You pant underneath your own mass, and let out a massive BURP that echoes throughout the room. You want to look around, but your fat neck and blobby double chin prevent you from doing so. The pain in your chest is lessened from your fatty intake suddenly being striped, and the heart attack slowly goes into remission, the endless throbbing pain in your weakened muscles remaining the same. 

Slowly, you swing one massive leg over the side of the bed. Just lifting it takes up a huge portion of your energy, actually bending your strained joints a whole other story. A thick ring of sweat has surrounded your collar by the time you’ve actually managed to scoot your massive ass to the edge of the bed, heaving and panting. 

Now comes the real challenge: putting stress on your legs, which God knows you haven’t done in literal decades. Everytime you put stress on your knees, tears buildup in your eyes from the sheer amount of pain. You gasp and struggle, the very edge of your cellulite packaged, ample stomach hitting the floor as gravity does everything in her power to keep you glued to that bed. But you’re up. Each step invokes a sharp throb in your chest, arms too weak to even grab the flab hidden organ. 

Now let’s see you waddle to the door, piggy.

[dayundying]

those specific sandals are super common for swollen feet with pregnancy :( i imagine the socks are for comfort and giving slight extra protection instead of being completely open toed. sometimes they're called diabetic sandals but they function the same (helping with swollen feet)

And the horror washes over me. Anya I am so sorry for ever doubting you

[afanoffeederism]

Waiting for the driver

This is an encouragement piece for all the SSBHMs out there. CW: Adult themes and those of near immobility and food addiction.

You place the order and sigh. Now comes the hard part. Waiting. Your habit of eating everything left for you has caught up to you again. With a heave you get yourself onto your feet. With a hand braced against the railing of your bariatric bed, and another groping for the bariatric wheelchair you pivoted to the wheelchair and sit down. The massive lymphodema on your right thigh bumps and slaps, and pain jolts through your body. Having collapsed in the wheelchair you gasp. Even with the oxygen your increasing weight leaves your wheezing from the exertion. Finally you take your oxygen off - there's no need for a portable tank anymore, you never leave the house, and the hose from your concentrator won't travel that far - and you make your way to the door. Slowly. Your left foot and arms slowly pushing the wheelchair. Your right foot is propped on the footrest, moving that leg hurts because of the swollen lymphodema, and anyway, diabetic neuropathy has left that foot almost numb. You make it to the door. It's only about 30 feet from your bed, but you're exhausted. After all your entire world is this room, going to the door is like going for the moon. You wait, thinking about the delivery. Your breath comes in wheezes, your fat belly sags over your legs, your chest hurts from the exertion. Finally the doorbell rings. You open the door. The young, fit delivery driver takes a step back, his eyes widening. You stopped bothering with pants almost a year ago, and you forgot about it. It doesn't matter, your fatpad as swallowed your penis. The embaressment makes your buried cock stir. Is this an erect? It's been a while since you've had one. The delivery driver brings the food it, leaves it on the table, and scoots. You drag your body in it's wheelchair over to the table. You're thirsty, you crack open the regular two liter of pepsi and take a sip. You open the box and start to eat, forgetting about the driver, the pain, the breathlessness. The only thing that matters is your food. The only noise in the house is the mindless daytime TV, your eating, and the fat sounding wheezing of your breathing.

[dolcinos]

Can we hear some of your most dark and morbid wg fantasies/likes pls? Or literally anything immobility related? Your death feederism and fatpad stuff is so good!! Had me going insane…

absolutely!!! paragraph-length scenarios incoming… i’ll be neutral but throw in some alfred-specific ones at the end since he’s my (not so) little plaything.

ALSO THANK YOU FOR GOING INSANE OVER THE FAT PAD STUFF HEHE. i’m actually working on a teeny little drabble expanding on my previous post about it which is coming soon >:)

darker WG/obesity stuff below ↓

my preamble to this is i’ve been getting into more extreme WG and death feederism stuff kinda recently tbh (last few months). i’m happy you like it 💛💛 until now i’d say my general cap for feederism stuff was around 400 pound mark but now i’m really getting into the bigger dudes and immobility, blob, etc.

all that to say, things are still stewing in my brain rn and i hope these scenarios are up to par :’)

first off. fupa on the brain. or rather fat pads. a guy so blobby and obese that his puffy fat-pad could be mistaken for a stray belly roll. you can pinch a few good, thick inches of it in your fingers. great for nibbling on! maybe his fat pad is so deep that his dick is completely engulfed, cushioned between swelling fat, so far down that you can’t even reach his micropeen to stroke it… you’ve gotta rub your big boy’s tender, flabby fat pillow to get him off, hoping he feels the rough vibrations and flesh brushing against his tiny dick underneath all that blubber (and you can never do it for long because it’s exhausting to hold up all his belly fat with one hand!)

next: a big boy with diabetes brought on from his morbid obesity and very poor eating habits. he’s completely immobile, and you often have to massage his swelled legs (which are usually numb) and make sure you withhold sugar from him when you need to. it’s a huge turn on for you to see him whine when you limit his intake, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. you have to prick his fat butterstick fingers to take his blood sugar, and inject insulin for him since he can’t reach~

lastly and maybe the darkest, is a guy that’s a humongous blob of blubber. close to 1,000 pounds. a mountain of flesh and flab sitting atop a king-sized bed, unable to move much besides his eyes, head, and hands. you pamper him and feed him every meal, always wash him up. one day you have a falling out and break up, and sourly leave him— maybe even maliciously, cruelly leave, because you were his caretaker. you know he’ll be helpless alone. but you’re angry and don’t mind being awful. the realization that you left for good will dawn on him as he lays there, too fat to reach for his phone and call for help, too heavy to get up. he hasn’t felt his legs in a year and he doubts his swollen feet could even hold his weight. he thinks, bitterly, that maybe he’ll lose some weight this way, the hard way, through starvation. but he also knows he’ll need water eventually. that he’ll be sitting in his own piss and shit for days or months or years. that he’ll rot in this bed, encased in fat.

ALFRED-SPECIFIC GOODNESS:

i often think about rusame cold war stuff, pretty sure i’ve mentioned it very briefly. this ventures a bit into ‘unrealistic’ weight gain if done over a short period. alfred capturing ivan as a POW for a while a force feeding him that good ol’ american fast food is always a must for me (i think i’ll honestly write that as a fic), but the reverse is just as intriguing. ivan catches alfred spying and chains him up in a gulag somewhere, a very big cell where ivan feeds him those burgers he loves so much. revenge against capitalism… have alfred balloon up into immobility so he couldn’t even escape if he tried! ivan personally shoves double-decker, meaty, greasy cheeseburgers down alfred’s throat every day until he’s mindless and drooling, just wanting more and more food to sate his massive body.

death feederism alfred when he stuffs himself too much. after a feeding session with arthur, alfred still finds himself hungry and has arthur leave leftovers from last night at his chair. he’s a huge, immobile blob, reliant solely on arthur…who begrudgingly listens, but warns him not to eat too much more. arthur goes to sleep while alfred is still lazily in front of the tv, chowing down on fried chicken wings, a patty melt or two, an extra large soda, jumbo fries, deep dish pizza— when, suddenly, a heart attack strikes, and his obese body gives out ;)

[plasticfangtastic]

Building Blocks ch. 1

A Butchlander fanfic

A/N: on a writing hiatus but i wrote this with the last spurt of orginal though I had in my heart, so dunno when ch. 2 will happen, plz enjoy and read my other a/n in the tags:

Sypnopsis: What if Becca had stayed with Butcher, what if she never left and kept that terrible secret to herself, and now it was Butcher who had to deal with Homelander in the aftermath of his wife's death after he shows up with the heartbreaking information that it was this blond supe who was his son's real father.

tags: fluff, HL unhingeness, slowburn, dadlander,so much angst, complete AU.

Chapter One

Hello

“I want a baby.”

Butcher watches the man’s lips move and he hears him clearly but it still seems fake, he didn’t recognize the man, I mean he knew who he bloody was, he was the Homelander. America’s son, for pete’s sake even his prick did– for he pissed on a cup embossed with his face during long road trips.

But now he wished he hadn’t met him.

7 hours ago he had just finished the worst day of his life.

It was a beautiful day, terribly beautiful, birds sang, flowers bloomed and butterflies tickled his nose– lifted from a teenage girl’s dream. Everything about today was dreamlike, covered in a hazy sparkly glow as he had finished burying his wife.

One day she was driving to go get takeout, for they had the house for themselves for the first time in ages and next thing he knows there’s a police officer at his entryway 3 hours after she went to go get scampi.

It had been a beautiful ceremony, the flowers looked so lively under the gentle spring sun, the breeze just cool enough to not make wearing this now disheveled suit unbearable, he arrived home, his father-in-law took him after he had drank a small liquor store while in his house, prostrated by the steps of the basement surrounded by cans and dried tears.

Somehow he was now in his sofa alone, he panicked trying to find his phone to try to find answers before he spotted the strange figure.

He’d blame it on the booze if he hadn’t now been completely awake– he lets him in as the man requested so politely, he had no idea what he wanted, what was going on, other than it was better than thinking that by morning it would become official… that it would become real… the last couple weeks had felt like a bad acid trip that he can’t wake up from, but once the sun returns he knows she’s never gonna come back, she’s in a pinebox 6 feet under and not on her way home– so why not give in to more nonsense.

Why not let this Supe into his home.

“You’re Saunders’s husband?” He said in a firm tone, the man looked at him like he was a worm, he could’ve sworn, certainly not that friendly man he met at that christmas party all those years ago– heard about the funeral… you have… my condolences, she was a great employee.”

Butcher brows crossed, Becca only worked there a couple more months after that party, quitting suddenly and telling him she had found a better job, it paid less yet the hours were flexible, he didn’t question much even if it made his stomach feel things, Becca had loved her job at Vought, she had just gotten a promotion with this man and then one day whatever had happened in the office had left her wanting to leave… of course he would find out weeks later, when he caught her puking and every single thing smelled rancid, what could’ve been the reason after all her new job offered longer maternity leave compare to Vought, it also didn’t include dealing with spandex wearing freaks and it was less stressful, she would come home without much complain compare to before where she could waste 2 hours of her life shit talking her boss.

Between the chronic pregnancy insomnia, diabetes and swollen ankles Butcher gave her no grief for her decision to quit a stressful job.

Butcher had never wanted kids… he was no good for them he'd said… he dreamt of Lenny on his knees pleading and bleeding but it wasn’t Lenny and it wasn’t his ol’ man… it was him and a little boy with hazel eyes, it was him reflected in them, she had been open to the idea but never decisive yet one day Becca wanted a child suddenly. Even at her worst she loved the child inside her… he understood when he first felt his little stubby fingers wrapping around his finger, when he felt that warmth against his cheek, when he saw him waddled towards him, that he understood what was going on inside her mind during those bizarre couple of months.

He hadn’t been perfect, he had been too rough and impatient, he had yelled and wished he could have his old life back but he loved her… and he loved Ryan and he would regret everything wrong he ever did because he loved them, because he wasn’t going to ruin this.

He liked the future they were building for each other.

So he stared at him.

At the bluest eye he’d ever seen outside of his boy’s sunny skies.

Blue’s he thought were from his mother.

Blue’s seen in a hundred billboards but never in his boy until now.

Homelander took a seat on his armrest without getting comfortable placing a manila envelope on his coffee table pushing cigarette ash around it.

“I’m Ryan’s father.”

He spoke bluntly and without hesitation, he had no modicum of decorum simply irritated with nothing in particular it seemed, maybe it was not finding his boy in this place but only a leftover fragrance, that had him irritated.

“8 years ago we had a short fling… I never knew…” he spoke softly, allowing his shoulders to unwind a little– until recently.”

It was the alcohol and the grief and the sleep deprivation that made him pull the man who could have easily shrugged him an acre or two away from his living room as if they were equals on any level, and the blond seemed bemused by this puny man’s might, letting this play out.

“Shut your trap you cunt.”

“I was nothing to her so am not her to emasculate you. I am here because that boy is mine.”

He punchest him, breaking his knuckles bare.

A twinge of a beast twinkles in those hazel eyes, teasing the darkness that he had tried so desperately to bury, Homelander is unmoved as he clutches his injured hand.

“If he’s not mine then could you explain to me why your woman was getting child support from me?” His eyes dart towards the folder, he stands up yet again walking past him not wanting to look at him further– seven years ago she went to Vought claiming to be pregnant with my child, they performed a DNA test and determine it was mine… then–”

Homelander beegins heading towards the bedroom wings.

“Madelyn and Stan… they didn’t want the scandal to ruin my image, for me to have an affair with a married woman, somebody who worked for me… so she signed an NDA, and without me knowing they had been paying her for her continued silence.”

“Lies!!” The brit shouts– You shut yer trap! I don’t wanna hear it anymore, you cunt! Just get the fuck out of me house!!”

“I could kill you. I should… but William…”

“Don’t say my name” He spits– Kill me? Aren’t you a fucking supe?”

Homelander’s light brightens the dark.

Butcher falls into the couch as glass bursts beside him, shards turn to burning liquid slowly cooling down as they burnt the vinyl floorings.

“I could kill you, and there would be a clean up crew who would make it seem like you killed yourself… Kids need their father’s… Ryan needs a dad and you did the job– so as a show of gratitude I shall let you live, but I can take things from here.”

Butcher watched the smoke trail rising from the ground, before Homelander could move towards opening that door, Butcher had leaped towards his direction, any faster and he would give his blue speedster some competition.

“ I read your file… you were a marine, SAS– now you work for the CIA… taking a year off due to obvious personal reasons. You should reconsider.”

Homelander entered the room, catching the strong aroma by surprise, dirt, grass and dirty shoes, a scoffed football rolled away from the entrance, English football teams plastered the walls, toys littered the floor and the bed was the only thing made.

Homelander wished to see at least one baseball poster, or some cards, something more familiar, that he could easily use as a gateway for bonding with the boy.

“Look you son of a bitch! Why are you doing this!?”

“He is mine.”

“So you are just gonna take him and assume he’s gonna love you? Are you daft?” Butcher had dealt with dangerous men, violent criminals and murderers, sometimes he had been made to talk with words instead of bullets or fist and it was clear the second choice wouldn’t work with him.-- I’m his father, you’re a stranger all you’re gonna do is traumatize him and make him hate you.”

“You don’t kno–

“You have no idea who my son is, you just read a line on a paper and made up a fantasy… he… he just lost his mother… he just saw his ol’ man get carried out covered in his own snot and whiskey… my Becca… I…”

Butcher could feel the contents of his stomach rising, he looked pitifully into the room, looking at all the toys and the clothes she had yet to put away still in the basket by the foot of the bed.

“8 years ago… I had an affair… she was my boss… it… I don’ know why… why I did it… it didn’t matter ‘cuz I fukked it all up, then one day… she told me we was having a baby and that I needed to get my shit together, or leave” Butcher laid against the doorframe– I don’t know why am telling you any of this.”

“Possibly a combination of the percocet, and booze in various percentages in your system.”

Butcher had no energy to even roll his eyes or curse at him, annoyed at the man for being obtuse at this moment, he looked straight at him fighting the urge to yell at him to leave.

“You’re the reason she gave me a second chance… she fucked you to get even then she made me raised your baby”

Butcher can only hold himself for so long, he breaks down, it shocks Homelander for all he knew of this man was that he was a ruthless killer, yet he was breaking down, sobbing and struggling to breath as he watched the image of the woman he loved, of the woman he had given all that he had left in this world, hurt him.

A dozen questions hounded him, did she loved him at all? Did she change her mind half-way? Did she do all of this to hurt him one day? When she saw him teaching Ryan how to goal-keep in his grandparent’s backyard– did she do it with malice in her heart? Or did she realize the mistake she had made? Did it all go out of hand? Did she believed her own lies?

He looked up behind the tears, as the world’s greatest Supe kneel beside him offering a t-shirt he had found on the ground to clean up his tears. 

He should’ve hated him, he should’ve despised him yet… It was in the way he had spoken this whole time that he knew that he was just as hurt, using anger to disguise his hurt.

He could’ve stolen Ryan, he must’ve known the kid wasn’t here in the first place, he could’ve crashed the funeral and made a scene, he could’ve taken him while he slept the booze off, he could’ve waited ‘til tomorrow afternoon when the boy would be returned to take him away from him– but he came when it was only the two of them, either with murder on his mind or poorly planned out negotiation tactics.

How it must’ve felt to know you had a kid you never knew and want him… he wondered.

His own father would’ve been a happier bastard had he never had him, no doubt his mother’s biggest mistake wasn’t marrying the man, it was telling him they were having William in the first place… the complete opposite of what he was witnessing, when he saw those trembling lips and twitches that no amount of composure could hide.

As he cleaned his face on his son’s shirt, he couldn’t help but to think of how much he didn’t want the kid at first, swallowing his grievances and worries that this was a mistake, that it would change him for the worse and destroy their already fractured marriage… but he kept quiet for all he wanted was to kept Becca, it wasn’t until that afternoon where it was all over, and the doctor handed him that bundle of screams that he understood that he would never be like his father, for all he felt was love.

True love.

A love he only felt that night when he got stuck in an elevator with a pretty brunette, she had her groceries on both hands and one on the ground, cursing that her ice-cream will melt before somebody comes and gets them out.

An ice cream that would never make it to her apartment as it was left empty and discarded in that elevator with a pair of impromptu spoons made of celery stalks, that no doubt confused a neighbor or two.

He had loved her until the point it made him hate himself, that he had to screw everything up because the longer they stayed together, the more difficult it would’ve been to imagine a life without her, because that’s who he was… he was a man that drove others away, that’s why his father never loved him, that’s why Lenny had left him, that’s why his friends had such a hard time being there to put up with him.

And now without wanting, without trying at all, he was on the brink of driving his son away.

“Why do you want him?”

“He’s my son!”

“I ‘eard ya… but why can’t you make another one and leave us alone.” he cried.

“I can’t” He looks hurt– and is not a thing I would ever do! Abandon my child!”

Homelander turned pale, perhaps it was the strange intimacy between these strangers, perhaps it was the fact that they were technically strangers even if they had meet before, or the fact that he had fucked this man’s wife and would most likely not allow him to see daylight after they were done conversing, that made him blurt his most shameful secret.

He took his cape and wrapped it on his hand as he took a seat next to Butcher.

“When I was young, I was told I couldn’t have them… I tried… I tried a lot but nothing ever happened until… three weeks ago, when I stumbled upon this information– I’ll spare you the details… but it was a miracle.”

Homelander chokes slightly, catching the distaste at the force cheery tone on his mouth as he spouts the words miracle, it was true, Ryan was a secret miracle.

But it wasn’t him in those birthday photos holding his little boy with cream on his nose, and a wide smile, it wasn’t him on a camping trip, it wasn’t him holding that baby while giving him his first bath.

He wouldn’t tell Butcher, he had come earlier to survey the area, dig through his cabinets, scoffing at the disorganized sock drawer, or that he had been on this floor watching his family pictures, painting himself in those images.

“It’s that why you and Queen Maeve broke up?” he asked, clearing the snot– your baby batter no good?”

“It would’ve been easier if that was the case… she’s a dyke.”

Butcher turned around and shrugged, only mildly surprised by the news. 

“How is he? Ryan… is he smart? What does he like?”

The man didn’t wish to tell him a thing but he was sure Becca would’ve yelled at him if he had, he was hurt and he could at least make her angry.

“He likes school but hates math class, got in trouble once for cheating on a math exam but I couldn’t get mad because I also hated math class… he goes to the same school as my friend’s M.M’s kid and the two are glued to the hip, keep joking he’s gonna end up being related to me for real one day” he chuckles behind some tears– he loves football.”

“Not soccer?”

“It’s football! Your country just wants to be special and call it something else but it's called football, real football!” He sounds less aggressive than Homelander anticipated, like he was talking to a coworker he didn’t dislike– he’s the goalie in his team ‘cuz he’s the tallest kid in his class, swear that boy is gonna be 6’ 2’’ one day…” He chuckles dryly– and he loves movies… he even started making little short films and posting them online recently… he’s such a good kid”

And it bites him.

Of course Ryan would be such a good kid, because deep down he shared nothing with Butcher.

His father was this great hero, this man of pure noble heart… It made him full with relief that his son would never have this darkness inside him, this darkness that came from his scumbag sperm donor, that came from his veins, it wasn’t just Becca’s goodness that made him a sweet kid.

“I like history books and movies… am actually good at math… not to brag or anything, I’m just good at it, could probably ace a fifth-grade math exam any day.” he chuckles dryly.

“Want a drink? I think I need one…”

“Anymore and your bladder will explode… your liver is okay but–

“Don’t do that. It’s freaky.” he said with visible disgust.

Butcher stands up, listening to nature’s call as he heads back to his living room finding that Homelander is already in their long kitchen taking a can of beer from the french doors, their house was spacious, and old 60’s built if he had to take a guess, far from the city in a more woodsy area, they had remodeled together (…mostly Butcher but she picked the wallpaper) but when he thought about it now, it made sense why she would want to be in such a quiet place, even if it was just 1 hour or 2 from New York, the house was unassuming, a place that Homelander would had never given a second glance.

“I don’t want him to hate me… Ryan… the last thing I want in the whole world is for him to hate me… all I’ve ever wanted was a family, all I’ve been denied my whole life is a baby…”

Butcher stared at him, dragging his feet on the terracotta tile, taking the beer he had placed on the counter, cracking it open as he tried to make sense of this man.

“I want a baby…”

“They’re okay… smelly tho” he took a short sip feeling too uncomfortable for his own good– can’t find a woman who could give you one? Sure your Vought doctors would help you out”

“They won’t let me keep them. Not really… the only reason Ryan is here with you and not… somewhere else is because he doesn’t have this inside him.”

Homelander takes out a small pouch from the inside of his boot, it's a slim and small, Butcher stares at it quizzically as he offers it, trembling fingers take the pouch to reveal a small pair of ampoules holding a blue liquid.

“Compound V.” He opens his own can while considering taking an actual sip– I had a child before… before Ryan… killed their mother in the womb… laser her in half… they think my kids should be born with powers because all other supes are made with that… if Ryan… if Ryan had been born with powers, they would’ve taken him from you both, and for some reason your wife keep taking him to Vought doctors as part of their agreement, I'm trying to figure that out but if he had hit sudden supe-puberty– you’ll be dead.”

“You’re telling me supes are man-made?”

“Ryan could still have powers… ”

Butcher held that vial, slowly realizing what was hiding behind his words, as the man took a sip of Butcher’s beer.

“You… you want to make him into one of you cape freaks?” He almost growled.

“Is the only way I can protect him, because they can’t take him from me… if you leave they will find you and if they find you before I do, they will take him to a place not even I will ever find out, and I would flatten all of Manhattan so badly It'll make Hiroshima seem like a kid’s game and yet I know they won’t tell me where he is… but if he has powers… and me…”

“No!”

“Compound V recipient with supe parents are 70% more likely to inherit the powers from the patrilineal line than the mother’s… my powers are divine and will keep him safe, the odds of him not getting my powers is very unlikely, and trust me you don’t want to be on your own raising a child with my powers– not that I’ll let you.”

Homelander left the can to fizz out.

“I think… I think we can make this work… you let me be there for Ryan, and I’ll protect this happiness… we are both in this place because your wife made a series of decisions and now we’re both fucked in varying degrees but believe me when I tell you that I love him… and if you don’t listen to me, I’ll take him from you.”

He walks past him.

His hand on the door to the yard, he looks back at William.

He knows it won’t be the last he sees of him, as he its waved goodbye by a sonic boom rattling his kitchen windows, he thinks of calling Mallory and disappear, take Ryan and abandon the world, but as he made his way back to his bedroom, as he looked at his phone with sore eyes, he told himself that Homelander wouldn’t be giving him a warning if it wasn’t willing to negotiate, he wouldn’t have given him this V stuff to earn his trust.

His fingers moved before he could regret his decision.

“Mallory…”

“Are you alright?” He was surprised to hear that anxious tone in that woman’s voice, he glanced at his bedside table catching the clock reading past 1 am.

“Can we meet tomorrow before Ryan gets here– he’s with Becca’s folks… is urgent.”

“Why? You’re not doing something stupid are you, William?”

“Is stupid but not killing myself stupid.”

“... Butcher…”

“Please.”

“I’ll be there for lunch.”

He hangs, dropping into his pillows clutching that strange vial, thinking of a supe he'd never care about before.

this is the house where most of the story will take place:

[growingtransgirl]

Just for shits and giggles, and for the feet lovers out there, here’s my slightly swollen diabetic feet.

[ankleandfootcentersofamerica]

Managing Diabetic Foot Swelling and Top of Foot Edema

Swollen Feet Diabetes, often referred to as edema, is a common symptom of the condition. It affects both ankles and the tops of the feet, causing them to become swollen. The severity of this symptom can range from mild to severe, depending on an individual’s level of diabetes control.

[crosstheveil]

Health: Misconceptions with Anemia and "Iron Deficiency"

Iron Absorption & Utilization

Simply taking iron supplements often doesn't cure anemia.

Proper absorption and utilization of iron involve many processes.

1/3 of the population has trouble absorbing and utilizing iron; it's considered the most common nutritional disorder in the world.

Anemia is usually about iron dysregulation, not deficiency.

Iron supplements or injections tend to circulate excessively, potentially causing toxicity.

Iron overload strains the iron recycling system and the liver.

Liver plays a key role in regulating iron uptake.

Iron doesn't regulate itself; it's copper-dependent.

Copper is essential for ceruloplasmin, a protein that mobilizes iron from tissues into the blood. Without copper, iron accumulates in tissue leading to inflammation and tissue damage which can develop into others issues like heart or liver disease and diabetes with increased risk of infection and cancer.

Retinol (Vitamin A) enhances iron absorption and influences genes regulating iron metabolism.

Iron Testing

CBC can detect anemia but it can't necessarily tell you the cause.

Serum ferritin doesn't give a true measure of iron stores.

Approximately 70% of iron is found in hemoglobin, around 20-25% is stored as ferritin and hemosiderin in tissues, about 5% is in myoglobin and enzymes, and roughly 0.1% as serum iron.

For accurate assessment, consider all containers of iron including hemoglobin, serum iron, and ferritin, as well as non-iron markers such as zinc, copper, and vitamins A & D.

The only direct way to measure iron stores is to keep removing blood until anemia sets in, then account for the iron deficit and dietary iron consumed during this time.

Sources (meat, liver, and seafood)

Copper: liver, nuts, molasses, oats, bee pollen, shellfish, pumpkin seeds, dark chocolate, acerola cherry powder, shilajit.

Retinol (Vitamin A): liver, other organ meats, egg yolk, seafood, fish liver oils, dairy products.

Other Insights

Phytates in plants can hinder non-heme iron absorption but vitamin C helps to counteract these inhibitory effects.

Over-supplementing with zinc can cause copper deficiency since copper and zinc need to be in balance.

There are many causes of anemia beyond "iron deficiency", such as vitamin B12 deficiency.

The Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine was awarded in 1934 to George Whipple, George Minot, and William Murphy for their discoveries related to liver therapy in cases of anemia.

Other studies have supported incorporating beef liver (which contains copper, iron, zinc, vitamin A and D) into the diet.

The key is to have food that isn't concentrated on a certain vitamin or mineral but provides a mixture of what we need in a way that our body can properly absorb without inhibiting effects.

Men are naturally higher in iron than women and women are naturally higher in copper than men (estrogen levels contribute to the production of copper).

Female menstruation is why iron deficiency anemia is more common among women.

Signs of anemia include fatigue, pale complexion, blurred vision, dizziness, irregular heartbeat, cold hands and feet, scanty menstruation, numbness, insomnia, poor memory, dry skin, brittle nails, vertical ridges on nails, muscle twitches, shortness of breath, chest pain, headache, swollen or sore tongue, unusual cravings, restless legs.

[bubblewrapjunkie]

i know tumblr probably isn’t the place for this type of lament, but if you ever find yourself eight months pregnant like i am at the moment, know this - everything hurts. your hips, your back, your stomach, your swollen feet and hands, your crotch - everything. sleeping is impossible because turning over hurts and you have to pee every hour. chances are that your skin itches despite moisturizing to the best of your ability (you won’t be able to reach… a lot of places) and if you skip out on the iron supplements that makes you so constipated you develop hemorrhoids for the first time in your life, you’ll get restless legs within 48 hours. walking has to be done at a pace that can only be described as glacial, and it will aggravate every single one of your ailments. maybe your gums will bleed, or maybe you’ll develop gestational diabetes and won’t even be able to eat some chocolate for comfort. maybe your hormones will be so wildly all over the place by the end, you’ll cry at a cat food commercial because of the “special bond between owner and pet”.

and if you’re a person who really wanted a kid, you’ll cry and moan, but in the end, none of it will matter. because you’re already a parent. every well placed kick by that baby that hits your ribs with a force that should be impossible for an infant to muster, is another sign that they’re fine.

and if those kicks end… if all of the sudden the heart that has moved down from your chest into your belly stops beating… i cannot imagine a worse fate than banging at a hospital door, trying to get help in a helpless situation, and getting turned away. scrambling in darkness and pain and loss and instead of being allowed to scream your grief into the void, you instead have to scream for your life. all the while knowing that inside of you is the corpse of what was once your dream.

i don’t live in a place where abortions are prohibited. but so many of my nightmares these last five months (when the worst fear of having a miscarriage was dampened) have been about having a rotting dead child in my body. having all of the same pains and struggles and knowing that it’s all for nothing, that what you really want more than anything in the world has now been rendered impossible. in my nightmares, i hear my dead baby moan inside my head, their spirit haunting the graveyard they’re stuck in.

wherever you are, wherever you live, stay vigilant. protect women and their right to choose. never take it for granted. i know i never will.