#but now how kind everyone in the clinic is to me. i don't feel dizzy at all and yes both my arms hurt but like

[elytrafemme]

do you ever meet someone who you understand only exists in your life in a very temporary manner because of the nature of your relations but you feel so much strong emotion about them that you know they will be written into the fabric of your life forever? anyway i had the same phlebotomist as last time and have empirically determined that she is one of God's angels and i would just about do anything for her

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

I don't a hundred percent think it's valid to call myself traumatized by the clinical neglect and possible gaslighting I went through since I was a child but also I know denial is a thing tm

When I was young, like really little like seven or so, I was misdiagnosed, so I was given the wrong meds for eleven years that once even interacted with antibiotics and nearly killed me, other kids didn't exactly like hanging out with the kid that talked about going to psychiatrists on the weekly and to a therapist after school, I used to think if I couldn't buy my meds and take them everyday I'd just idk blow up or something, worst of all the incongruence of having the wrong label on me and going through all the shame and ableism without the treatment part made me start gaslighting myself, I never felt suicidal but it was like everyone else expected me to be and somewhere a long the way I was just expecting to die young anyway even if I had anxiety attacks whenever I read about the statistics and never really pictured any way in which it could happen I'd just think of how little people would mourn me and say fuck them I'll be here for as long as I can just to prove them wrong while still expecting to lose some kind of abstract fight that people projected on me

Now I got the right diagnosis and it is such a better fit, the pandemic made it really easy to test with certainty where my brain would go if left by itself and it was stability like I was told I could never attain. Since then I'm happy I'm thriving every self esteem issue I used to have is gone every guilt over expenses I used to feel is gone I have a solid support system and it's been that way for a couple years now

I just see the effects still linger in some small things. I still don't drink when my friends do even if I know it wouldn't actually mess me up that bad, I don't really know how to begin imagining a future past thirty or so for myself and changed career paths already due to it, I never thought I could have any romantic relationships despite wanting to until now and I find myself so scared something will happen to me and I'll die a virgin, people that grew up around me still show up sometimes via mutual friends or social media or attending the same college and I so desperately wish I could explain myself or that they could know me for who I actually am because I'm also curious about them in all honesty but I know in their minds I'm just the poor crazy kid and there's no way to suddenly approach them without reinforcing that, me and my classmates needed the institution to intervene in our class the other day and they sent us directly to a therapist to explain the situation and it wasn't even about me and I wasn't even alone but being there again after so many school counselors office that did the opposite of helping me I couldn't look the guy in the face even when he wasn't an old white dude and actually helped us it still left me unresponsive and jumpy when someone else I barely know got too close and needing to hang on to a friend's arm and I got dizzy and had my thoughts on loop for hours and barely got home being able to properly speak again and I kept shortly saying I was fine and trying to steer away from the others (which I never do) just because attention at that moment would be awful

And I still think it was just me trying to fool myself into making my existence more interesting than it is, like a kid pretending to be a tragic tortured soul, like I was acting out so all my friends there would pity me despite the fact I usually hate being looked at like a fragile little thing that needs help

It's difficult for me to believe the doctor would be stupid to the point of not noticing every atypical factor in matching me to that first diagnosis, the age especially, but also pretty much everything about my personality, he was either fucking arrogant enough to believe he molded me into "one of the good ones" or he did it on purpose because it's easy money when you lie to family so they think they'll have to go to you forever. I moved out of my parents as I cut contact with him and I still remember how invested he seemed in vetoing my decision and insisting that leaving me alone was a terrible idea like he never wanted me to be independent and if we asked I'm sure he'd make it seem perfectly sound and well intentioned

My mom still says I should understand they were doing their best with what they knew, that it's not their fault gender discrimination is a thing that may have weighted in favor of the wrong diagnosis in the past (even if they show no indication of growing out of those views), and wanted to help and worst of all she said that I should be grateful. I don't want to be grateful I want to stay spiteful and never have to talk to someone that looks at me like that again

I'm thinking of changing therapists to one that shares my neurodivergence and understands this stuff, part of me thinks I should work on this repulsion of being a patient and giving someone authority over my mental wellbeing ever again, and another part want to cut the cost entirely, glad to be bitter and dodgy of medical professionals forever as petty as the reason I have for it may be

I mean this in the nicest most genuine way I can but I don't know how I'll feel reading a copy paste you're valid response either It'll probably just reinforce me thinking I'm full of shit and trying to feel special if I had to guess

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through.

I can see how this misdiagnosis has had a huge effect on you, not only your social life but how you feel about yourself. I'm so glad you were eventually able to get the correct diagnosis, that must be so relieving. But of course I can also see how this diagnosis doesn't undo the effects of the misdiagnosis, and how there's still things you're struggling with. Particularly, with growing up not expecting to live long, it may feel unfamiliar or overwhelming to think much farther ahead in your life, or even know what to expect.

I also understand that want to be closer to the people in your life, and to not only feel like you know them on an intimate level but that they can truly know who you are, what you've been through, and how those past experiences shape the person you are today.

I feel that if you believe your friends think you're crazy, then perhaps you deserve some new friends. You deserve friends who are patient and understanding, especially after what you've been through. I can also see how your mom's outlook on the situation is damaging to you, as she seems to be trying to justify things that don't need to be justified.

It makes sense why you may want to change therapists, it can be good to have someone who understands your experiences more personally and can thus answer you from a more accurate angle. But I also understand why you may be hesitant about trying, because you've had negative experiences with medical professionals.

The thing is that trauma is defined not by what happened, but by how you responded to it psychologically. In other words, if you feel traumatized by what happened, then it's trauma. It does matter what happened, but it doesn't determine whether or not you're "allowed" to be traumatized.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[izzy-b-hands]

The return of Calico Jack! Wound care! No, seriously, this gets NSFW in a very gross way. If that squicks you, I'd give this one a skip (tbh, it even grossed me out writing it, if that says anything lmaoo.) That's a TW for emetophobia, wounds, wound care, and surgery here.

Otherwise, some Stede and Jack bonding, kind of! Izzy is having a Fucking Time of it, but he's gonna be okay. And Ed is just my dear ray of sunshine trying to be helpful to everyone about this whole mess. Also, Roach deserves everything he wants and a pay rise because jfc does he have a task here.

Also there's probably some inaccurate wound care both current and historical here, but I did my best going off memory from clinic research courses and what additional research I could stomach before it made me feel sick lol. Pls forgive any major fuck ups 😅

---

"Steve!" Jack cheered. "Pull me up, buddy!"

Stede didn't mean to stare, but the gaping wound in Jack's torso was distracting. "Have...have you been floating out here this entire time?!"

Jack nodded. "Salt water stings like a motherfucker!"

"Ed!"

Ed trotted over and immediately gagged. "Jack, what the fuck? I thought you were dead!"

"You can't kill Calico Jack!" Jack cheered. "Not that easy! I am so dizzy!"

"How are you still just...floating?" Stede asked.

"Well Steve-"

"Stede," Stede corrected.

"Right, Sten-"

"Stede," Ed interrupted.

"Yeah, I know, Stebe!"

"That's not even a fucking name, you twat," Izzy spat, joining them at the rail.

"Izzy!" Jack grinned. "Didn't miss you."

"The feeling is mutual," Izzy snapped. "I have a harpoon-"

"Wait, what?" Ed asked. "Why? When did you get that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Little bit," Ed scoffed. "I've never found a harpoon."

Izzy stared. "We took out at least four whaling ships over the last two years alone."

"And?"

"Ed, where else would they have harpoons laying around?!"

"A harpoon store, I don't fucking know!"

"I think we're getting distracted from the main issue here," Stede interjected gently. "Izzy, do you happen to have two harpoons, and would you be interested in teaching me how to use one?"

Izzy's eyes lit up. "In this case, absolutely. Do only have the one, but we can pull it back out and let you take a turn."

"No one is harpooning Jack!" Ed shouted. "Mostly because he'd apparently survive it no problem."

"King of stayin' alive, baby!" Jack crowed. "Can y'all actually pull me up though? Keep getting these fish all nibbling on me. Tickles, but then it hurts!"

"Oh," Stede sighed. "Pull him up."

"With what?" Ed asked.

"If I may," Izzy said. "Once again, I'd like to suggest the harpoon-"

"Izzy!" Ed shouted. "Enough with the harpoon!"

"Fine, fine," Izzy muttered. "Almost no good situations for a harpoon, then you finally get a chance and no one wants to use it!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jim shoved them aside, one by one, and tossed down a large net. "Get in!"

"In the net?" Jack asked.

Olu jogged over and patted Jim on the back. "I know. Deep breath. He's probably fairly sick with that...hole, in him, so he's not thinking clearly."

Slowly, Jack crawled into the net. "Now what?"

"This," Jim replied, and yanked the rope holding the net tight. With Jack safely netted, they dragged him up and over the rail.

"Here," Jim sighed. "He's your problem now."

"Actually, he's my problem," Roach said as he walked over. "Isn't he?"

"You are our surgeon," Stede said with an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, yeah," Roach muttered as he bent down to free Jack from the net and examine his wound. "Okay, so...is that a fucking rum bottle? That's a fucking-"

He stood up and held up his hands. "Ed. I'll do my best, but I am guaranteeing nothing, because he's using it to store fucking rum!"

"Where else was I gonna put it?" Jack asked defensively. "Got a free extra pocket, why not use it?"

Stede and Izzy shared a glance as they gagged, but Ed knelt down to look closer.

"Jack, mate. That's not where that goes. Well, not like this at least. May I, um..."

He grimaced as he pulled the bottle free, only to jump up and vomit over the rail.

Stede braced himself to have a look. "You've got your coin purse in there! Money is filthy, Jack, that's so bad for a wound!"

"Well, like I say, I was trying to be fuckin' resourceful!" Jack shouted. "But apparently that's not acceptable here!"

"There's resourcefulness, yes, but this..." Stede spluttered. "Come on now, Jack!"

"Side note, it has been stuck in there for some time," Jack said. "Izzy, you wanna be a peach and see if you can't get that out?"

Izzy was incredibly pale, but nodded. "Sure I will. With the fucking harpoon! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"As you can clearly see, I have a bad wound and my money is stuck in it," Jack said matter-of-factly. "Keep up, Jizzy."

"No need to be rude," Stede said, then steeled himself, reached forward, and tugged on the purse strings.

The rush of... something, that burst forth was the final straw for Izzy, with Olu and Jim catching him as he passed out.

Roach, on the other hand, was intrigued. "Huh. Well, you cleaned a lot of it out with that. Nice job, Captain."

Stede nodded, holding the disgusting coin purse out in front of him. "I'm going to be sick."

He tossed the purse aside and joined Ed over the rail, who had resorted to deep breaths in between fruitless retching.

"The smell is so bad," he murmured to Stede. "How the fuck is he still alive?"

"Not by the grace of any god," Stede replied. "Because that's just cruel. I know he's seemingly okay with it, but oh my god!"

"Okay," Roach sighed as he knelt back down. "For the sake of everyone else, we're gonna do this out here to help the stench."

"Smell of success, baby!" Jack grinned.

Roach laid a hand on his forehead. "Yeah, no, that's an infection and a fever."

"But I'm still alive!"

Roach nodded. "You most certainly are. Who wants to help?"

Stede helped Ed back up from the rail, and raised a hand. Mostly because the rest of the crew had immediately and understandably skedaddled, except for Olu, Jim, and Izzy. Though Izzy was still pale, leaning on Olu and looking like he might pass out again at any moment.

"Awesome, full care team!" Roach smiled. "No? Well, I'm excited for it. Usually doing most of this shit on my own, but this is one there's no way I can do without help."

"Can I have that rum back?" Jack asked.

Ed gingerly picked it up by the neck, and handed it over.

"Alright," Jack took a long swig. "Let's rock n' roll, motherfuckers!"

--

"That doesn't go there," Stede said with a heavy sigh. "At least, I don't think it does. That's his... gallbladder? I think."

The surgery had been ongoing for the last two hours, with minimal success. Mostly because what was left of Jack in that section of his torso was in a less than ideal state.

"No, that's..." Roach turned it one way, then another. "Nope, sorry, you were right. Okay, that goes here then. The liver-"

"I know that one," Ed said cheerfully, though he grimaced as he took it from Roach and squished it back into place.

"I hate every second of this," Izzy muttered, eyes cast away from the ongoing Jack puzzle. Jack had insisted Izzy hold one of his hands during the procedure, and for reasons unknown, Izzy had agreed. If Stede had to guess, it was likely because Jim and Olu had dipped out after the first organ was readjusted, and holding Jack's hand was one point of contact to focus on to keep from passing out again.

"I know," Jack said. "That's what makes it more fun for me, Jizzy."

"Enough!" Stede snapped, and pinched the side of what he presumed was Jack's pancreas. "We are trying to help you; could you at least stop that shit!"

"What shit, Stebe?"

He pinched again, and Jack yelped.

"Ed, he can't fuckin' do that to me!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up!" Roach screamed. "This bit is delicate!"

They watched as Roach pulled a few other things from the wound, much to Jack's delight. There was: a pocket watch ("Been looking for that!) A small crab ("That's Ed Junior!) A wanted poster for himself ("They did a real lovely job on that drawing of me, I had to save it!")

"Okay," Roach sat back on his knees. "Jack. I need you to listen to me."

Jack nodded.

"Do not put anything else in this wound. Ever."

Jack sighed. "But-"

"No! No more anything in here, unless it's a salve or packing bandages!" Roach said sternly. "I will fucking sew you a bag myself if it keeps you from shoving anything else in here!"

"I know something Ed could shove in here," Jack winked.

Ed frowned. "You know that's too weird, even for me. Besides, I mean... it's a compliment, I suppose. Do appreciate that, but it isn't that big, and this wound is huge-"

"Please." Izzy swallowed hard. "Please stop. I am picturing it in my head, and I don't want to be."

"Fair," Ed nodded. "Roach, what's left?"

"Sanitizing, then wound packing, then we wrap him up and hope for the best," Roach replied. "And I'll be saving our liver stew for a different night."

"That would be best," Stede agreed. "Could even skip dinner tonight, or I probably will, at least."

"What about sewing him up?" Ed asked. "Shouldn't we do that?"

Roach leaned over and patted his shoulder. "Where exactly would I sew to what, man? I can't just create more skin for him."

"Got a bit of extra canvas, for the sails?" Jack asked. "Not skin, but would that help?"

Roach nodded hesitantly. "That actually might work. Izzy, can you-"

"Thank fucking god," Izzy cut him off and dropped Jack's hand, running off to find some spare canvas. Though at this point, Stede figured he'd cut apart their already flying sails if it meant the surgery would be over.

He returned with a large rectangular chunk, and dropped it by Roach before sitting back down to hold Jack's held out hand with a grimace.

"I can put you out for this bit," Roach said. "I mean, kind of. Better than being totally awake."

"I'm drunk as fuck; go for it," Jack nodded with another swig of rum.

Roach winced, and held a small bottle of antiseptic over the wound. "Count of three. One, two-"

At two, he poured it in.

Even Jack wasn't immune to that sort of pain, and it took all of them to hold him down until it subsided.

"There you go," Stede tried to smile, and wiped some sweat off of Jack's brow. "Almost better."

"That hurt worse than the fucking cannonball," Jack croaked.

"It'll help though," Ed said. "Now?"

Roach picked up a bundle of bandages. "Now, we pack. Just for a few days for now, to see if it soaks up any more infection hiding in there. At least, I've seen that work before."

"What about getting it back out?" Stede asked.

"Uh, well," Roach sighed. "This is why we aren't sewing him up right away. I want the canvas on hand and ready in case he does better than expected, but we'll have to clean and repack every day until then."

"This is fucking boring, and I wasn't hurting until now," Jack snapped.

"I can put you back in the ocean, if you want," Roach snapped back. "Shush!"

Jack looked appalled, but he did indeed shush.

"Almost done," Ed said as Roach worked.

"You're the one that got me hit, don't fuckin' play all nice," Jack grumbled. "Actually, all three of you fuckin' did this to me!"

Stede shrugged. Indirectly, they sort of had done so.

"Oughta kill you all," Jack growled.

"What did I say about shushing?" Roach asked. "Okay, now we need him up so I can wrap all the way around."

It took Izzy and Stede to pull him up, with Ed at the front ready to catch him if he fell that way. But finally, they were done.

"Gonna borrow your bed, Izzy," Jack said as he wandered off towards the closet Izzy had made into his room. "Hope you don't mind."

"I'll find you a new cot," Stede reassured Izzy. "We'll burn the old one once he's healed."

Izzy nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course," Stede said. "Besides, he'll probably...leak a little, as he heals, so-"

Izzy raced for the rail, barely making it before what little was left in his stomach reappeared.

"That one is my fault," Stede admitted. "Sorry about that, Izzy!"

--

"So I'm good?"

"I literally did not say that," Roach replied. "I said, Ed and Stede are going to hold you down while I sew the canvas on. It's going to hurt, and take some time because it's thick material. Then, we keep an eye on it for at least another week or two. Then, maybe, you'll be good."

"So, more or less, I'm good?"

Roach pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Hold him. Let's get this done."

They'd attempted to sound proof the galley/surgery with a few towels tucked under the gap of the door, but even so Stede knew everyone could hear Jack shouting.

"It'll be done soon," Ed said softly. "I mean, not really, but if you pretend it will be, that might help."

"Just kill me," Jack mumbled.

"Now," Stede scolded. "You made it through us playing around in your guts, and you want to tell me you can't handle this?"

Jack blinked. "What?"

"You heard me! The impossible to kill Calico Jack can't handle a little needle and thread?"

"It is a rather big needle," Roach admitted.

"Shhh," Stede hissed. "Let's not remind him!"

"Can you hold my hand?" Jack asked. "I mean, not that I want a weirdo like Steve here touching me, but-"

Stede grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Stede."

Jack nodded. "Stede. Thanks, man."

It felt like ages, watching Roach work and wiping sweat from Jack's forehead. Ed kept him in sips of rum to try and help distract from it, and helped mind the thread as more needed unwinding.

"Okay," Roach sighed, then grinned. "Welcome back! To... not having a giant hole in your torso."

Jack looked down. "Not bad. It's gonna stop hurting eventually though, right?"

Roach nodded. "We'll keep salves on it to stave off any infection, and some of them will help the pain. After that, there might be some residual aches here and there, but that's to be expected."

"Shall we get you back to bed?" Stede asked. "Can't imagine you want anything other than sleep now."

Jack nodded. "I don't wanna make things weird but, thanks again. All of you. Probably would have died eventually without this."

"That's not a probably, you would have died," Roach said. "You literally had organs all over the place."

"Yeah," Jack chuckled. "Sure did."

Ed took Jack's feet, and Stede grasped under his arms to carry him back to Izzy's room. There, Jack was out not more than a minute after they pulled a blanket over him.

"Think he'll be okay after we drop him off wherever he wants to go?" Ed asked as they walked back out to the deck.

Stede grabbed his hand and held it. "I'm sure he will be. He can stay here as long as he needs anyway, so we won't leave him anywhere until he's in decent shape."

Ed studied him curiously. "You still sort of hate him, don't you?"

"We are very different people, with very different interests and concerns," Stede said. "But...oh, I don't know. It's what I'd hope someone would do for me."

Ed pulled him in for a kiss. "Thank you. I know he can be an ass, and I'm not exactly happy with him myself after..."

"I know," Stede said. "Not exactly water under the bridge, but-"

He shrugged. "Better than before, at least."

--

"Get these today," Roach instructed. "Not tomorrow, not in a few days, today. You should be fine, but you'll want them on hand just in case. And if anything feels off, smells odd-"

"Go find a surgeon," Jack interrupted with a grin. "I listened!"

Roach smiled. "Alright. No more cannonballs to the torso, okay?"

"No promises!" Jack joked as Roach headed back to the Revenge. "So. Y'all don't wanna stay for a bit longer?"

"Are you going to miss us?" Stede teased.

"Ehh, I suppose I might," Jack blushed. "Not so bad, hanging out with all of you. Even Izzy."

Stede smiled, though he was grateful Izzy wasn't around to argue with Jack. He'd understand why, but, all the same. No, Izzy was near the beach, holding a Viking funeral for his old cot with the rest of the crew.

"We'll probably run into each other again," Ed said. "Hopefully not under the same circumstances though."

"Like I said, no promises, but I'll do my best," Jack said. "No, I think I'll wrestle a sea turtle, have some rum, then sleep out here under the stars."

"They have an inn," Stede said. "We could get you a room."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well, if you need us, come find us," Ed said. "Easier said than done, but you know what I mean."

Jack nodded, clapped them both on the back, and wandered off towards the port's tavern.

He walked towards the beach with Ed, hand in hand, to join the funeral for Izzy's cot. "What are the chances he gets hurt wrestling a sea turtle?"

"Pretty decent," Ed frowned. "We should maybe stay the night."

"Just in case."