#because i couldn't get the antibiotics until this afternoon

[naamahdarling]

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[textsfromthetva]

I would have made a post sooner, but I've been too distressed to even talk about this.

Mobius is sick. That's my cat, for the uninitiated. He started throwing up food Thursday night, like, a lot, so we went to the vet on Friday, who concluded he had a fever, but other than that and the nausea, there were no symptoms. So that's an infection, right? No telling where, but he got a shot of anty-nausea meds, a shot of antibiotics, and I got a box of catch-all antibiotics in pill form, and home we went.

Problem is, he kept getting worse. Cats do this thing where, when they feel a bit under the weather, they go 'guess I'll die 🤷‍♂️' and stop eating and drinking, like little drama queens. So you need to keep them from starving themselves to death until medication starts working. Friday night I had to start force feeding him, which in the case of cats means mixing wet food with water, forcing their jaw open, and using a syringe (without a needle, obvs) to squirt food into their mouth, holding their head back to force them to swallow. It's not fun for either party, and for 36 hours I did that every other hour, including throughout the night. But he continued to get worse. He was sluggish and dehydrated. I kept feeding him. No improvement. He was miserable, I was miserable, it was fucking horrible.

Sunday night we went to an emergency vet clinic, because I couldn't handle it any longer, I needed someone to have another look. She concluded that his fever had gone up, despite him being on antibiotics. This is obviously very troubling. She convinced me to pay for some blood work, just the basics, and he's insured, so whatever. I told her the Good Girl died two months ago, from FIP (feline infectious peritonitis). When she came back she looked very grim, and had brought scanning equipment. A ton of stuff was totally fine, but there was one thing, that was alarming. A number that should be over 8 in healthy cats, with 4-8 being troubling, and under 4 being 'that cat probably has FIP' was clocking in at a 3 for Mobius. But his red blood cells were fine and his organ markers were fine, so she did an ultra sound to look for fluids in his abdominal cavity, which is another sign of FIP. There was nothing. She's worried that it's just because we caught it super early.

But, we decided to proceed as if he's got a crazy infection, he got another injection of anti-nausea medication, new antibiotics, some fever-reduction pills, and an appetite stimulant that's a cream you rub on the inside of their ears, so it's absorbed through the skin.

He started perking up a lot. Still wasn't eating though. So this afternoon my mom stopped by with ten different kinds of wet food they had lying around (cat breeder behaviour), and we created a huge buffet on the kitchen floor. All my plates are in play. And eventually he started eating some shredded chicken in jelly. I don't know if you've ever cried from watching a cat eat, but I was fucking sobbing.

At this point, 12 hours later, I've had to refill the plate with that single fucking kind of wet food four times. He's almost halfway through a big can by now!

So I'm choosing to be delulu right now. I'm choosing to believe that those numbers were off because he hadn't eaten. Because he's completely back to normal now, behaviourally, and surely, surely he would not get better like this if he was fatally ill and about to die.

Anyway, if he does die I'm going to break. Just FYI.

[27dragons]

The Sheer Gall

Content warning: Medical adventures. They're not graphic, but if you're particularly squeamish, be warned. Also a solid wall of text, so I'm dropping most of it behind a readmore. Basically, this is a rundown of my past week...

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Last Monday evening, I popped a fever. Not a bad one, never even got all the way up to 102F (38.8C). It broke overnight, and I woke up on Tuesday with only a low-grade that eased back down to normal by lunchtime.

Tuesday evening, I developed a mild pain that ran along the bottom of my right ribcage. That was weird, but it was basically a mirror of the spot where I feel the pain when my heartburn/ulcer nonsense kicks up, but less painful, so I figured it was some weird gas or something and went to bed, figuring it would resolve by morning.

It did not resolve by morning. By Wednesday afternoon, I was weirded out enough by this mild but persistent pain go to the UrgentCare clinic and see what they had to say. What they had to say was: probably a gallstone, though because of the way UrgentCare and insurance in this country works, they couldn't order the ultrasound that was needed to be certain. But the pain was mild and my temperature was fine, so the UC doc said, "Call your primary doc as soon as you get home and make an appointment to arrange for an ultrasound. If the pain gets worse or you spike a fever, go to the Emergency Room."

Less than an hour after I got home, I started shivering. I checked and -- yep, low-grade fever. I wasn't sure that counted, so I went and curled up in bed (to warm up a bit) and took my temp every fifteen minutes or so, watching the number on the thermometer readout slowly climb. When it hit 100.1F (37.7C) (still technically lowgrade but high enough that I was pretty sure it would keep going up) I packed myself a bag and drove to the ER.

It had gone back down to just BARELY over normal by the time I got there, which made me think they were probably going to just confirm that it was still early stages, not a problem yet, and send me home again. The ER ordered an ultrasound, and eventually the ER doc came and told me it was definitely gallstones but it didn't look urgent enough to operate that night, so they were probably going to send me home with instructions to contact the surgical center in the morning to make an appointment, pretty much like I thought. He was just waiting to confirm that with the surgeon on duty. Half an hour later, the surgeon on duty came into my room and said, "The Thursday operating schedule is already completely booked, so we're going to jump the queue by scheduling you before all the other surgeries, at 7:00." Basically, he agreed that it wasn't enough of an emergency to operate immediately, but it was urgent enough that he didn't want to wait until Friday.

So they admitted me to the hospital proper at about 10pm, and moved me up to the surgical ward. It was very early Thursday morning by the time the nurse had finished collecting information and setting me up with an antibiotic drip while I texted my family and boss to let them know what was going on. At about 4am, they started prepping me for the surgery, and five or so hours after that, I woke up in Recovery.

I spent most of Thursday groggy and trying to figure out how to move when my abdominal muscles had decided to take some time off. My dad drove up to sit with me for a few hours, and that evening the Ex brought the Things to see me. That evening, the night nurse made me get out of bed and take a few laps around the ward, which I didn't want to do (and I stubbed my little toe on the base of the IV pole like five times) but did help enormously with the weird gas pressure and bloating left over from the surgery.

The surgeon woke me up at about 6:30 Friday morning to show me a bunch of pictures he'd taken of the inside of my body, go over the points of the surgery with me, give me my post-surgical restrictions and instructions, and tell me he would leave discharge orders in the computer for me when I was ready to go. I was back home by lunchtime, and honestly it only took that long because they have a policy that you can't drive yourself home from the hospital, so I had to arrange for my sister-in-law to come pick me up. (My brother and dad coordinated retrieving my car from the ER parking lot that afternoon.)

I could tell a bunch more anecdotes about things that happened in the hospital -- conversations I had with the various nurses, misadventures with my IV, overlapping but unrelated other medical/body issues, my selection of TV to watch, and the delusional patient in the room two down from mine -- but here's the thing I want you guys to remember, most of all:

The only initial warnings I got were an intermittent low fever and mild but persistent pain. That's it. If I hadn't been weirded out by the persistence of the minimal pain, my gall bladder might well have ruptured a day or so later and left me with a much worse problem to deal with.

Pay attention to your bodies, guys. It will tell you when something's wrong... but it may not be speaking very loudly.

[shion-yu]

Day 30 - Coma

It gets more than Elliot can handle at home (part 3). Part one here and part two here. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Cliff - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23741453.cliff. This one’s a multiparter, this is the third and final part (I think).

TW/CWs: Major chronic illness, hospitalization

The ICU was much quieter than the emergency room. For some reason that was worse - maybe because it forced Elliot to think about something other than the chaos around him. Cliff lay on bleached white sheets pale as a ghost. Elliot couldn't bring himself to look directly at him. Perhaps the sound of the ventilator pumping in and out should have been comforting because it meant Cliff was still alive, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

Moira called him sobbing. The hospital had notified Cliff’s father, who had then notified her. She was on the first plane there but it wouldn't arrive until later that afternoon. Elliot just told her it was fine. Cliff was stable, at least as stable as someone who couldn't breathe on their own could be. Cliff’s father made a short appearance but said little, focusing his efforts on working with Cliff’s doctors on diagnosis and plan of care. Elliot didn’t even have the energy to glare at him properly.

Upon arriving, Moira hugged Elliot right away. Elliot tried to comfort her but his attempts were half-hearted when he could find little to comfort himself with. He had called his own mom and had a full breakdown on the phone earlier. While she was of course supportive and worried for Elliot, she hadn’t offered to come by the hospital either. Elliot understood, but secretly he wondered if part of that was influenced by resentment, too. He'd been so broken the first time they'd split up and he knew she was still worried Cliff could just be using him as someone to take care of him now that he was sick. It wasn't true, but it was a fact that ate away at Elliot's consciousness. It was similar with Milo - he could call his best friend, but the guy would only be there for Elliot’s sake, not Cliff’s. His followers online definitely weren’t the right place for this. Ultimately, he felt alone.

Several differential diagnoses were thrown around over the next few days, but none of them stuck. The doctor explained that they'd taken several samples of blood, CSF, lung tissue and sputum to test and they were waiting to see what grew. However they were sure that at the least it was a very bad infection, most likely an opportunistic one from long term steroid use; Cliff's immune system was destroyed by the very medication that had been keeping him alive. There was talk about brain surgery too if nothing grew on the cultures which sounded beyond terrifying, but thankfully on the fourth day after arriving Dr. Barrows told Elliot and Moira they'd identified a bacteria - nocardia. It was something that was usually harmless in most people, but in this case it was severe and Cliff's chances of survival were extremely poor considering it had already reached his brain. The most intensive of antibiotics were all they could hope for. Elliot googled nocardia and then quickly wished he didn't, because it said the chances of survival for disseminated nocardiosis in immune suppressed people was only about 15%. That number throbbed in his mind. 15% sounded painfully low.

Despite this number, Cliff did respond to the antibiotics. His numbers were apparently getting better, even though to someone like Elliot he seemed the same. A week in, the ventilator was removed and sedation weaned. Cliff was breathing on his own with just oxygen, but he wasn’t waking up. There was nothing else to do but wait at that point and hope that Cliff’s body allowed him to wake up again. There was a possibility that there would be lasting brain damage. There was a possibility that he’d never wake up at all. The idea of either thing happening was almost too much for Elliot to handle. The stress caused him to feel the tug of old habits, but he ignored them for Cliff’s sake and Cliff’s sake only.

Elliot couldn’t help but blame himself though. Cliff had been getting progressively weaker for a while, but they’d assumed it was just part of his flare up. The doctor said that there was no way of knowing - Cliff’s immune system was so poor that he likely hadn’t been showing signs of the growing infection until it was so severe. Still, Elliot kept thinking, maybe if he had just paid a bit more attention...

It had been ten days since they’d come to the hospital. Elliot had rarely left the building this entire time and he was exhausted. This evening, Moira had convinced him to go home to shower and to take a nap; Elliot had resisted, but once he’d given in he didn’t even remember getting home before he passed out for the entire night, dead to the world. He was woken up the next morning by Milo knocking on his door - apparently zombie-Elliot from last night had texted him to come wake him up in the morning if he didn’t wake up himself. He hadn’t, after twelve long hours of sleep.

Milo gave Elliot a tight hug before coming in and immediately providing Elliot with much needed coffee and breakfast that he’d brought. “You look terrible,” Milo pointed out. “Have you eaten anything at all?”

“Thanks a lot... And yes. Cliff’s sister force feeds me every so often,” Elliot mumbled around a hot cup of coffee. He closed his eyes and felt like if he let himself, he’d sleep for another twelve hours. He was so tired, so worried. “What if he never wakes up, Milo?”

“He’ll wake up. He’s pretty stubborn,” Milo pointed out. It was a testament to how serious things were that he didn’t take the opportunity to tell Elliot he’d be better off without Cliff. “But he needs you alive, too. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m trying. I’m here, aren’t I?” Elliot snapped. Then he sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

Milo nodded. “It’s okay, I know. You love him.” 

Elliot looked up at Milo in surprise. “Really?” His best friend had always disapproved of his relationship with Cliff, something that had pulled them apart before. 

“Yeah,” Milo said. “You need him too. So he’s going to wake up.” 

They fell quiet, Elliot nursing his coffee and willing himself the energy to go back to the hospital. He showered and was convincing himself to return to that painful waiting game when his phone began to ring on full volume. Immediately panicked, Elliot grabbed it and saw that it was Moira. Please don’t be bad news. “Hello?!”

“He’s waking up,” Cliff’s sister answered. She sounded like she was crying. “Come back, okay?”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Milo drove Elliot back to the hospital in record time and Elliot sprinted up to Cliff’s room. He couldn’t believe it until he saw for himself, but there Cliff was, eyes half lidded but open. The head of the bed was elevated and Moira was there holding his hand, talking softly to him. When Elliot showed up she smiled and pointed at him. “There he is,” she said.

Elliot burst into tears. He hugged Cliff as tight as he dared what with how fragile Cliff surely was, trying not to get caught in all the wires. When he pulled back, Cliff’s eyes were looking at him. Elliot let out a relieved sob. “You’re awake.”

“He’s not talking yet,” Moira informed Elliot gently. “I don’t think he really knows what’s going on.”

"That’s okay. That’s okay, baby, you’re awake, that’s what matters,” Elliot said. Cliff’s lips trembled slightly as if he were trying to say something, but nothing came out. Elliot wondered just how extensive that possible brain damage could be. But then he felt Cliff’s fingers twitch in his hand and he felt it form a very loose shape. He looked down and recognized it: sign language for I love you. And Elliot knew Cliff was going to be alright. Maybe not right away, but eventually, and that was what mattered.

Part 4

[medstudent03]

My Six Week Plan!

Late again? Nooo... Couldn't possibly be me 😅 🥲

This week wasn't too busy, I just had a really busy weekend. Had my exam on Wednesday, followed by some free ice cream my uni was giving away, then had two different Dr appointments on Friday morning. I went charity shopping with my friend Friday afternoon, then we wore our new clothes out to dinner, and had a picnic on Sunday that turned into a movie night.

Skin!

I've fallen behind in my skincare routine this week, mostly because I've been having late nights and even later mornings. I'm still taking my antibiotics but they've been making me really sick, so I'm gonna take a break from them next week. I'm getting plenty of sun though, and my skin always clears up a little when I get sun.

Academics!

I had my last exam on Wednesday! I'm not sure I did well, but it's all over now and I don't even need to think about it until September. This is the end of the Academic section of my plan, but I'll share my results when I get them.

Weight!

I've been avoiding weighing myself this week, but since I sent my mum a selfie on Friday and her response was to ask if I want to try to lose weight with her over summer, I'll assume I'm not doing too well. I don't think I ate too much this week and I definitely noticed I was binging less, so that's good!

I have another full week approaching. More shopping on Tuesday, looking for prom dresses in a neighboring town (ours is awful for shopping). I'll be at the drs all day on Thursday (the nurse even warned me to clear my schedule!), then it's our prom on Saturday. The idea is a fair/festival type thing on the day and a formal dance overnight. There'll even be a "survivor's photo" at 5am on the Sunday, so I've taken that as a personal challenge to still be there for the photo!

See you next week! 🩷

[pbandjesse]

Today was. Like 4 different days. I am excited to go to sleep.

I sort of got to sleep in. But not actually. I didn't have to be up until 8 but I would feel stress and couldn't stay asleep. I did get to see James briefly before they left. And I would get up pretty soon after that.

I felt like my face was really puffy this morning. Like my eyes and cheeks seemed puffy. I had coughed really really hard at 6am. James said I sounded like I was struggling really bad. I would do a little better once I was up and standing. And my face would stop being puffy by the middle of the day. But I was feeling kind of bad about myself to start.

I had breakfast. James left me an omelet in the microwave. I shared some of it with Sweetp. And would get myself ready to leave.

My appointment was at 9. And everyone was driving stupid. And me being nice and letting someone in front of me caused me to lose the last parking space in the lot so I had to turn around in the office ally and park on the street. Which was fine and only mildly annoying because the couple that snagged the last spot were still sitting in their car when I was done in the doctor's which means their appointment was after mine and it annoyed me. Ugh

I had a good appointment. I think my doctor thinks I'm funny. James says it's because I recount stories like a stand up special. But the thing I like about this doctor is because he doesn't dismiss me because I'm silly in my delivery.

I tried to make him understand that while I was mostly okay in this moment, I would deteriorate throughout the day and the night was the worst. And he got it. He thinks I'm still a little sick because of the rhumatologist medicine. So he wants me to try antibiotics. And taking Flonase consistently to try and help the drowning. And if nothing improves he has also prescribed me the same steroid as before and maybe if I take that throughout the day rather then just once it'll help longer. He's really nice.

I paid and made a followup appointment. And headed out.

I was so close to the museum that I decided to stop and say hello to James. When I got there I got some compliments on my outfits from Meghan and one of the newer educators and it was so nice to chat with Meghan. She would actually reach out to me later and we made plans to hang out in a few weeks. She's great.

I also just hugged in James for a minute and told them what the doctor said. It was a worthwhile stop for sure.

I left as their group was coming in and went to my job. It wasn't much longer then the drive from home. And it wasn't a bad drive. No real traffic but someone started tailgating me and flashing their high beams at me for not tailgating the person in front of me I guess. And then once they got around me I watched them swerve in and out of traffic and it was so dangerous. Stupid behavior.

I got to camp and put away low ropes first thing. Before I even got to the office. And it was much warmer today so the only thing that sucked was moving the ladder around. But I got it done and it was honestly beautiful out and I had worn enough layers to be comfy.

I went to the office next and filled them in on the appointment. And then about the workshop tomorrow. Checked in about Samson and anything they wanted me to bring. Specifically the quad poster that needs to be repainted with more current pictures but it's something at least.

I would do some work on my document and my workshop and just some other little things. I had the rest of my spaghetti from last night for lunch. It was a nice day.

In the afternoon I would take a walk to the art building. I collected the got glue guns and a few small things for tomorrow. I also grabbed my hiking slip one and some of the clothes I had up there to bring home and decide if I'm getting rid of them for real. I grabbed some clogs I had up there too and wanted to try those again. But I tried them tonight and remembered why I was getting rid of them. Ah well. Worth trying.

I went to the nature building next and got a tank to set up for Samson. He was mostly buried but I stole some of his dirt for the travel tank. And would leave him for now. I would return for him at the end of the day.

When I got back to the office I poked around the attic. Worked on writing my feild trip schedule for the next couple months. Got confused about a creative alliance workshop I had written down and sent an email to Parker and then immediately realized what it was and emailed him back to ignore my last email and he thought that was very funny. Sometimes I move to fast with sending emails!!

But it's fine

I got my calendar all set up and hung it in the window.

I would do a little designing for the wedding open house were having. And went through some photos Elizabeth uploaded to the drive. And worked on that until I needed more feedback before I could move forward and Elizabeth was on a tour so it really decided the end of my day for me.

I would chat with Heather and promised to take pictures tomorrow. And went to get Samson.

He was poking out of his shell and he's a sweet boy so it was not a big deal to transfer him. I brought the tank to my car and buckled him in in the backseat.

And then it was time to go.

I stopped at the grocery store. To get Caeser dressing for dinner. And then drove home. It was not a bad drive. Not to much traffic. I was just tired.

When I got back I took Samson in first. Then came back to the car for eveything else. I moved my car closed for the second run. And saw our neighbor Ryan and we waved. It is nice to make friends with the neighbors.

I spent the next bit of time putting my materials together for the workshop. And putting some stuff away. I'm just thrilled with the studio right now and I can't wait to a really have time to sit and make things. I have some plans!

James would come home soon. I was moving some stuff into our book cases and was so happy to see them. I started not feeling amazing and decided to stop working and went to chill on the couch.

James made me a salad and they had falafel. And we would chill for a bit before it was time to go to the theater.

James was working concessions at theater project and it was a happenstance show so I wanted to go. And it was fun! When we got there it was nice to see Chris and then happenstance had set up a puzzle of the garden of earthly delights and I worked on it with someone else.

I'm sad I didn't get their name but they we were so fun and we talked and worked on the puzzle for a good half hour. We talked about puzzles and school and cults and shows at this theater and they were just so lovely. But then I ran to the bathroom as the house opened and when I came back they were gone and I couldn't find them again. I hope we cross paths again!

The show was fun. I always love the different clown styles of happenstance. This was very different. It was medieval. Which is much later in history then they usually play but it was fun. Not my favorite show but I thought it was really wonderful. There was apart where a demon was attached to a guy and all the costumes were just so fun. I had s really good time.

I was struggling to not cough the whole time though. I had to use the inhaler twice during an 80 minute show. I hope I wasn't disturbing anyone but I know I was at least a little. Sorry everyone.

When the show was done I followed James out. I had saved them a seat at the very top of the theater and we were able to quickly pop out the back. Grabbed our coats and headed out.

We walked past the new club that opened next to/under theater project and you could literally hear the music from the club during the show so I'm sure that has become an issue for theater project. I hope they can figure something out there because it's kind of a shitty situation. Like no one is in the wrong but it's not cool for sure.

We got to the car and my mom had just called. I'm like. Okay whos dead. Also if it's my dad I'm gonna be pissed. But no one is dead. Dad is just in the hospital. He is okay. This is a good thing. It feels to heavy to talk about, but he's getting help and that is positive movement. And I just want to know my parents are okay and not just living but happy and thriving. And I'm proud of him for taking the steps to get better. Even if it's really hard.

We would get home and see that Samson was awake and eating lettuce. Sweetp was being a cutie. James gave me a hug and took my workshop stuff to the car so I wouldnt have to in the morning. And I went to take a shower.

The shower helped a little but I really want to sleep now. I am coughing still but it's not as constant and not as hardcore. Tomorrow I will be better.

Tomorrow is a busy day. I have my workshop until 1130. And I hope to have Samson back to camp by 1230. And then back home not long after 1. I would like to sleep for a little. And then I head to the musuem for the fundraiser! I'm looking forward to the night. I hope it's a lot of fun.

I hope you all have a good night too. Sleep well. Take csre of yourselves. Take care of eachother. Good night.

[firespirited]

So I have a bunch of 'war stories' about my long long time with violent gallbladder attacks trying to magically lose weight

(I'd already cut out all fat down to the gram) to get to an arbitrary surgery number except dun dun: hunger triggers bile.

The diy nonsense and prep you get up to when the pain is that intense, the moment when my body reacted post op with the biggest attack yet, crazy chaotic stupid stuff like at the hospital, i got unplugged from my IV and spurted blood everywhere...

All tiny compared to what was to come. During the post op attack, they gave me a painkiller that lasted 5 hours and locked me in my body unable to move or speak. It was relief and was nice and fine until

1/ I discovered my mother had terrible sleep apnea where she'd stop breathing for what felt like forever

2/ a power cut reset my heart monitor machine to a solid beep for 30 seconds and mum thought I had coded.

In those 5 hours and singular moments, 18 months of random blinding pain that makes you moan, rock uncontrollably and sweat enough to fill towels, elaborate precision scalding under the ribs with burns you treat later, the anti nausea/vagal nerve/fainting remedies, the post op pain: It was all trivial.

She went home next day because she was wiped. But they hadn't kept up my meds and I went into combo ssri and benzo withdrawal. I had a psychotic episode, made a very angry phone call to a very confused and distressed mum, called a taxi and had the guy sneak me out of hospital convinced my loved ones had abandoned me and wouldn't allow me home. So that there was my third withdrawal psychotic break and let's just say there's a very clear pattern, it's not entirely irrational and there's nothing I fear except THAT when it kicks in. Not too painful a memory as I've apologised profusely and know it was fake and know my deep faultline. Just a cherry on top of the mess sundae. Funny isn't it?

Mum's on a CPAP now and it's wonderful. I couldn't do a thing while that machine beeped and that moment was more potently awful than all of it.

—-------–-----

When I was 16 a doctor did botched local anesthesia surgery on my toe to remove my toenail and scrape the bone, the anaesthetic syringe didn't work. I was alone and the doctor thought I was just afraid of pain and hysterical (ask me about the surgeries and disinfections i'd done on myself someday lmao) I passed out multiple times. The syringe needle shifted right into a nerve and i spasmed and begged out. But the whole afternoon was fuzzy, I had dissociated on my way home from school after a rape threat and attempting groping by the local drunkard about an hour before my appointment so the whole very bloody gory and extremely painful moments are fractured like a broken mirror or a badly downloaded movie. It took me about a week to properly piece together the sequence of events and explain why I'd left the doctors and walked home with a shoe full of blood. I don't know if it would have been worse to be fully present.

—————

I had a series of daily treatments with the generic version of an intravenous antibiotic with a crap formula that crystalizes and burns. The brand name was too expensive for me to switch. It was very high pain both in the moment and the next hour. I have lumps of scar tissue that get in the way of my daily injections, large lumps of chemically burned lower hip/upper glute muscle. Those injections gave me back the ability to walk more than 10 yards, more spoons, less exhaustion agony so I kept submitting to it for as long as treatment was available. I resent that big pharma doesn't care if the generic has bad side effects. I only curse the scars when the needle jams and it hurts. I'd do it again.

–––––––

Pain is a constant but it's so varied. Bowel spasms, migraines, shooting pains, dull aches, burning sensations, muscle cramps, pain that itches your teeth, skin like a sausage ready to pop, the fibro zappy zaps. How do you choose a worst one without taking other things into account? Which part of the orchestra is giving you a headache?

=======

I have some really funny gory stories about the ingrowing toenails though. Oh and sis removed a large sebaceous cyst from my back with a disinfected exacto knife - we were sober but high on sleep deprivation.

I got pink eye last week and thought I'd put alcohol into some sterile water, i'd just got drips down the side and got 70% rubbing alcohol in my eye, sis nearly cried laughing when I said I'm fine with a high pitched wobble. It worked though.

I cracked my shoulder bone when I stood up to a bully age 10 and he pushed me so hard I hit the ground with no way to brace. Had to wear an elastic potato sack for 3 months and learn to write with my left hand. But I'm very proud of that one.

Others I'm too sore to talk about at least tonight. Toxic friendships, institutional neglect. Stuff I tried to ignore or didn't care to care for myself.

Eh. What matters is now and now I'm doing slow rehab and off to get some sleep.

[simplykaren]

Yesterday was just one of those days where nothing on the books went as planned. First appointment showed up 20 minutes early...before the doctor was even on premise. 2nd and 3rd appointments were last-minute call-ins.

Then we finally got to our anesthetic procedures for the day. The kitty spay ended up already being spayed (found her tattoo when we started shaving--couldn't see it all through her dense fur until then and she didn't have the trimmed ear of a TNR kitty). But! She had tapeworms, so we dewormed for those before waking her up.

2nd procedure was a level 4 dentistry on an ancient little dog. We fully expected to end up with multiple extractions, but after getting the massive blocks of tartar off and checking dental x-rays...the teeth were all fine??? No complaints here, just surprise. (Pupper did go home with some antibiotics given how bad their gingivitis was.)

The last procedure was another dentistry (level 1), but when the owner dropped off, they added on a mammary mass removal. Dentistry went fine (except for doggie really not wanting to go under with our usual induction agent). Only highlight was this dog decided to get rid of her last lower molar on one side and have an extra molar up top on the same side. Supernumary teeth are always exciting. And the mass, once doctor got it out, appeared to be a very suspiciously placed lipoma rather than an actually nasty mammary mass. Which was great, because the owner had already decided they didn't want to biopsy it.

As we were working on the last surgery, a client and their dog walked in. Doggie had just finished having a seizure when they'd never had one previously. Normally, I dislike walk-ins, but this one was totally understandable. (Still would have been nice if they called to give us a heads up, so our doctor wouldn't have been in the middle of a surgery.)

Then every. Single. One. Of our afternoon appointments canceled or rescheduled (family emergency, got held up at work, cat refusing to come back inside to be put in their carrier, heater broke and the owner having to stay home for the repair guy, etc.). Then the cat one re-rescheduled for 5 minutes after their original appointment, because as soon as the owner hung up from rescheduling for Saturday, the cat decided to come inside. xD (Kitty's problem also turned out to be something completely different from what the owner thought was going on, and we got to have the allergy talk for the 10th time this week.)

Veterinary medicine is wild. Is human medicine like this?

[humming-bird10]

Reblogging because this is very dear to my heart.

A few years ago our at the time 6 month old kitten suddenly stopped eating. Up until then he had been a bottomless pit so we immediately took him to the vet and had bloodwork done. The vet told us to hope for a serious bacterial infection because if it was viral it would be FIP and that was a death sentence.

In my gut I think I knew it wasn't bacterial so even though we were supposed to wait and see if the antibiotics worked, I dove into the internet. Like we feared the week of antibiotics did nothing. I syringe fed him the entire week because he wouldn't eat himself, which kept his weight up and helped save his life. Despite this he weighed less than half of what he did only a month before.

At first all sites said the same thing, FIP was a death sentence, a terrible way to die. It would be kinder to put him down now. I think at that point I kept going out of sheer desperate stubborn denial. He was only 6 months, he couldn't die yet, not that young. It wasn't fair! But then I found forums and fb groups and they linked me to research articles. They told me there was a drug. A drug that worked. I just wasn't allowed to get it to save my boy's life. Stubborn denial turned into anger and despair into determination. I REFUSED to let my baby die without a fight. I got in touch with a local group. I asked questions, read research papers, discussed pros and cons. Everyone was so helpful and supportive, urging me to just give it a chance. That afternoon I went to the vet, like I said his weight had plummeted and he now had a huge lymf lump in his groin. He looked like a used dishrag and behaved like one too. She was talking about giving us a few days to say goodbye when I interrupted her to ask about the medicine. She had never heard of it and was (understandibly) VERY sceptical. I did just tell her I wanted to use illegal black market meds from china that I learned about via facebook! But seeing as it was a choice between certain death and possible cure.. She did make us promise not to let him suffer, if it didn't work then please just put him down. We promised. She told us she wasn't allowed to help us with this so she definitely wasn't showing us how to administer a subdermal shot, if she was showing us this she would get in trouble, so she wasn't. If anyone asked, could we tell them that she didn't help us at all? We promised again.

Immediately after the vet we drove to someone who was willing to sell us a little vial and some syringes. Enough to last us a few days so we could decide whether we wanted to continue the very long and very expensive treatment. That evening we gave him his first dose. It was awful. Even after spending hours of reading up on the drug and the treatment it still broke my heart. The drug stings really badly going in, especially the first few times. After the first shot I was in tears, cradling a yowling kitten, convinced I had just killed him in the most painful way. But after a minute or two it subsided and then the miracle happened. Just two hours after the shot he started running around again. Four hours after the shot he actually ate by himself, scarfing down a whole plate of wet food. By the next morning he was playing again. It's ridiculous how fast it works. We decided to were gonna continue the treatment.

A month later we went to the vet again. The treatment lasts three months and we wanted monthly bloods done to track his progress. Our vet expected to see a cat on death's door one month after a FIP diagnosis. What we brought in was a healthy looking kitten who had gained most of his weight back, lost his lymf lump and had decidedly better bloods than last time. That's the point where she became very invested in our case, she had never seen a cat with FIP survive, never mind improve.

Giving the shots got easier and after two weeks it was such a routine thing that it was done in seconds. His bloods kept improving and so did he. After 3 months we stopped and he went into the three month observation period. He still had monthly bloods done to make sure he wasn't regressing but no more shots. He didn't have a relapse and a little more than six months after his initial diagnosis we were able to declare him officially cured. The first cat my vet had ever seen to survive FIP.

I passed on the kindness by donating my superfluous vials and syringes to someone else just starting.

These days Ilya is a very happy boy. He will always be small, probably because he was so sick in a vital growing period, but he is otherwise completely healthy.

My vet still isn't allowed to help cats with FIP, and she definitely doesn't ever at all. She won't show them how to do the shots or tell them about the fb groups.

I am ridiculously passionate about this. My cat is alive today because I got illegal chinese black market meds from facebook. I'm well aware of how that sounds haha, and I completely understand the reactions I get sometimes. It was a risk to take but it was worth taking and I have no regrets.

I will never stop being insanely furious at gilead for keeping this lifesaving drug away from the cats who need it. But if I get into that more then I'll write another novel in the reblog so I won't. Just know I will set fire to any gilead execs or whoever made these decisions and laugh while they char.

If you've read this far and have a cat with FIP and want to ask questions I am always ready to respond. Please reach out.

In conclusion: fuck gilead, FIP is not a death sentence, your cat can be cured and there's thousands if not millions of people who want to help out there.

Do y'all ever think about how wild it is that for years there's been this heartbreaking incurable disease that kills thousands of cats. And Gilead Pharmaceuticals found a drug that treats it but won't actually sell it to veterinarians because of patent bullshit? Because I do.

Anyways. I'd never advocate for acquiring drugs illegally to save your cat's life. Which is why if your cat has FIP you should check out the organization I've put in my tags. So that you remember to avoid getting GS-441524.

Capitalism is evil in general. But capitalism in medicine is cartoonishly monstrous.

[masterwords]

two tickets to paradise (pt. 5)

Summary: Derek takes Hotch on a much-needed vacation. (Post-Route 66) In this adventure they visit the laundromat, and Hotch gets made fun of a bit for his terrible accent when speaking Spanish.

Warnings: mentions of past abuse (hotch), parental death (past/canon/derek), food, alcohol

Words: 4.2k

Notes: Yeah it's more cute. That's all this is. Cute romancy shit. Because when I'm mean to them I need to make sure I'm also nice to them. Vacation continues!

Read on AO3: two tickets to paradise

** CHAPTER LIST **

**

He didn't bother to pack his hand brace. Couldn't imagine a time he'd need it. Sure, his hands hurt regularly and you could find him pumping his fists for a good ten minutes in the morning to loosen up sore joints after years of shooting guns and typing up reports and various traumatic injuries. He'd broken fingers, sprained wrists, bloodied knuckles...the years and his job had been unkind.

But he didn't bring anything for them because he hadn't needed them in so long and he wanted to pack light. Maybe silly, but true. After the surgery, his stomach hurting gave way to his back being constantly sore which meant he had to pack his damn heating pad and he really didn't have room for another daily irritation. He could count on Derek to have packed something he could use anyway. Derek was in the shower washing the sand out of all of his nooks and crannies, or attempting to anyway, after another afternoone traversing the beach and getting into all sorts of shenanigans while Hotch slept the daylight hours away. Things were getting precarious. Would he be fully nocturnal by the time vacation was over? He was starting to think it likely.

The embarrassing fall earlier that day, he knew, was the culprit for his sore wrist and stiff fingers. It was worth it, the hike itself had been the stuff of dreams...walking through ruins had been a childhood dream, a scrawny little boy reading about Spanish conquistadors but really only wanting to know more about the Mayans themselves. He couldn't have cared less about the men who came to take over their land, but these ruins, these temples and the sacred clay that had crumbled to dust...that meant something to him and no sore wrist could ever sour that. His skin had touched a piece of history, he'd held a shard of pottery, beheld something so much bigger than himself that the ache in his joints meant very little. Still, he might need to baby his left hand a bit in order to continue the fun, they had itineraries to follow. While Derek showered, Hotch rifled through his bag until he found his little first aid kit. It was messy, not well kept, there were band-aid wrappers crisp and dried, scattered and crumpled inside and the antibiotic ointment looked like it was probably from the 1980s, but he found a tattered old ace bandage with a bent up metal clip and figured that would do the job just fine. He wasn't about to be picky.

He wasn't injured, he was just sore. It took some doing to wrap it himself, but he managed it well enough...sloppy, a little loose, did the job. There was a little plastic ice pack in the freezer meant to be shoved into a cooler for food and drinks, so he nabbed it and wandered out to the patio to sit in the sun with ice on his sore hand for a while.

A beer would help. Crisp, golden, icy almost slush working from his throat to his belly. The way it spread its chilly tendrils through his chest made him suck the air in a little deeper and all he smelled was briny salt air...and he smiled. He smiled and he relaxed into the lounge chair, turning his face up at the afternoon sunlight as it blanketed their beach. No one was out now. This was the time they ate or they explored, the home hours were early and late. They had neighbors on both sides now, a fair distance away but they were there. The college kids were still hanging around another few days, spring break wasn't over yet. On the other side was a couple of newlyweds, not too young but younger than he and Derek. Of course Derek had already introduced himself and offered to have them over for dinner one night. He couldn't go anywhere without making friends, and Hotch thought maybe he was already sad that his college buddies would have to return to school before the two of them vacated the house. Heaven forbid it just be the two of them. But then the quiet newlyweds showed up, each of them on their second marriage, each coming in with children, a blended family making a fresh start.

They would be coming for dinner the next night, which meant real shopping, actual food in their fridge, a real plan. Hotch was almost giddy over the thought. He'd been doing his very best to live spontaneously, but he was a planner through and through and he'd felt so untethererd...it was nice to have this one thing. Just a little sliver of planned fun. He would find a board game, maybe, or they'd swim in the pool. They could use the grill outside, have some beers, laugh. He was a good planner. And now that he was relaxing and adapting into this vacation lifestyle, Derek had let him have the reigns for the little makeshift dinner party. “We need to do some laundry,” he'd said, writing a little list after Derek told him about the invitation. “Do a spot of cleaning up...get some groceries. Just a few. Enough to be proper hosts.” Derek grinned, watching the way he'd lit up over it.

But he wasn't doing any of it. None of the cleaning, he didn't quite feel up to it yet. They had another day, he wasn't bothered, wasn't worried. In another life he might have had a checklist and been doing something daily to make sure they were ready...now he was willing to get to it when he got to it.

“What's that?” Derek asked, wandering out onto the patio in nothing but his towel. He was indicating the half-ass scraggly bandage wrapped terribly around his hand, Hotch didn't need to look at him to know that much. He lifted his arm and tried to flex his stiff fingers with little movement. Only a wince.

“Sore,” he replied quietly. “It's fine. Just following protocol.”

“You wrapped it like shit. Clooney coulda done better”

Hotch scowled. “Clooney doesn't have thumbs.” He offered his hand to Derek without bothering to open his eyes, to argue further, he knew what Derek was going to say next. “Go ahead, your majesty.”

Derek's hands were gentle as he crouched beside Hotch and unwrapped the brown bandage. He held Hotch's hand in his for a moment, turning it over, examining it for the telltale swelling in his knuckles that made everything difficult. It didn't look too bad, that was a good sign. Slowly he began re-wrapping it, tighter, pulling the bandage especially close to his wrist to hold it in place. He would tell you it was the shooting and the typing until he was blue in the face, but Derek only saw Foyet mocking them in these moments. They would never be rid of him. He was a parasite that had attached itself to Hotch so completely that there wasn't any way to separate them. They just had to live with it now. Find ways to mitigate the damage.

But Derek didn't have tunnel vision. Holding Hotch's bandaged wrist in his hand, he thought about the first time he'd heard him say anything about it hurting. It was years ago, when things were new and exciting, when they were still hiding their middle of the night hotel room visits from everyone. Hotch had used his SUV as a battering ram somewhere in butt fuck Oregon, some highway surrounded by trees and right on a damn cliff. His memory wasn't as good as Hotch's and didn't hold a candle to Reid's, he could remember glimpses but not all of it. He did remember seeing him standing there on the side of the road with his gun drawn and his arm hanging limp at his side, he remembered making devastating eye contact and continuing to drive when that insufferable bastard waved him off, practically ordered him to keep going.

It was one of those moments where he was forced to consider what he wanted out of life. Choices he was making...right or wrong. Hotch wrecked his vehicle, he was bleeding, and for the job Derek did what? He didn't stop, he just kept going, followed the murdering bastard all the way to the edge of the cliff for no reason at all. He was already long gone. He'd made his choice before Derek made his to keep going. And wasn't that the same awful soul sucking choice that the unsub had made when he drove exhausted? Killing his wife? Derek wasn't sure how to live with himself then, but he found a way and he kept finding a way. Over and over. He supposed they both did, in their own ways. Hotch & Morgan were separate from Aaron & Derek, and that had to be it. Anything more and it got too complicated.

Easier to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission. If only he'd stopped. No more, they were in Mexico now on that same premise but he was making it work for him now.

This vacation was helping in ways Derek hadn't even contemplated. That Hotch would take the initiative here, before he was in misery, was a change he hadn't foreseen. He pulled Hotch's hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, smiling. “There. I'm telling Jess about this one.”

“She'll worry.”

“Nah, she's gonna be thrilled. You did this on your own! I didn't have to bully you. Between this and the naps...I'm not sure she's even gonna know who you are when you get back.”

That didn't exactly make Hotch smile, but the sentiment was sweet. He understood. “You never change.”

“I don't need to change. I'm already perfect. We're on your wellness journey here.”

Hotch rolled his eyes and let them close again. His hand already felt better in Derek's wrap, he knew what he was doing. A splash in the pool startled him, the cold water splashing against his bare legs and he looked in time to see Derek naked and swimming like a torpedo beneath the surface.

“What do you wanna do today?” he asked when he breached the surface, crystal droplets of water beading over his slick freshly shaven head. Hotch couldn't help smiling...he was gorgeous. Felt like all he did these days was smile and he hated to admit that Derek and Jess and Cruz were right. He did need this.

“We have to go do laundry. Clearly you're out of clothes, and I'm dangerously close. And that blanket...”

“That blanket isn't done seeing action, buddy.”

“No, I expect not. But our neighbors don't need to see what we do on vacation. It needs a wash.”

(x)

When he was nine, Hotch's mother packed a few outfits into a bag and dragged him out of the house while his father slept off a whiskey bender. A celebration, he'd said, won a big case. Don't you think you should pace yourself? She'd asked and was met with a bloody lip for all her concern. That was it, the end of her patience with his outbursts. His “fits” as she called them, explained them away. Excused them. Somehow it made sense to her that he'd take his anger out on them, she could make it make sense. His job was stressful, lives hung in the balance, but when he was happy and he still crumpled up his meaty fist and hurt Aaron? Hurt her? Well, there was no hope left.

They stayed in a roadside motel two towns over for a few nights with what little she had in her coffee can, and they ate lunch in the laundromat down the road. Peanut butter and jelly was cheap and easy. She always put extra jelly on hers, he only wanted the peanut butter. The jelly hurt his teeth and made his jaw tense.

They didn't have to. She had family she could have called, family with money, but she had an over abundance of pride so she never did. If she was going to leave her husband and save her son, she was going to damn well do it on her own. Not jump from one abusive relationship to another...because that's all it was. Her husband put hand on them, but her family tried to control her every move (and Aaron's future) with their money. She wanted desperately to be rid of all of it.

Just she and Aaron. And times were hard, but they managed.

They would sit with their greasy potato chips and she smiled easy and ate two, three little shitty sandwiches at a time while he picked his way through one. Looking back, he felt silly not realizing that she was eating more...and then two weeks into their carefree road trip, she started throwing up in the bathroom every morning. A quick trip to a women's clinic in the city and she knew they had to go home.

She was pregnant.

She and Hotch could live forever on her small wages from waitressing the breakfast shift at the diner attached to the motel. Discounted rates, good tips, lots of free food. The early morning crowd, mostly doctors and cops just off of their long shifts, tipped a pretty young lady well in those days. They'd been doing just fine...but another baby, no way. This was no life to bring a new baby into, she reasoned.

She needed her husband. They had to go home. Hotch felt like crying while he packed, but instead he just asked her for one more laundromat lunch date. She couldn't say no to him.

It started with a phone call. He watched from his perch beside the big metal dryer while she talked to his father on the pay phone. She looked so beautiful, he couldn't imagine how anyone would want to hurt her. But her features darkened, and she was harsh with him when he felt bold enough to try and convince her that they didn't need to go home. He could eat less, he wouldn't need any new school clothes, they could find a small apartment...he would sleep on the couch, she could have the bedroom and he didn't need any toys he promised. Begged.

The laundromat was where his good memories lived. Sometimes, when he was feeling lost or run down, he would throw his clothes into a bin and find the quietest most desolate laundromat he could just to be alone with his thoughts. His apartment had a washer and dryer, and for a while it was fine, but after Foyet...using it gave him a chill he couldn't shake, checking those oily shapeshifting shadows over and over when he walked by, when he stood too long. He found himself wishing for nights at the laundromat again.

Derek's memories of laundromats were a little different. Their washer broke almost every other month, it seemed, and his mother never had the money to fix it right away. When his father was alive, he could whack it with a wrench or tighten some hunk of metal inside and suddenly it would clunk along again until it rattled apart. It was a running joke in the house. But when he was gone, there was no one who knew which part to hit with the wrench, or which piece to tighten, so she would withhold the kids' allowance for a few weeks (always with the promise of catching up) to get it fixed. Until then, the family would pack up their dinner and clothes in trash bags and spend an evening at the laundromat. Kids with their homework, Fran with a romance novel, every person putting in equal shares of folding to make it go quicker. He and his sisters would run around the tables, play hide and seek, get into shouting matches over who was cheating at Monopoly and raid the bubblegum machines with any change their mother had leftover. (Or bits they found hiding under and behind machines. People dropped coins all the time into places adult hands couldn't quite reach but kid hands...it was like treasure.) They would leave with orange, green and blue tongues, clean laundry to last another week, and a handful of memories. (And maybe a headache for Fran, but a smile on her face.)

When Derek got his first paycheck, his first real paycheck, he bought his mom a brand new washer and dryer. He framed the old fix-it wrench and hung it on the wall above the new machines along with all of their memories of weekly visits to Bubbleland.

Now, the two of them and all of their mixed bag of memories were converging on a small laundromat in Sisal with outdated machines that rattled while they worked and took two or three attempts to actually get things dry. They were sure they could find another place, but this was right next door to where they wanted to have dinner so they would be able to put their clothes in the wash and go have a bite to eat, or get something to go and eat it there in the noisy room by themselves. The cashier played a game of dice with a few other men, laughing and drinking beer, completely uninterested in the only patrons of the place.

While Derek exchanged their money for coins at the desk, Hotch sat at a rickety little card table attempting to pre-treat their stained clothes with one hand. The other, still bandaged, was mostly useless. The soreness had become an unrelenting stiffness and he was doing his best to just forget he had two hands for the rest of the day. The only thing it was good for at the moment was being used as a way to pin the shirts to the table.

“Why don't you go order the food, I'll do this.”

Hotch looked so pathetic sitting there at the table with his busted up hand wrapped and elevated to shoulder level while he held the shirt to the table with his elbow and pressed the little stain remover pen over and over the beer spills and food stains. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose and dangled dangerously there, hanging on only barely and his long hair flopped in his face but neither broke his focus. He'd been living in his glasses since they landed in Mexico. Vacation, to him, meant not fooling around with contacts if nothing else.

It was cute. Derek didn't mind it so much, even if Hotch was ignoring him. “Okay. I'll go then.”

Hotch looked up and scrunched his nose. He didn't like the way Derek just...gave in. That wasn't right, he was supposed to put up a little fight. “No, help me get these in the wash and we'll go together. We can eat there.”

Derek couldn't say no to that, and why would he? Dinner at the restaurant sounded heavenly. He was practically salivating over their chicken mole, he'd eaten it three times already and couldn't get enough. They knew him by name already. Hotch hadn't gotten the same thing twice, and that was shocking, the way they'd swapped roles for once. The first night he'd had the ceviche, and then some shrimp tacos, and then some other fish dish he couldn't pronounce. “What are you getting tonight?” Derek asked when they entered the sidewalk.

“Lobster. You're paying, right?”

No one in the restaurant spoke English, and the two of them spoke barely passable Spanish though they were improving considerably over their time. Hotch could read it and understand fairly well but his accent was garbage and they'd laughed at him more than once. Derek had more of a flair for trilling his R's and he had more flair.

“You sound like the um...oh...Bueller...Bueller...you know?” the man who ran the laundromat had said in his thick accent the first time they'd appeared in his establishment and Hotch had attempted to converse with him. It didn't prove necessary, anyway, the man spoke perfect English and enjoyed mocking Hotch endlessly. His name was Jorje, and even saying his name elicited mockery if it came from Hotch. He wasn't used to anyone ribbing him like this...it caught him off guard and led to a very serious discussion with Derek on the way home about how he felt about that.

“You hated it,” Derek had said seriously. “You wanted to pull rank didn't you?”

“No,” Hotch replied indignantly. “It's just that...” his voice trailed off for a moment before he huffed a little and stopped. “No one but you and Jessica ever talk to me like that.”

“Well. Get used to it. These people don't need to know that they should be afraid of you. They see some middle aged guy with floppy hair in need of a trim, wearing his incredibly handsome boyfriend's clothes because his were too khaki, who walks a little stiff and is probably a little too quiet for his own good...”

“My hair needs a trim?” What he really wanted to take aim at was the middle aged bit, but his back hadn't stopped hurting in about four solid weeks now so he really had no legs to stand on. His own two didn't even want to do the job. Derek had only laughed and hooked his arm around Hotch's waist.

“Let it go. Embrace the anonymity. Let Jorje talk his shit. You can take it. Might even deserve it.”

This wasn't their first or last trip to the washers. Derek couldn't pass up the chance to be around anyone who had the nerve to talk to Hotch this way so while Hotch had, in a sort of off-hand way, suggested they try out another laundromat down the road with more updated equipment...Derek wouldn't hear of it.

This kind of fun was uncommon at best in their daily lives. This was a treat.

“Your hand still bothering you?” Derek asked while they waited for their food. Hotch was fiddling with the bandage mindlessly and shrugged.

“It's fine. Not bad. Just stiff.”

Derek understood that. He'd blown his knee out in college and could still wake up some mornings without being able to bend it for a full ten minutes after waking. Like it locked in place. A thumb jabbed in right beneath the kneecap seemed to loosen it up just fine, and it didn't hurt so he'd just ignore it the same way Hotch ignored his inability to make a fist some days. They were getting old and all of the abuse they'd thrown at their bodies would be creeping up on them, one by one. They wouldn't be outrunning any of it. The idea was just that they each knew how to fix the other's little...quirks.

Hotch's was coming faster these days, thanks to Foyet, but that didn't mean he was alone. They would get old side by side if Derek had his way. And he hoped that Hotch would see it that way, too. Hotch could walk with his cane and push Derek in his wheelchair and they'd still be gorgeous.

That was the plan anyway.

Emily told him he was an idiot. She'd said it in no uncertain terms, that he needed to watch Hotch. “You don't hide things,” she'd warned him. “You might ignore them for a while but you don't hide them. He doesn't know any other way. Watch him.” Two weeks later he was bleeding to death on the inside and none of them was any the wiser.

“You'd tell me if it was more than that, right?” Derek asked, suddenly a little too serious as he chewed on Emily's words. Hotch stopped playing with the bandage long enough to take in the solemn look that washed over Derek's features, the way his bright eyes went stormy. He didn't have a response to that. Not sure what to say. He knew what Derek wanted him to say, but he couldn't see how this compared. This was just...it was just pain. Not even pain...not even that bad...it was just something. Or it wasn't anything. It wasn't going to kill him, it was just going to make it hard for him to fold their clothes in an hour. It was going to make it hard for him to hold a pen or give a hand job or play volleyball in the morning or any number of other things...but it wasn't going to kill him.

“Derek, I'm fine. I've been...”

Derek's hands flew up defensively and waved. “No, stop, no...I know. I'm sorry. I get caught up sometimes. I know. I just hate the idea that you're suffering while we're here. With your back and then your hand...”

“I'm not suffering. It's a nuisance, sure, fine. But it isn't bothering me at all. I'm having a great time.”

“You wouldn't lie to me?”

“Well,” Hotch grinned and Derek frowned. “No. Honest. Sinceramente.”

Derek rolled his eyes and let out a loud burst of laughter that caught the attention of everyone in the tiny restaurant. “God you really do sound like the teacher from Ferris Bueller...naw, you know what you sound like? One of those computer translators they got on like Google and shit. You sound like Siri, but the Ben Stein version. Siri...how do you say honestly in Spanish? Sinceramente.”

Hotch's pout didn't even phase him.

It did lead to kissing in the street. Ducked in the space between the buildings for a few minutes communing with the shadows. Hotch may only have had one hand that worked the way he'd like, but he didn't need more than that right now.

[pogueit]

First Aid Kit

Paring: Pope Heyward x Reader

Summary: You have an accident while attempting to do a new trick and Pope is the man for the job.

Warnings: blood ofc and general first aid stuff nothing too graphic tho!!

WC: 1,994

A/N: There's not enough Pope content!! SO I made some!! Pls enjoy some Pope and Y/N action!

THE GIF IS NOT MINE IT BELONGS TO @rue-bennett !!!!

Saturdays are not meant to be boring, but this scorching afternoon there was nothing to do. John B. went on his weekly date with Sarah, JJ scored a date with a kook he's been eyeing, and Kie was forced to go to a gala on the mainland, so it was just you and Pope alone in the chateau. He had been studying all day for an upcoming chemistry exam he has first thing Monday morning. You tried all day to get his head out of the books, but he was not having any of it. It wasn't until the late afternoon that you got him to go outside with you. Even though his nose was still deep in the piles of notes at least he was outside. You were skating on a horrifically uneven stretch of concrete that was oddly slathered in front of the chateau. Every time he could hear the wheels pop upwards he would snap his eyes to you, cheering you on when you stuck the landing. You were glad that he was far enough away to not be able to see how red your cheeks were. You've had a massive crush on the boy ever since Kie introduced you to the group. Your mom had just moved your ass down to the banks to get a fresh start far away from your poor excuse for a father. She managed to quickly score a job at The Wreck (where you were also forced to work part-time) as head chef. Your mom got on well with the Carrera's who only deemed it appropriate to force their daughter to hang out with you, being new in town and all. Kie wasn’t bothered at all and was glad to have another girl around. After hanging out with her for a single day, you wouldn’t hesitate to take a bullet for her. Kiara didn't introduce you to the knuckleheads right away, since she had taken a liking to you and didn't want to scare you away. The day that she did you remembered Pope had been the last one to say "hey" yet his was the warmest. After that day your stomach would erupt with butterflies whenever you'd even look at him and you would nearly die when your hands would brush against each other in passing. There was just something about him. Maybe it was how he didn't believe in stupid questions, except for JJ's of course, or how he would learn a new subject just to be able to help one of you ace an exam. It could be how the sun sparkled against his wet skin after a long day of swimming or surfing. How relaxed he looks sitting in the driver's seat of the HMS Pogue taking in all that the sun had to offer. You were glad the rest of the crew hadn't caught on yet, especially JB since he's already taken the role as your big brother, even though you're sure that you’re definitely older than him. He would never let you hear the end of it if he knew. The constant pestering, nudging, and side-eyeing would have driven you insane. Your mind slowly drifted back to the boy studying a few feet away from you. The thoughts of those hot summer nights in the cool water with him clouded your brain, so much so you nearly wiped out.

"You good!?" Pope's concerned voice made your head snap in his direction. You knew that the embarrassment on your face was very telling but you just shot him two thumbs up and got back on your board. You shake off any remaining thoughts from your head before attempting your new trick. You were sick and tired of random strangers, but mostly JJ and JB, yelling at you to do a kickflip whenever you were skating. After watching countless videos on kickflips you were basically an expert on them at this point and all you had to do now was actually stick the landing. You slid your right foot to the middle of the board so that your heel was just off the edge while your toes rested in the middle. You shifted your left foot to the tail of the deck and with all the strength you could muster you push down on the tail while your right foot flicked down on the edge of the board. It would have been a spectacular landing if it weren't for the random-ass pebble that your wheel landed on.

"Oh fuck, are you alright!?" Pope was by your side before you even realized you were on the ground. Falling came with the game and you were not fazed at all, since you've had grislier wipeouts than this, but that's before you saw the fountain of blood that poured out of your knee.

"Yeah, I'm fine dude-- I've had-- I need to--The bathroom--" you hobbled quickly into the bathroom at the chateau trying your darndest to not get any blood in the house. By the time you were able to sit down on the toilet, you were seeing stars. Your vision was slowly fading to black and you felt like you were going to vomit. You closed your eyes tightly as you pressed a clump of toilet paper to your knee, which pulled a hiss right from your lungs at the sensation. Promptly, you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from letting out a scream. A light knock came from the door and it couldn't be anyone else but Pope.

"Are you alright in there y/n?" From all the pain you were in you could only hum out a yes as a response, but you knew that would not be a good enough answer for the boy.

"Yeah, just don't--" before you could even finish your sentence he barged in "--open the door, why don't ya". His eyes grew wide at the bloody mess you made in the bathroom, but then quickly softened at the sight of you. Your skin was flushed with developing perspiration clinging to your skin and your lips had gone pale as your lungs suddenly only knew how to hyperventilate.

"Uh, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to say that it looks like a slasher flick was filmed in here" his words made you squeeze your eyes tighter as bloody images flashed before you and it only got harder for you to breathe. Pope stepped inside the rather small bathroom and closed the door behind him. He picked up all the toilet paper you had used for your leg and tossed them into the trash bin before he crouched down next to you.

"Does it still hurt?" His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as if you would shatter if he spoke any louder. All you could muster was a tiny nod as the pain took up most of your energy. His hands then gently pried your hands off of your injured knee and inspected it. Since the cut had almost stopped bleeding completely, Pope, was able to see that the wound was deep but not enough for it to garner any stitches and it was free of any debris. Lucky for you because JB had fallen there a couple of weeks ago and Pope had to whip out the tweezers to get all the gravel out of the bloody gash.

"Hey, it's not that bad-- I mean it is bad but it could be worse-- I'm gonna clean it now" the boy got to his feet and helped you sit on the edge of the bathtub with your feet sitting inside the tub. He then washed his hands furiously to avoid infection and gathered all the supplies he needed which consisted of antibacterial soap, antibiotic cream, gauze pads, gauze rolls, and unconditional love and support. Pope helped you undo both your shoes and removed them along with your embarrassing Winnie the Pooh socks. He sat with his legs outside the tub to have easy access to the supplies. After he checked to make sure the water wasn't too hot or too cold Pope moved your leg so your knee was underneath the faucet. The wound's contact with the water wasn't as bad as you thought, but it could’ve been you were distracted by his soothing touches as he held you close to him. Pope was careful not to get any of the soap in the cut just on the surrounding area and when he was finished he made sure to clean the rest of your blood-caked leg up as well. Once you were all cleaned up, he padded your leg dry before he attempted to put ointment on the tender flesh.

"Is it going to hurt?" You squeaked as he retrieved the ointment from the countertop.

"It might sting, but it shouldn't, '' he reassured you, as he brought the ointment-covered q-tip to your knee, but you couldn't help that your knee-jerked away from his touch.

"Ow, fuck!"

"Y/n, I haven't even touched you yet"

"I know, I know, sorry"

"I promise it won't hurt, y/n, and if it does you can punch me or something" even if it did hurt that bad you couldn’t imagine hurting Pope in any way. He once again leaned back in with the q-tip and sure enough, it wasn't painful at all. The ointment soothed the burning sensation of the area which finally allowed you to relax. He then carefully put a gauze pad on the injury, before wrapping your knee securely with gauze. You slid off the edge of the grimy porcelain tub and onto the ground while Pope stood next to the sink and neatly tucked everything back into the first aid kit.

"Uh, thanks--" your words got lost in your throat when your eyes met his warm eyes "--um, dude?" You felt stupid when it came out as a dumbfounded question and the heat quickly rose to your cheeks. If it was any time for you to die you wish it would have happened right then.

"Yeah, any time, y/n" he shot an endearing smile in your direction and you've never wanted to kiss a man so much before in your life.

You both let the awkwardness settle over you. The two of you riddled with hesitancy, but quietly yearned to confess your feelings to one another. He needed to get out of there. Pope gave you a curt nod and a tight smile, but as he headed towards the door there was vacillation in his movements. Before you lost sight of him from the doorway, he turned back around determined.

"Y/N, I gotta--" you were soon on your feet as the last bit of courage you had for your lifetime allowed you to meet him halfway. He didn't bother finishing his sentence as he decided his actions would speak for him. Pope cupped your face in his soft hands and crashed your lips together. The kiss was sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever experienced before. His plump lips gilded confidently over your timid ones. As the fire inside of you diminished your shyness you shifted yourself forward onto your tippy toes to deepen the kiss. Your movements caused you to pin Pope against the bathroom wall and you could feel him smile against your lips. His velvet tongue dragged against your bottom lip for permission to explore you further and you were more than eager to let him.

"Fucking finally!" The familiar voice of the rowdy klepto caught you guys by surprise causing both of you to jump away from each other.

"I guess I'm forty bucks richer, I knew you had it in ya, Pope!" JJ beamed as he walked towards the two of you and you playfully rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy.

"Fuck off!" Pope giggled and slammed the door in JJ's face before he turned to face you.

"Now, where were we?"

[myownjadedpieceofmind]

Let's catch up, shall we?

So... sometime Tuesday I came down with a migraine from hell. I attributed it to looking up at the fireworks the night before and working front desk that morning. Well, Wednesday that migraine progressed into a full body flare of every symptom I have. My skin broke out in hives, I couldn't hold down any food or water, every single inch of my skin hurt and my joints literally burned.

I spent all day Wednesday in the hospital due to a kidney infection that put my autoimmune system into hypersensitive setting. I got iv fluids and antibiotics and figured I could just go home and deal with the rest of my issues from there. Honestly, I'm a veteran to the kidney issues, so I generally just self care once I get the antibiotics to kick the crap.

That was the wrong idea. I went back to the hospital that night and was admitted. I got out late yesterday afternoon.

When I came home, I got the mail. A large envelope from social security letting me know I "do not qualify for disability under the definitions of disabled conditions, and there is no reason why I can't find suitable work given my conditions." Weird, because every single thing I've been diagnosed with, and continue getting diagnosed with, are all listed in their qualifying disorders. The disability advocate group that took on my case probono seems to think they can help me out, so it just means i get to wait til we appeal and battle it out. At least I have someone to help, and they aren't trying to stick their hand out for profit.

I had to work this morning. Don't know why when the majority of the morning was spent watching the boss train the new chick how to do morning routines. Oh well, it's $44, and right now, that's a whole lot.

The boyfriend has a problem and we are headed to the cherokee nation hospital where he has coverage to get his shit checked out. It's a hard thing to talk about as a dude, but... he's had a lump on his testicles and has played off like no big deal. Until it became a painful lump, and now it's looking like an emergency surgery to repair some damages. He's done Jiu-jitsu and mma for the last 17 years, at the very least. The amount of damage he's taken to that area, well, it likely contributed to the issue thats going on. Anyway, the local dr didn't want him to waste any time getting this figured out, so, that's what's next.

I'm working tomorrow. My daughter lost her job and smashed her phone in the same day, so her luck is about like mine. I feel so bad for her, but what can I do??? I told her if she could make the drive here, she could have one of my older samsung phones. But, as it is, gas isn't cheap and her car hasn't had an oil change in FOREVER.

If I played the lottery, I'd be praying to get just a tiny chunk of the win, like $6k. Enough so I could pay my bills, stock my fridge, take care of my daughter so she isn't without a phone, pay for my son's gym membership (the best mental health the kid could ask for), get my truck serviced, and maybe buy some new fucking underwear.

The irs owes me around $10k over 3 years in returns. Like... 2 years of the returns were filed late, and I get that they are short staffed. But, how entirely awful is it to know that I've got that kind of money out there, but I can't touch if til the irs deems it worth their time. Imagine the penalties I'd pay if I owed them money for years??

Oh yeah... and since I was in the hospital, the orthopedic dr put off my appointment for another week. I've been sneaking my arm out if the splint from time to time over the last 2 days...my skin couldn't handle the restriction while I was so sick. The nurses that were doing my iv screwed up so bad, I have 9 bruised punctures up and down my arm. They only had the one arm to abuse thanks to the splint. But, I look like hell. I don't even know how I'm gonna dig out of this shithole.

Here's hoping for some good news to roll in. I could use a silver lining.

[astrabear]

Final results round-up!

I definitely underestimated the number of people who fuck up their feet with bad shoes, and to a lesser extent the number of people who fall down stairs. I thought tripping on shoelaces would be comparatively higher, although I guess that's usually not a big deal when it happens. Very surprised that the manhole was not the least common injury, because that just seems so over-the-top and improbable.

My personal inventory (behind a cut for length and grossness):

I am prone to vasovagal syncope when injured, which means my vagus nerve pitches a fit and my autonomic nervous system gets all wacky and my blood pressure plummets, I get painfully queasy, break out in a cold sweat, and will fully pass out if I don't get my head down quickly enough. So that makes all these injuries much more fun.

Stepping on a razor blade Was it a result of my own idiocy: Yes (I did not immediately throw out the blade cartridge after swapping out the razor blade. The cartridge was off-white. My uncorrected vision is shit. I did not know it was in the bathtub until I stepped on it, which I did with enough force that I had to pull it out of my foot.) Did it set off a vasovagal response: Yes (very dramatically so. I vividly remember being hunkered down in the tub, knowing that my eyes were open and yet my vision had gone completely black) Did it require medical attention: Yes (not immediately, I was still able to get dressed and go to work. Fortunately I worked at a clinic, so I was able to get one of the nurse practitioners to look at it. Although he assumed it was just a cut or something and didn't get to it until that afternoon. It was one of those razors with three blades. The phrase "filleted edges" was used. He called all the nurses over to show them. Also he prescribed antibiotics.) Did it impair activities of daily living: No (It hurt, I was limping, but I was fully functional.)

Falling in the shower/tub Was it a result of my own idiocy: Yes (I had a mat to make the tub non-slippery. I did not do a good enough job of keeping it clean and so the mat itself became slippery.) Did it set off a vasovagal response: I don't remember, probably not. Did it require medical attention: No Did it impair activities of daily living: Yes (I hit my hip, my shoulder, and my head. The shoulder was bad enough that I worked from home for a day or two so I wouldn't have to drive or use a regular keyboard.) Walking too far in ill-fitting shoes Was it a result of my own idiocy: Yes, both times (the first one I got a flat tire on the way home from a party. I'd let my phone battery get too low to call AAA, or anyone else, and I also couldn't access my saved numbers so I couldn't just go to a gas station or something and call from there. I ended up just walking three and a half miles back to the house where the party was. The second time, I was at work and unexpectedly needed menstrual supplies and decided to walk to a store on my lunch break rather than drive. Even though I knew perfectly well I was not wearing good walking shoes.) Did it set off a vasovagal response: No Did it require medical attention: Yes (the second time I had an enormous blister on the sole of my foot that was so big I could not put weight on the foot at all. I went to an urgent care clinic the next day to get it drained so I could walk again.) Did it impair activities of daily living: Yes (the first time I worked from home because all the blisters made wearing shoes agony and I couldn't very well walk around the office barefoot.) Falling in a manhole (I've told this story before) Was it a result of my own idiocy: absolutely not, innocent victim here Did it set off a vasovagal response: No Did it require medical attention: Yes (I went to the student health center the next day to make sure I hadn't damaged any ribs or anything, and they gave me a tetanus shot, and I went through multiple rounds of physical therapy) Did it impair activities of daily living: Yes, a lot (I had to get an extension on some papers that semester, and I got a temporary disability permit for on-campus parking)

Falling down stairs Was it a result of my own idiocy: One time was maybe just my own clumsiness, the other two times were absolutely not my fault (stairs in a restaurant were slippery because it was raining and people were tracking water in, and the stairs up to my apartment were covered in water because they'd just been power washed) Did it set off a vasovagal response: Yes, two out of three times (once when I was living in a two-story townhome and ended up sprawled at the foot of my stairs, and once when I was trying to return to my apartment and landed very hard on concrete, but at least I was able to get back home before I fell over) Did it require medical attention: No Did it impair activities of daily living: Yes (the landing on concrete one, my knees were unusable for days)

Stepping on broken glass Was it a result of my own idiocy: debatable (I no longer remember what caused the broken glass in the first place, but I really did put a lot of effort into cleaning it up and I thought I'd gotten it all) Did it set off a vasovagal response: No Did it require medical attention: Yes (I spent so long trying to get the little piece out of the base of my big toe, to no avail. So the next day I went to an urgent care clinic. The anesthetic injection into my toe was far and away the worst part. The doctor thanked me for not kicking her in the head.) Did it impair activities of daily living: Sort of (I was limping a lot, but it was in my left foot so I could still drive, and I went straight from the clinic to my then-boyfriend's house to break up with him)

Tripping on your own shoelaces Was it a result of my own idiocy: Yes (running with untied shoelaces. In my defense I was nine. I said something obnoxious to my brother and took off running, and I swore for years that he pushed me and he swore that he hadn't, I'd tripped on my shoelaces, and adulthood forced me to acknowledge he was probably telling the truth.) Did it set off a vasovagal response: No Did it require medical attention: Yes (I chipped a tooth and had to go to the dentist to assess the damage) Did it impair activities of daily living: No (I imagine the skinned knees and palms were unpleasant, but I don't remember any actual problems)

This list does not include such incidents as "the time I gouged my thumb with a cheese plane" or "the time I almost passed out at a gas station because I hurt my own foot just by opening my car door" or "the time I almost passed out at a pet store because I hurt my own foot just by opening the shop door". Or "the time in college that I fell climbing out of my loft bed." Believe it or not, I've only gone to the emergency room once, and that wasn't for an injury. And I've never been hospitalized or broken a bone. But it is all still very, very ridiculous.

my turn on the bandwagon

You can use whatever definition of "injury" you like, but for me all of these required medical attention and/or impaired activities of daily living for more than one day.

[fighterkimburgess]

You talk a lot about your health and wound care, so I hope it’s okay to ask, but what causes the wound?

I forget not everyone was around for the start this has been going on so long! Gonna pop this under a cut because hey, I've been asked, so you're getting all the gory details and it's gonna be long. The TLDR is I had an abscess.

I got my first abscess a few years ago in my boob, we worked out it was from getting a bruise being pushed against barriers at a concert, and then because of how boobs and milk ducts and mammary glands work, it got infected. At least that's our best guess. However because of that, I'm more susceptible to them.

I ended up starting one in my groin, trying to ignore it until the pain got too much, and went to the first hospital. They discharged me that night with painkillers and heavy duty antibiotics, and the next morning my dad came to pick me up to bring me to my parents. That was August 27th (How do I know the exact date? Because it was the day Trick-Rolled At The Moulin was airing on TV over here. I. Was. Pissed.)

I got home, I was in pretty bad pain. For the record I got given three different types of painkillers to take at once, including an opioid. I've also once walked on a broken ankle for three days, so yeah. My pain threshold is fucking high. I was sobbing in pain when the painkillers were wearing off.

That evening the pain just...went away. I discovered it was because one of the abscesses had burst, and I found out just before SVU started on TV that night. Ya human had two in the same place! (this becomes relevant later) So it was to my second hospital of the 24 hour period, to pay another A&E charge (€100 each time, not too bad but also that's like...a good chunk of my pay the week before payday). I ended up sitting in A&E for nine hours until they called me back and got me a bed. Gonna be honest, from there it's a bit of a blur. I remember messaging Ree updates from like 3am because I was in pain and scared and I knew she was asleep but I needed to talk to someone.

I had a nurse and a doctor work on getting an IV into me because I've awful veins, and then I was seen by the surgical team before being moved up to the ward. About an hour later while I was on the ward (and doped up because they'd FINALLY given me good IV painkillers) the surgeon came up and told me they were going to drain the abscess. Right there. Under a local anaesthetic. On a ward with five other women.

Gonna be honest folks, I was in fucking agony. I couldn't make a noise because there were people there but I felt it. They took about 25 minutes in total to drain it, and I know this because I had my kindle app reading me a fic I'd saved to it so I could concentrate on anything else. (For the record it was Contentedness by Ree, because there's a reason we call that fic my comfort fic) They needed more anaesthetic because of how big the incision needed to be and having to do the second incision to get everything, and then they packed the wound with a wick.

From there I had another night on that ward, and the next day was moved to the surgical ward. They didn't need to do any more surgery thank God, but they changed my dressing and discharged me to the public health nurse. That was the Monday afternoon, and I was off work for another week and a half. I basically spent all that time sleeping and high as a fucking kite on painkillers. I want to say the Monday is when there was the "Cíara hates Hailey" stuff, but again, I was literally stoned out of my gourd at basically that entire time.

I've been getting daily wound checks for about ten weeks, and two weeks ago they moved me to every second day. On Friday they were happy enough that I don't need to be seen until Thursday, which means that if everything goes well then (technically tomorrow cause it's 1am) they'll discharge me and I'll be considered healed.

It's been a long ass road, and the biggest frustration I have is I didn't go to A&E when it started. I ignored it. If I'd gone the Monday or Tuesday I would have been straight on antibiotics and probably wouldn't have ended up getting the incision and drain. I'd have been able to stay home and not live with my parents.

So yeah, that's the ridiculous story of my wound and everything that happened.

[nickwbenson]

Day 18

Another day in the books, but this was probably the toughest one yet. My fever last night kept rising, so at around 1am (after consulting with the on-call night nurse at the oncology ward) I made my way into the hospital. They don't know for sure that I have an infection, but given how immunocompromised I am they need to treat any fever as such.

At around 1:30am I was hooked up to an IV and they started pumping antibiotics into my bloodstream. I had four bags to get through, so I was teetering on the edge of sleep until about 4am when I finally finished up for the night. I got a decent five hours of fitful rest--gotta love hospital beds--and then woke up to a chest x-ray and more IVs in the morning.

All day I have been feeling nauseous, and I can't tell if it's from the Neupogen shots, the antibiotics, or anticipatory nausea as a result of my surprisingly traumatic hospital stay in Days 1-3. I think a good chunk of it has to be the association, because I have been able to eat very little all day. I had a croissant courtesy of the hospital for breakfast, and ordered Nando's in for lunch. I could barely eat any of it, and a granola bar is pretty much all that supported me through the afternoon. For dinner my mom dropped off homemade chicken noodle soup in a thermos, which was absolutely delicious, and yet that too was a struggle to consume.

It's incredibly difficult to be locked up in one room for 24 hours a day. I left the room once today (for my x-ray). I wasn't even allowed to walk down to radiation; hospital policy dictates that I be wheeled down in a chair by a member of staff. Apart from that, I have been either on the bed or in the one provided chair. Nobody is allowed to visit, and I am not allowed to leave until I am discharged. I couldn't even break out if I wanted to--the elevators require an ID card in order to operate.

I'm really starting to see why people say that fighting cancer is as much mental as it is physical. I also don't think that there's a rigid separation between the two--the mental bleeds into the physical and vice versa. I'm sure that's not a hot take by any means, but I'm feeling the overlap very viscerally right now.

I start Cycle 2 on Friday, and I was desperately hoping to be recharging at home right now. Instead I'm sitting in a hospital room with no set end date, feeling perfectly fine but unable to leave. I'm really hoping my fever dissipates ASAP so I can get home for at least a day or two before the next cycle commences.

[pbandjesse]

I got my second rabies shot today. James says I have to stop joking about the rabiosexual Tumblr lore. But besides that microagresion today was a good day. My hand is moving better. I felt mostly good. It was a good day.

I slept alright last night. I had weird dreams and getting up was hard. But I got up and things were alright. My hand was able to flex more. And the wound on my palm wasn't looking as scary.

James walked me out to the car. And they biked to work. I went to get breakfast. And then drove out to camp.

It wasn't a bad ride. People keep driving crazy but no accidents were seen today. I just enjoyed my music and tried my best to wake up.

I got to camp and it was already hot. I am surprised we didn't hit the 100s because it was not comfortable. I was just sweaty all day. The air felt oppressive. Even up at arts where it is usually comfortable. But I tried to stay positive.

I was feeling better, despite the heat. I would get pretty nauseous for a while after taking the antibiotics, but I was in a good mood. I spent the first part of the day just getting set up. And sitting in my hammock until my first group.

All my groups were great today. I had two in the morning and two in the afternoon. And I have no real complaints. Though one child got really uspset when he didn't finish his art and was about to start scream crying when I said hey you can finish it at home and he was like. But I don't have this color pencil!!!! And I was like oh bet, you can just keep that. And instantly he stopped crying. His councilors acted like I was a wizard.

I wasn't in a rush to do anything today. I did catch up on my knitting. And worked on some bracelets. Did some prep for my classes. I enjoyed just watching the kids work, and it made me feel nice that they were all so into the project.

Candela, one of the international counselors, made me feel nice when she said she couldn't be a specialty counselor because it was just to much. And I was like. I feel like everyone thinks I'm lazy so it makes me feel nice to be recognized for all the prep and planing and stuff that goes into my groups. Cause even if it looks like I'm just chilling, I can do that because I have done so much work.

I had an extra hour break this morning so even though I was to hot I did walk to the office to get a new power strip for the sewing machine we are using next week. And checked in about a few other things before heading to the dining hall.

I used the wifi to get theme stuff ready for next week. And at this point in the day I was feeling pretty nauseous and not great. Just wanted to lay my head down. But I still helped a little getting lunch ready. And enjoyed eating with Laura. I also got to give her and Ibti their pottery and they seemed really excited about them so that was nice.

I went back to arts for my last two programs. And it was a nice afternoon. I had an older girl group at the end of the day and I brought my birthday book and we read some people's zodiacs and horoscopes and it was just a really nice time. They were so goofy and it made me feel happy.

I was excited to get to go home though. I had to get back home to wait for James so we could go get my next vaccine.

I was pretty tired driving home. I had made my little caffeine drink and it helped but I was struggling. I made it home safely but it was hard.

James wasn't home yet so I laid in bed until they got back and after they changed their shirt we went to the ER.

We had to wait a little longer but we were only there for an hour and a half total. We got a parking space right out front and they were very kind. We did not get to be in the fancy room but that was alright.

The staff thought we were funny. James forgot their phone and so they were just telling me facts about ancient Rome. When the nurse was getting the shot ready she was laughing at us because we were being so silly. Saying I could tough any raccoon I want now. And she also said we were very cool when we said we work in musuem. But James had questions about how the medication worked and why it was named something and we were just having to much fun.

The doctor also looked at my hand and she said the reason it has been curling is probably because the tendon was punctured! That was probably the sound/feeling I experienced and so now I have to keep an eye on that because that could be a highway for infection. Wild. But she said it looked like it was healing well right now. Made me feel a lot more secure.

Turns out I don't have to go back until Sunday and then again the following Sunday. So that is nice I guess. More time to get my wound checked on will make me feel good about how it's doing. But in the meantime they said soaking it in the saline water solution was a good plan and that we were doing a good job. I said we are first aid certified!

We had to wait 15 minutes after the shot. I set a timer. And we sat on the end scrolling through James's Twitter feed on my phone. And then we were free.

We went and got groceries. I got James to buy a plant. Everything was so expensive but we got snacks and things to try. I got the last peanut butter on the shelf. We did our best.

We got home and James made me a cheese plate with watermelon. And we worked on making posters for the wedding. A timeline poster (instead of a program), and started designing the seating chart. We have decided we needed mascots for the posters. They are only slightly silly. It was the most excited I have felt though so I'm holding onto it.

I would sort out my camp clothes. I brought all of my clothes home and decided on what I haven't worn yet and put that away. I refolded everything I would be bringing back and I feel good about the choices. Won't feel as overwhelmed anymore I hope.

Eventually, after laying down for a bit, I got a shower. And put medicine on my psoriasis and my hand and now we are in bed.

I hope tomorrow isn't as hot. I hope you all sleep great and have a fun day tomorrow. Take care of each other. Goodnight!!