#chronically ill writing

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Make your Whumpees Chronically Ill.

What kind? Do they have Chronic Pain? Chronic Fatigue? Dietary illnesses? Connective tissue diseases? Autoimmune disorders? Something made up or fantasy based? Something else entirely?

What does their day-to-day look like? Maybe they don't need a Whumper to be suffering. Can they take care of themselves, or do they need help? Do they get that help? What happens if they don't? What happens if there is a Whumper using this against them, or a Caretaker who doesn't understand? Make them flare up, then worsen all their symptoms!

For invisible illnesses; Do people believe them when they say they're sick even though no one can see it on the outside? Do they struggle with not being able to see what they feel themselves?

For more visible illnesses; Do they face discrimination and ableism? Do people treat them differently, do people infantalise them? How do they feel about that?

Questions;

What are their symptoms like?

Do they flare up?

If their health worsens, will it ever recover?

Do they mourn the life they had before it got to this point?

Do they have a diagnosis, or even know what's wrong?

What gives them respite?

What makes them worse?

Do they suffer with mental health issues as well, and are they because of the Chronic Illness or a secondary thing to suffer?

Pain;

Neuropathic pain;

Widespread, often nerve based pains from a nervous system disease or disorder

Allodynia- tactile, thermal or mechanical allodynia, even the lightest touch can hurt, and your skin feels raw and bruised. Pressing on it hurts deeply, to the bone. Pain can worsen with temperature fluctuations, warm and/or cold.

Parasthesia- peripheral neuropathy, partial or full numbness, tingling, pricking, vice like or lightning-like pains, weakness in the affected areas. Can worsen with compression, such as restraints or stress positions, and can come and go.

Nociceptive pain;

Somatic sharp pain that's localised to the affected area and can be caused by long term, unhealing or reocurrent damage and injury

Visceral aching pain that's widespread and can be caused by systemic disease

Inflammation- hot, aching pains that throb incessantly, seizing joints and knotted muscles, brain fog, headaches and sluggish thoughts, stabbing tendons and sharp pain in ligaments, swelling, tenderness and redness

Dislocations, subluxations and connective tissue weakness, weak joints that can contort beyond what is normal, soft skin that bruises breaks and scars with ease, never ending joint pain, grinding bone against bone and broken cartlidge, permanently altered movements from ligament damage, agonisingly powerful sharp stabbing pains at certain movements

General:

Pain that's worst when waking. Pain that gets worse throughout the day. Pain that's worse in heat or in cold, pain that changes with the weather

Dissociation as a way to cope with the pain, to the point when they realise just where hurts it's like being hit by a truck. Depersonalization to the point they don't know who they even are, they don't feel alive, these limbs are not their own. Derealisation to the point reality feels like it's taken a step to the left, like they're a ghost and the real world is behind a pane of glass. Both blanketing over them in a desperate attempt by the brain to stop the pain that would have them screaming without it.

Pain that they no longer respond to, what's the use in screaming when it never ends. Chronic pain that masks the acute pain of injuries they didn't realise you had. (Ask me how I know...) Chronic pain that has medical professionals shocked at how little they react to things that cause severe pain. Chronic pain that wears down their tolerance for everything else, that makes them snappy, irritable and angry.

Vice like pains, twisting clawing tearing inside muscles, pain when they move, speak, even breathe.

Pain that never ends and isn't touched by most medications. Pain that IS helped by some medications, but the side affects are terrible, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, hallucinations, bladder and bowel issues, slurred speech and a hazy mind

Pain they cannot see that drives them to hurt themselves on purpose just to feel in control of it, just to be able to see what they feel upon their skin

Pain that will make them do anything for it to stop, pain that takes their hope away, robs them of their dreams, makes them want to end it all

Fatigue;

Fatigue that drives a haze over their brain and tears their memory to shreds. Slurred words, sentences said in the wrong order, fatigue that has neurological bases. Fatigue that turns a once sharp mind into a rambling incoherent mess. The ability to read, write, speak, listen all taken away, so the world becomes an incoherent mess too.

Fatigue that causes insomnia, so they end up physically exhausted AND fatigued at the same time

Fatigue that's worsened with light, sound and being upright, and can only be managed by aggressive resting, lying still in the silent darkness.

Fatigue that comes in waves, fatigue that flares if they overexert; Post Exertional Malaise, limbs weak and pumped full of lead, tachycardia, inability to stand or walk, inability to eat, think, drink, speak

Fatigue that feels like the flu, fever, swollen glands, hoarse throat and blood pressure dysregulation, fainting and dehydration

Dark circles under eyes that only seem to worsen over time. Weight loss and muscle wastage, ability draining away.

Fatigue that feels like dying whilst alive, that no one understands, that isolates until there's nothing left. Fatigue that strips of everything that made them who they were, until they are just a shell of a living thing.

Make your Whumpees Chronically Ill.

Sincerely, a Chronically Ill fuck who is suffering far too much today and wants to see more representation.

This are purely based on my own experiences, and is by no means exhaustive, hell, I've only scratched the very surface of my own chronic illnesses here.

Feel free to add to this!

[genderqueerdykes]

one of the most evil parts about me being told that i needed to lose weight before i could get my diseased gallbladder removed was that without telling me at all whatsoever, the physician's assistant who was responsible for my surgery consult silently gave me a referral for bariatric weight loss surgery. she told me that i'd have to get my gallbladder removal surgery with that department as well because they're used to working on bigger bodies.

she told me this, but that's not what she meant. she wanted me to get bariatric weight loss surgery all because i told her that i have poly cystic ovarian syndrome and that it's hard for me to willingly lose weight. when i called the bariatric surgeons about scheduling my consult for my gallbladder removal, they were extremely confused and were like "well is this for the bariatric surgery referral or the gallbladder removal referral?"

without my permission, without me asking, the physician's assistant silently signed me up for weight loss surgery that i never consented to. i never once mentioned wanting this surgery. i never once mentioned that my weight is affecting my health or bothering me. this person saw this as a mandatory step in order to get the surgery to remove my diseased organ. as if there were no other options. i never want to get bariatric weight loss surgery because i know it will completely devastate my health. this PA was so stuck on my weight. she could not get over it, she was literally obsessed. she did not care about my health, safety or well being, she was just obsessed with her hatred of fat people

she saw my weight as a higher priority than my diseased gallbladder. she was so stuck up her own ass that she was convinced that my weight was doing more damage to me than my gallbladder was. she wanted to keep blaming me for eating a high fat diet (i'm a vegetarian- i don't eat a high fat diet) and mocking me for being fat. she literally saw me being fat as a bigger issue than the fact that i had a literal rock stuck in the neck of one of my organs. if you ask me, if the surgeons and anesthesiologists have problems working on fat patients, that's a skill issue on them. that means you're a bad surgeon or anesthesiologist and you need to try to improve your skills. this is a literal skill issue, it's not the patient's fault that the medical professional fucking sucks at their job!

i can't describe to you how evil and insidious that is. the fact that she looked at me and went "oh my fucking god it's your weight that's the problem just go lose weight you fat asshole" just showed how much disregard she has for her fat patients. it's like she relishes torturing us or leaving us to be sick or die. there's no reason to behave this way. there's no reason to FORCE someone into weight loss surgery. my health is NOT being negatively impacted by my weight- gallstones are not caused by being overweight, and you can't give yourself gallstones. no matter how much fat you eat you can't give yourself gallstones- this is something that happens outside of your control

i hate medical professionals who are proudly fatphobic. they wear the fact that they let people remain sick and die as a badge of honor. like they're doing the world a favor. like staying sick or dying is better off for the patient. like the patient somehow doesn't "DESERVE" to be in good health. fat people DO deserve to be in good health. we DON'T have to "EARN" surgeries or life saving procedures. we are alive and human just like everyone else. this qualifies us for being cared for medically, no matter what. leave your prejudices at home. you can't just kill fat people because you don't like that we exist.

[crippledpunks]

my heart goes out to you if you're a disabled person who has a complicated or negative relationship with sleep. if you need to sleep a lot but can't due to life circumstances, or sleeping extra causing other symptoms to flare up. if you can't sleep enough due to pain, or nightmares, or psychosis, or bipolar, or depression. if you sleep way too much and find it hard to stay awake. if you can't fall or stay asleep. if you need medication in order to be able to sleep. if you don't feel rested from sleep. if you wake up a lot in the night. if you have bladder or bowel accidents while asleep. if you twitch or convulse or move too or get injured in your sleep. if you can't control your sleep schedule no matter what. if you can't sleep during "normal" sleeping hours. if you can't sleep for 8+ hours straight but can sleep for shorter amounts of time. if sleep is what you need but for one reason or another you just can't or refuse to do it.

i care about you. your disabilities deserve to be seen and acknowledged

[mysticalspiders]

I feel like we don’t talk enough about how having chronic illness and/or chronic pain makes you irritable. It makes you grumpy. It can make you a not very fun person to be around. 

We don’t talk enough about the ugly sides of chronic illness/pain. The parts where you feel like a bad person not because of the pain in of itself but because everyone else thinks you are pushing them away. The times when you don’t bear it like a saint and the roughest edges of your personality come out. Where maybe you do hurt other people’s feelings. Its a complicated side of the experience thats resists an easy answer. 

[akindplace]

it’s okay if getting better is taking longer than you hoped to. if getting better doesn’t mean getting cured. if somedays are better than others. if others seem to heal faster. if it’s exhausting. if your illness is chronic and progressive. it doesn’t mean people won’t love you as you are, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help, it doesn’t mean that you can’t ever be happy. you still deserve care, love and kindness when you’re suffering, and i hope you find it within yourself to feel compassion towards your own body, even if some people might not, even if it doesn’t work in the way you wished it would, even if it’s different.

[villainousauthor]

Hero struggles against the hold currently keeping them down, their joints ache, and they feel beyond fatigued.

"You're off your game today." Villain's voice is observant and factual. Not quite judgemental, though. Their grip doesn't relent, holding Hero down.

"I'm fine. Don't go worrying your pretty little head about me." They wave their hand dismissively, but Villain then wrenches it down as well. They scoff.

"I never said I was worried." Villain's gaze is intense, examining Hero closely, making them feel akin to a bug under a magnifying glass. The ache in their body only gets worse, the pain in their chest leaving them breathless.

Their critical gaze sweeps over Hero, not missing anything. "You have another rash on your face." They speak as they brush a thumb across Hero's cheek. "Are you having another flare up?"

Hero pushes their hand away. "You seem like someone who's worried. Or maybe just too nosy." Nosy is an understatement in Hero's mind. Villain apparently did some digging, got ahold of their medical files a while back like menace they are.

Now, they do a good job of infuriating Hero with their concern that they pretend isn't concern. Hero doesn't care if they're technically right, or if they know they should be resting.

Villain's frown deepens.

"You know exerting yourself when you're not feeling well will only worsen it. It's like 90 degrees out today, and you thought it was a good idea to come fight me?" Their voice is stern, unwavering. "What's the pain at today?"

"Like you know so much about my condition?" Hero scoffs, knowing very well they've made a point to understand it better than most in Hero's life. "Why do you care?"

"Answer my question."

Hero tries to sit up despite Villain's steel hold. "Why don't you use it against me like a normal nemesis? Why care?"

Pushing them down again, Villain's voice is firmer. "I don't care. Answer my question." They'll hear no argument in the moment.

"About a five today." Hero rolls their eyes, trying to pretend the tiredness and pain isn't affecting them that much. Of course, it doesn't fool their rival, though.

Villain leans back, examining their face. After a moment they speak.

"Okay. You're gonna go home and rest. It's no fun fighting you when you're already in pain." And like that, they're letting go of their hold on Hero.

"You can't make me -"

"If I catch you doing any hero work today, I will kick your ass, and since I know that's not enough to convince you, I'll then go and kill your friends." Their voice holds no sense of dishonesty or bluffing.

Villain grabs them by the chin, forcing Hero to look them in the eye. "Go home, or I'll drag you there myself."

[zylahbeeart]

chronic illness sucks like i just wanna do my silly little hobbies

[wildshadowtamer]

shoutout to all the disabled artists and writers who have to look up guides on how to depict their own disability for any reason. Fresh diagnosis, bad memory, not considering themselves disabled enough, afraid they'll somehow misrepresent it, whatever reason. Don't be afraid to depict it in the way you experience it, even if its "stereotypical", even if its completely different than most depictions of it.

[pressureplus]

Chronically ill fan here! I’m currently having a costochondritis flare up because I overworked myself. (My sternum cartilage is inflamed and uncomfortable) All I want is cuddles and kisses and to be taken care of while I try to sleep it off. Could I possibly get romantic Sebastian and fem chronically ill reader where Sebastian cares for her during a costochondritis flare if that’s okay?

You don’t have to do any research on costochondritis either. At surface level it’s just inflammation and pain mainly in the sternum/rib area that can be aggravated by heavy lifting

Chronically ill representation in readers is rare and I’ve never seen costochondritis rep.

I hope this is okay! Thank you so much!

As someone who is also chronically ill, I felt this in my bones. I got you

Sensitive, Sensitive

Pairings: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Chronically ill!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: Pet Names (Sunshine, Love)

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

“Please- watch your hands.” You whine as Sebastian goes to pick you up. The additional pushing from his palms making your bones feel like they’re going to crack under all that pressure. You already felt like you weren’t intaking enough air, though you’re sure you are. That and the pain that you’d once almost worried could’ve been a heart attack waiting to happen? Yeah you didn’t need any more pain. You knew about your flare ups, knew you shouldn’t push yourself too hard, and you’d gone and done it anyway. Was it a bad idea? Yes but you’ve got to survive down here somehow, you’re not gonna eat if you lay around all day.

Your boyfriend, Sebastian, on the other hand already looked concerned. His hands taking the heavy box you were carrying right out from your grasp. His gaze flicking around the multitude of snacks you’d ripped out from vending machines in your desperation. You must’ve brought in at least several boxes of the stuff and while he hadn’t been too worried at first, the pained breaths you made sure changed his mind now. Your hand came up to almost attempt to soothe the ache with gentle rubbing, and maybe it helped a little but not nearly enough. Still you turned, getting ready to go back out with a new box when Sebastian coiled his tail around your legs and hips.

“Not so fast.” He hums, placing the box to the side and leaning down to your height.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going back out? I’m not done emptying the-”

“You’re done now.”

“What?”

“I said, you’re done now. Come on, Sunshine, we’re laying down.” He’s careful to lift you up. This time avoiding the area causing you the most pain. He’s gentle, lifting you up by the hips and gently pressing you against his oddly comfortable body. His snake-like form slithering into the backroom and right up to your makeshift bed. Although it certainly wasn’t as comfortable as the ones at home, it would do. It always did. He was gentle when he laid you atop the mattress and tugged a thicker, comfortable blanket over top of you. His body sliding up against you, wrapping himself as close to you as possible. You attempt to wiggle out only the once before giving in, in far too much pain to wrestle yourself free this time.

“We’re going to lay in bed until you feel better.”

“It’s probably not going to go away for a while, and the pain isn’t going to fully subside anyway. You have to work- it’s all you do. You don’t have to lay here with me just because I’m hurting.”

“Y/N, I don’t mind laying with you at all. Why would I?” He softens and tilts your head to him. His lips pressing against yours as gently as he can, soft and sweet before pulling back from you. The fins on the sides of his head doing that cute little wiggle you’d grown so accustomed to seeing.

“I’m supposed to keep you safe, that includes from yourself. You’re not going to overwork yourself any further than you already have. What you are going to do though is rest.” An arm wraps around your waist, another combs through your hair and the third functions as a comfortable pillow for you.

“You’re sure I can just lay down here for a while?”

“You’re being an idiot, why would I be upset at you for resting?” He hits you with immediate sass and playfully nips at your jaw. His hand that lays over your hip rubs slow little circle against it.

“You don’t have to be a dick.”

“I’m not, I just know you aren’t always the brightest crayon in the box. I don’t want you hurting, Love. Now quiet down a bit and get some rest, hm? I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

[thechthonicherbalist]

A Prayer

My Lord Apollo, Lord of the Sun, of Dance and Music, of Poetry and Art, of Herbs and Flowers and Healing, Protector of Seers and Bringer of the Light that illuminates the Future, Greatest Player of the Lyre, Greatest of Archers, Upholder of Justice and Averter of Evil. Please hear my call. Illuminate this night and ward of the darkness that seeks to invade my thoughts and emotions. Lend me your light and bring joy and warmth back to my life. Let the spring of my creativity well up once again, so it may bring to flourish art and writing as it once used to. Heal what has been wounded in me, cure what has been infested by the sickness brought into my life. Heal my body, this pain, this fatigue, that plagues me. These fevers and inflammations. Hold me in your protective and healing embrace and guide my path towards a brighter future. Let your song fill my life, let it ring from my lips in passion, in joy, in beautiful emotions. And please, keep safe my heart and my soul; these most vulnerable parts of me, that endured so much and need a gentle healer's touch, to wake up and mend. Don't let go of me, be with me every step of the way. I do not know where I'm heading, so I want to trust you, to guide me to safety, light and warmth and joy, to a place of healing. 🌄

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

tired and i'm awake

fandom: Chicago Med

pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

summary: You've kept your chronic pain a secret from Connor since you started dating. But fate has other plans for you, and an untimely accident leads to him finding out about your condition.

tags/warnings: angst, injury, burns, hurt/comfort, chronic pain/illness

word count: 3024

a/n: this one's for all my EDS/POTS combo girlies

When you were young, the doctors said it was “growing pains.” That eventually it would go away, that it was only temporary, take an Advil.

Then you got older, and it was your period. Even though the pain was constant and all over, somehow every doctor put it down to your cycle. Sure, it was worse when you were menstruating, but it didn’t disappear when you weren’t.

Sometimes, you were “making it up” or “drug seeking.” ER visits, annual physicals, all proved fruitless. Eventually, it was all just too much to handle. The constant doctors’ visits, the unending questions with no answers. You’re tired.

Even when you lay on the bathroom floor, curled around yourself and sobbing, you refuse to go to the doctor. You know it won’t amount to anything, just another bill and insurance paperwork. You manage on your own with 3 extra strength Tylenol or a heating pad or just laying in bed until it mostly subsides. Then you can get up and pretend to be okay again.

So, it was a bit of a surprise to everyone who knows of your issues when you started dating a surgeon. Hell, you even surprised yourself. But Connor is… different. He’s kind and understanding and patient. Still, your previous negative experiences prevent you from telling him about the chronic pain you experience, or any of the other problems that come along with it.

You’ve been dating now for about six months and you couldn’t be happier. Connor’s hours are busy and long, but you look forward to the end of every day when you can see him. Even if it means putting on a brave face when your joints ache. You moved in together about a month ago, and it’s a little harder to hide the pain now, but you manage. You don’t want to be just another patient for him to deal with.

Today, you have a feeling it’s going to be a little more difficult to put on your façade. Your knees and hips have been acting up lately. Everything feels… a bit looser than usual, like the tissues between your joints are made of thin string, ready to break at any movement. Each movement feels as though you’re going to rip yourself apart, limb from limb. It’s all you can do not to cry out when you finally pry yourself out of bed in the morning. Connor is already gone, having left sometime in the middle of the night, off to work his shift at the ED. You hope beyond hope that the pain will have subsided by the time he gets home tonight.

You hope that maybe a warm bath with some Epsom salts will help, and take short, shuffling steps to the bathroom, walking near the wall just in case. Each footfall sends shooting pain up your legs. You grit your teeth and manage to make it to the toilet, sitting down and reaching to turn the tap on the bath. Breathing in and out slowly, you remind yourself that you have this under control. You will survive this, it’s just pain. It’s just pain.

You stare as the tub fills with water, trying your best to compartmentalize and clear the pain away. Mind over matter, that’s what your mother always says. Easy for her, when she’s not the one in pain.

Feeling as though you might break with any sudden moves, you lower yourself into the warm bath, closing your eyes as the water surrounds you. It’s calming and smells like eucalyptus.

You linger until the water is cooled and your joints begin to protest from staying in one position too long. You wrap a fluffy robe around yourself, a gift from Connor after he saw the old ratty one you’d been using for years. It’s luxurious and soft, and probably cost him the equivalent of an entire week’s salary for you. Perks of dating a surgeon, you suppose.

Just standing has you feeling lightheaded, and you can feel your heart beating in your ears. For a moment the room darkens as spots fill your vision, but you just breathe in deeply until it subsides. Then you continue to take small steps back out to the bedroom, before placing yourself gingerly on the comforter.

Once you’re still and laying down, the pain begins to creep back in with force. It just reminds you that as much as you want to, you can’t ignore it. You can compartmentalize and convince yourself all you want, but you’re stuck with this.

Now, along with your hips and knees, your back and neck have begun to ache from sitting upright in the tub. You sigh and curl onto your side, your wet hair clinging to your neck. Five minutes, you tell yourself. Then I’ll get up and get dressed and dry my hair and… God, it’s all so much. How are you ever supposed to get all of that done when you feel like this? Still, you reprimand yourself and promise only five minutes of rest. Just until the aching diminishes somewhat.

You wake to the sound of the door unlocking. Night has fallen outside the window, leaving the apartment bathed in darkness.

So much for five minutes.

Connor walks in, looking tired and worn out, but still wearing a smile when he spots you curled up on the bed. You smile back, still groggy from your extended nap.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, setting his bag down before taking a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you lie easily. “How was work?”

Connor smooths some errant hairs away from your forehead before placing a soft kiss there. “Busy. But good. Did you shower? Your hair’s still wet.”

A fierce blush makes its way up your cheeks as you avoid his eyes. “Took a bath. I guess I just passed out after. Baths always take it out of me,” you half-joke.

Connor’s brow furrows and you can immediately sense the switch into “doctor mode.” He places the back of his hand on your forehead again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, pulling his hand down to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Do you want dinner? I can make something.” The ache in your joints begins to make itself known again, but you want to do something nice for Connor. You know how tired he is after his shifts.

“Sure,” Connor replies, but he’s still looking at you with concern.

You slowly sit up, trying to school your expression as something pinches in your hip. “Spaghetti? I think we have some noodles leftover from the other night; I can just make a quick sauce.”

Connor nods and stands with you. “I’m gonna go shower,” he states while pulling you into a loose hug. “Do you need anything before I go?”

You shake your head and breathe him in. He smells like the hospital, but underneath that is the gentle scent of his cologne that always relaxes you. “No, you go. I can handle it.”

Connor releases you and makes his way to the bathroom while you head to the kitchen. You feel incrementally better than this morning, the pain in your back and neck thankfully lessened. Your hips are the worst now, and the right one especially feels tenuous. Each step is shaky, but you push through it.

You’re grateful for the distraction of cooking as you work on dinner, but it’s not enough to totally take away the pain. As you stand over the stove you can still feel the pulsing in your knees, the unsteadiness in your hips, and the ache in your back is returning. You barely suppress a groan as your right hip nearly gives out.

Seconds later, the door to the bathroom opens, and Connor exits with just a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. For a moment you’re tempted to stop cooking altogether and take him right back to bed. But then your right hip protests yet again, and the thought quickly flees. You shoot Connor a smile as he comes up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder and you tense imperceptibly. Illogical as it may seem, you’re worried maybe he’ll… feel your pain or something, if he gets too close.

“Smells good,” Connor murmurs, kissing the side of your neck.

“Grab some plates,” you reply, stirring the spaghetti sauce one more time before turning off the heat.

Connor’s arms leave you and you let out a breath. You grab some potholders from a nearby cabinet and pull the sauce off the stove.

As you make your way over to the table, your hip begins to feel even more unsteady than before. Each step is agony as you grip the saucepot, praying that your leg doesn’t give out now. Connor’s back is to you when suddenly you step wrong. Instantly, you feel a popping sensation in your hip and you stumble.

The pot goes flying, splattering sauce all over you and the kitchen. You crumble to the floor, a short cry leaving your lips. The sauce burns your thighs, uncovered thanks to the robe you still wear, but all you can feel is the burning pain in your hip. It feels… wrong.

It’s not exactly a new experience. A few years ago – with no help from your doctors – you finally realized that this type of pain means something is dislocated. In this case, your hip. It’s one of the worst to dislocate, since you have trouble getting it back in place on your own.

Connor immediately rushes toward you, calling your name in panic. “Are you okay? Oh god, what happened?”

You grit your teeth to stop from crying out again as you right yourself with your leg out in front of you. Your hand grips your right thigh, the pain from your dislocated hip shooting down your leg and making your toes numb.

Connor’s already pulling out his phone to call 911, obviously only seeing the burns on your legs from the hot sauce.

You reach out to grab his wrist to stop him from dialing. “I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes.

Connor levels you with a glare that would make anyone give in. “You just spilled scalding sauce all over yourself. You’re at least getting checked out at the ED.”

“Okay, okay, but… Can’t you just drive me?”

He must hear the pleading tone in your voice because he sets his phone down with a sigh. “Fine,” he surrenders. “Let’s get you cleaned up first so I can take a look.”

You nod as he stands to retrieve towels. Once his back is turned, you take mental stock of your hip. It doesn’t feel too badly dislocated, but it certainly needs to be put back sooner rather than later. Before you get a chance to do it yourself, Connor returns with wet towels. He immediately gets to work gingerly cleaning your skin. You can tell that you’ve at least got first-degree burns, maybe even second in some places. But you can’t get past the pain in your hip. If you could just get a moment alone so you could reset it…

You notice that Connor’s movements have stopped and you look to see what he’s doing. His brows are furrowed as he looks at your right leg, now clean of the sauce. “Doesn’t look too bad, but I still want to go to Med just to be sure. And…” Suddenly his eyes widen and his hands rest delicately on either side of your leg. You can’t help but flinch at the touch. “It looks like your hip is dislocated… God, that must hurt. Did you hit it on the ground when you fell?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you insist.

“Y/N,” Connor’s voice is firm. “We need to get this reduced. I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone once more.

“No!” you cry. “I can take care of it!” Before he can stop you, you bend your knee outward, making a half-butterfly shape with your legs, then push down on it with your hands. Your hip pops back into place with an audible click and the relief is instant.

Connor is silent for a long moment as he stares at you, mouth agape.

You speak before he can, blabbering without much sense. “It’s fine, it happens a lot. I’m okay, I promise.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes are wide with concern and empathy. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

You shrug and take the wet towel from his hand, continuing to wipe off the sauce from your other thigh. This one’s not as bad as your right, but it’s still painful. “Nothing, Connor. I just… It happens sometimes, okay? Dislocating things, it’s not new to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor’s voice is so full of hurt that you immediately regret keeping this from him.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, meeting his eyes. The tears in your own begin to fall down your cheeks. “I just… I’ve always dealt with it on my own. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it too. And I didn’t know if you’d believe me, no one ever believes me, and I didn’t want to lose you because of my broken body…” You’re rambling now, the adrenaline and pain making your words come out jumbled.

Connor scoots over to sit next to you, uncaring of the sauce that’s getting on his jeans. His arm wraps around you gently, and already you can feel that he’s treating you differently. Touching you like you’re… fragile. “Y/N… I would never not believe you about something like this. Have you gone to the doctor about it?”

A sob leaves your lips and you smile sarcastically. “Of course, I have, Connor. I’ve been to so many doctors and none of them have any answers. It’s always growing pains, or my period, or I’m faking it. Eventually I just gave up because, like I said, I can deal with it on my own.”

Connor is silent for a long while. Finally, he lifts your chin with his finger so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it on your own now. We’re together, and that means we tell each other these things. I won’t leave you because of something you can’t control, sweetheart. And I want you to find answers. We can find them together. Okay?”

You nod and Connor goes to dial 911 again. As he’s on the phone with the operator, you let the tears fall. The pain of the burns is finally hitting you, only adding to the existing pain you already feel. Connor’s words mean everything to you, but right now that’s all they are – words. How can you know he’ll stay with you after he finds out what this really is like? The constant pain, the days spent in bed, the agony of it all? How could anyone – how could Connor – ever want someone like you?

You don’t realize that Connor is done on the phone until his hand lands on your shoulder. “Babe?” his voice is a little louder than necessary, which tells you that he’s been trying to get your attention for a while.

“Sorry,” you mutter, using the back of your hand to wipe away errant tears.

Connor takes a deep breath, and you worry about what he’s going to say. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You nod, avoiding his eyes. “I know. But this… I don’t want to be just another person you have to take care of.” The sound of sirens grows loud outside the apartment building.

“Honey. Look at me,” Connor urges, lifting your chin again. “You are not just another patient to me. You never will be. Okay?”

“You don’t know,” you whisper, your voice suddenly hoarse. “Once you know what it’s like, how much help I’ll need… I don’t know what my life will be like in 10 years, hell, even in a year. I’m in pain all the time, and I don’t know if it will get worse, and I don’t want you to be burdened with that.”

Before Connor can answer, the intercom buzzes as the paramedics request entrance. Connor stands to let them in, and you bring your sore legs up so you can bury your head in your knees. The embarrassment of it all is starting to hit you as you realize that soon you’ll be at Med, surrounded by Connor’s colleagues. No doubt he’ll want to run a myriad of tests to figure out your underlying condition, and you’re not sure you have the energy for that right now.

You hear the door opening, followed by a couple pairs of footsteps and Connor’s voice getting closer. “Female, 27, post-fall and contact with hot liquid. Superficial partial thickness burns on the thighs. Right hip dislocated but already reduced.” You hold in a snort at his medical jargon describing your silly accident.

The paramedics aren’t anyone you know, but they’re nice enough as they examine the burns and apply saline-soaked gauze. You’re embarrassed by your lack of proper clothing, but they don’t seem to mind. You’re sure they’ve seen worse than a nearly-naked woman anyway.

They ask various questions while Connor watches nearby, eyes slightly narrowed as if to make sure they don’t hurt you further. Once you’re finally loaded up onto a stretcher, he returns to your side and holds your hand in a crushing grip.

“This is really unnecessary,” you mutter at him, squeezing his hand.

Connor looks down at you with a soft smile. “Doctor knows best, sweetheart.” He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay if you don’t want. As long as you get that hip x-rayed and those burns checked, I’ll be satisfied. We can figure out the rest later.”

You smile back, tears pricking your eyes again. “Thank you, Connor. For being here.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You really have to raise your standards, baby.”

[genderqueerdykes]

had the consult for my gallbladder surgery. the doctor told me i need to "lose 10 - 15 pounds" before they'll perform the surgery on me, and that I would need to wait 2 - 3 months before they would schedule it. i told her i have PCOS which makes it difficult to lose weight. she told me that does happen, and offered to refer me to a bariatric surgeon who is used to bigger bodies who could perform the gallbladder removal instead. i asked her for the referral to them instead

i was very angry at her for this, as 10 - 15 pounds do not make any difference when you are 300 lbs. my weight fluctuates between 280 - 340 lbs depending greatly on what i've eaten, how much i exercise, and so on. this will also vary greatly depending on if the stone is blocking my gallbladder completely or partially- if it's fully blocking the neck of my gallbladder, i cannot get enough digestive juices into my stomach to properly digest my food, so i will begin violently vomiting to get the undigested food out, and to get bile flowing into my stomach again. i begin to lose tons of weight when this happens, and i put it back on during the periods where i can get enough bile in my stomach to properly digest my food.

i can't digest my food properly. eating "healthier" will not change this- i can't digest food at all, period. healthy or unhealthy, i can't digest anything, because a good half of my digestive juices are completely missing from my guts. there is a functional issue with the way my guts work, of course i will lose weight drastically and put it back on at times. of course the issues will be episodic.

both her and the student that was working with me kept assuming that i said that my pain got worse after "high fat" meals. both of them put this in my mouth-

the student did it first. she asked when the pain gets worse and i said sporadically, but sometimes after i eat. she literally asked me "so you said it gets worse after fatty meals, right?"

i got frustrated and said "no, it's really random." i didn't get to tell her that raw leafy vegetables and lightly steamed or cooked vegetables make me vomit. broccoli and cauliflower that aren't heavily cooked, salads, raw vegetables, lightly cooked carrots, applesauce and apples in general are all problem foods.

the doctor then came in and said "it gets worse after high fat meals, right? you said that" and i went, again, "no it just kinda happens."

i don't even eat a high fat diet. i cook at home now for every meal now that i have all the tools i need to do so. i make rice, fish, pasta, and certain vegetables that i can digest like potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, mushrooms, and so on. i eat bread, seeds, nuts, dried fruits, and drink oatmilk. i don't eat land meats, eggs, or dairy. i don't have any of those things. i do eat french fries and fish sticks, but not for every single meal. i don't eat chips because they're too salty and irritate my stomach. i don't eat candy or sweets unless the food bank delivers them to me. i don't eat much sugar other than pancakes and certain fruits

she wouldn't listen to me and went "well when you eat fatty meals, your gallbladder has to contract more and it can cause you a lot of pain." you would not believe how many times she came back to "you need to eat a lower fat diet." "the pain gets worse after you eat a high fat meal, so eat lower fat meals and your pain will go down." "just eat a lower fat diet and it'll help."

i just kind of sighed. there were tears in my eyes. i felt defeated. they made a bunch of assumptions just because i was sitting there, being fat. i was wearing long sleeves due to it being cold and they didn't get to see that i have a lot of muscle in my body mass. quite a lot. i wanted to tell them that i'm on testosterone and physically active when and where possible, and that i frequently lift heavy objects and move, but i never got a chance. i wanted to tell them my BMI isn't what they think it is, but i just didn't bother to try

i despise that people assume that fat people are fat because they eat "unhealthy" foods. i ate high fat foods for a few months while i was homeless because i didn't have the resources to cook every single meal. it affected my liver, i'm dealing with some fatty liver. but my gallbladder has more important issues in the form of the literal stone inside. she would not stop pushing for me to eat lower fat meals. all because i was sitting there, existing, as a fat person. i wish i would've told her i can only eat fish and plant matter

i don't understand how a patient telling you they're vomiting and can't keep down certain foods does not sound like a more pressing issue than an arbitrary number. weight as a number means nothing, it tells you nothing about that person's actual body composition. i have trauma with vomiting and yet i'm going to have to keep doing it anyway despite the fact that it could kill me via dehydration or if i just. can't stop

either way i'm very unhappy with result as i already waited for a month for this consult. now i have to wait for a referral for another surgeon to go through, and to do the consult with them, too. all while being in pain and having GI issues the entire time. just because a surgeon doesn't want to take the time to learn how to operate on fat bodies. i'm tired. what a joke

[crippledpunks]

shoutout to every person who deals with incontinence. i dealt with bedwetting up until my early teens, and now deal with stress and urge incontinence and for years never wanted to talk about it because of the shame and stigma other people place on not being able to control your bladder or bowel movements.

incontinence is a disability. it's not gross or wrong to talk about incontinence. incontinent people are not dirty or disgusting. if we could control these parts of our body, we would. we're not an inconvenience for being this way, and we don't have to be treated like a burden or like we need to be "fixed".

whether or not you use incontinent products like briefs, pads, diapers, plastic bed sheets, or whatever else, you are loved, important, and deserved to be seen when there are conversations about disability awareness and acceptance. we don't deserve to hide in shame when all we need is to be accommodated and accepted.

[crows-of-buckets]

Anders doodle that I could have put more effort into but I got lazy :P

Anyways this specifically is meant to take place after he patches up Hawke after the Arishok fight. I was writing it last night and went "hm I should draw that"

Bonus, shitty sketch I did at 2am when I had this idea and the writing segment that inspired it. It's so funny I talk about my writing a lot but I never share it cause it scares me lmao

[akindplace]

this is your reminder that being sick is morally neutral. it doesn’t make you “useless” because you’re not able to do certain things. it doesn’t make you a worthless person. it doesn’t mean you should just power through all the time so you don’t “become a burden” to the point you get even sicker. and if there is someone in your life shaming you for being sick, i hope you know they’re wrong. these values that we often believe in about our own productivity are not making society any better, they are usually leading a lot of people into burnout.

you’re not a commodity. you’re not what you can produce. even machines break down when they don’t get checked out enough. go to a doctor if you need to, don’t just power through until you collapse. being fatigued and sick is not a morally bad thing. it’s something that can happen to anyone, and these things have been happening to a lot of people. you’re not alone in this, and you’re not less valuable than anyone else.

[crip-writing-shit]

Body horror

I am a cyborg because I’m disabled; metal and gears keep me up and moving

I am a vampire because I’m chronically ill; hungry for the life force coursing through people

I am a mummy because I’m disabled; all bandages holding together a failing body

I am a zombie because I’m disabled; all crawling dragging movements

I am disabled because I’m a human. I am a human because I’m disabled

my body is not horrifying so I am not body horror