#don't have surgery it's draining

[toaster-fire-art]

misc old Hua Cheng doods i meant to post a long time ago and theeeeen i forgot

maybe one day I'll finish the paintings (you can tell how old they are by the peak at one of my ocs in the strawberry dress)

[marc--chilton]

Can't stop thinking about the mgv au, specifically about how it would have been when Stacy left House after the infarction and Wilson came to pick the pieces up... 👀

IT WAS SO BAAAAAD. so awful. wilson had already been helping stacy a bit via medical advice (little things she'd worry about that weren't discussed at the hospital regarding home care) so the transition from stacy's caretaking to wilson's was smooth, all things considered. stacy had called wilson to take over because her decision on house's surgery led to house snapping at her constantly, and between her own guilt (she doesn't regret the decision she just hates that it gave house so much grief) and house's abuse afterward, she couldn't take it.

an alpha leaving their ailing omega.... wilson's hindbrain hated stacy for that for a long time. he understood her point of view, but the hindbrain is not ruled by logic. wilson's protectiveness of house started here with a ferocity; he left his own wife home alone to stay with house while he was healing and only left the apartment if truly necessary. if house hadn't been so actively miserable -- not only is he still in pain, but now he has to grapple with the fact he's now disabled, AND stacy's bond to him is withering (in my mgv bonds fading is an uncomfortable process that can have pain in the gland where the mark is located, mood swings, depression, etc) -- it would have driven him crazy how bad wilson's hovering was. as it was though, it really what started twisting their friendship in a strange direction.

house's hindbrain is affected by all this, too. he's bitter and depressed and pissed off but the omega in him is crushed his bondmate abandoned him. if it had its own voice it would be wailing because that's what it felt like inside his head. not good enough/broken omega/alpha decided i'm not worth it

but!! wilson is there and he's an alpha.... and in his time of need? the omega part of house LATCHES onto him as though he imprinted on him. when he would whine and stacy came in to check on him, he would bite her if she came close. not a corrective little nip, but a bite so strong he could feel the bones in her hand grind. but when wilson runs in (yes, RUNS in) house is more receptive to his form of comfort, even when wilson makes it more intimate than strictly necessary (rumbling coos, petting his hair and wiping away pained tears, even calling him honey so tenderly it makes him ache)

wilson doesn't even call bonnie the entire time he's there. he doesn't even think about her until she calls HIM. it's the beginning of the end for them and wilson knows it but house needs him right now so for the time being, he really doesn't care. when he does finally come home to try to spend a night with her and give her some attention, she's so put off by house's scent on him she pushes him away (so wilson just goes back to house's place. because at least there he can sleep on the couch and not have a panic attack worrying that house will fall and hurt himself while wilson's away)

[pseudal]

what the fuck why am i having night terrors again now i am literally on a medication that's supposed to stop that in its tracks are you fucking kidding me

[shrews-things]

Another top surgery update!!! Yesterday I was 10 days post-op and things are starting to look better and I can do more and more things alone ❣️

Went out with my partner a bit and oh boy I've missed it so much, it was so nice

[chaotictomtom]

trying to check out to see if i'll ever manage to get top surgery this year and. let's just say i thought the delay would be bigger but. the price is still always such a big ass problem i kinda wanna bash my head against a wall but. anyway

[evilkitten3]

My friend is getting top surgery next month, I'm very glad that he's getting that weight off his chest. Since you've been through it all ready, could I ask for some advice on supporting him through the recovery process?

absolutely.

make sure he has someone/thing to reach the top shelf. he's not gonna be raising his arms above his shoulders for a while

make sure the pharmacy prescribing the pain meds understands that they're for treating the pain from the surgery, not for gender dysphoria. otherwise they simply will not give you pain meds. they may not even tell you that they have not given you pain meds. i recommend against finding this out the exciting way like i did (side note: surprisingly not that bad most of the time)

if it's the same for him as it was for me, he'll be on a 5 pound weight limit for three weeks, and then a 25 pound limit for another three weeks. this is going to affect more than anyone involved will realize. if he's gonna need to move anything heavy any time soon, he should do that before surgery

i had to switch to tylenol instead of ibuprofen a few weeks pre-surgery bc ibuprofen can increase risk of bleeding. if he's an ibuprofen guy, he may want to grab some tylenol just in case

i've heard different people have different experiences with the drains. for some people, that's the worst part. for me, it was pretty simple (although my mom handled most of the measuring). if you aren't going to be involved with keeping them clear/measuring the goop, try to remember to glance down every now and then just in case a cap was screwed on wrong and too much air got in there. probably not gonna be a medical emergency but you wanna keep an eye on them so they'll do their job.

does he have a ride to and from the hospital? this is a very important question bc if the answer is no, the surgery simply will not happen. they just won't do it.

what i got specifically was a double mastectomy with free nipple grafts. if he's getting the same, i cannot stress enough that the nipples will look weird for a while. this is probably nothing to worry about. they're supposed to do that. if he's still worried, he should check in with the surgeon or another qualified expert, but probably they'll just say "it's ok keep an eye on it and if it hasn't healed in [x amount of time] come back then"

he is going to be constantly reminding that all your bits and pieces are connected to one another. even the bits you aren't thinking about. it's gonna be weird.

if he has a dog, offer to walk the dog for him (or help him find someone else who can do it). dogs do not understand the importance of the surgery recovery process. don't let overly enthusiastic dogs happen to you (or in this case your friend)

get a spare binder. not the chest kind, the abdominal kind. you might wanna wash the first one (this will likely be provided by the hospital) and it's better to have two.

speaking of binders, at some point the bandages will come off. the binder will still be required (or, more accurately, highly recommended). this was, for me, Absolute Sensory Hell. i recommend you make sure he's got a few light, loose shirts he can wear under the binder just in case

this didn't end up being relevant to me, but my surgeon recommended my mom buy some puppy training pads in case of accidents (accidents is a word which usually implies pee, but here means bleeding. sometimes there be blood)

if he has cats, he's gonna need to be careful not to let them step on his chest. cats do not like being told where they can or can't step. i hope he has more willpower than i do

quite likely, he's already aware of a good chunk of this. your first step - and possibly only step - is to ask if there's anything he needs from you. if he's got things under control, have faith in him.

brace yourself for how happy he's gonna be once he sees himself topless after the drains come out and the bandages come off. i was pretty much bouncing over my reflection. the euphoria is real.

[pokemonruby]

ok so i had my first dentist appointment today in uhhhhhhhhhhh a long time and i apparently need something adjacent to a surgery (basically a heavy-duty cleaning since i have a lot of inflammation and it’s bordering on gum disease but it’s the early stages so! good thing i didn’t just let it fester or else it could’ve been a whole lot worse haha.) but also i ? apparently have a rare condition that effects less than 1% of the general population called a mesidoden which basically refers to an ungrown tooth lodged behind my two front teeth and according to them it’s completely harmless at the moment unless it ends up growing through but they said it’s unlikely so. that was fun i guess. a testament to how my family never really cared to get me check out for - anything medical-wise like i just had this and didn’t even realize. until today. two months before i hit my technical mid twenties. wow 

[moteldogs]

currently at the "surely it's fine to lift weights if I don't hit chest??" stage of top surgery recovery

[leftmysoulbythesideoftheroad]

my dog has arthritis, and it's starting to look like we're getting close to the end. he's on the highest strength pain meds he can take, and he got a shot recently on top of that. and it's helping! but today his knee went out and he almost hit the ground. if he can't hold himself up with all of that medicine working to keep the pain at bay, then i can't really justify keeping him here for much longer. i can't let him get to the point where he can't walk. he deserves better than that.

[thisisthevoice]

Kicking my feet and scream-crying

[pathologicalreid]

heart to heart | s.r.

in which hotchner!reader is set to have heart surgery, and Spencer can't help but be concerned for her

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x hotchner!reader category: angst content warnings: fem!reader, chronically ill!reader, spencer is anxious, inadvertently made jack hotchner a glass child, hospitals, medications, surgery, heart transplant, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, mostly medically accurate, rejected proposals, spencer's pov, mentions death and dying and wills, howl's moving castle word count: 2.51k a/n: this might be my favorite margotober post of the week. i don't know. it's very introspective. twas a request!

Ironically, his heart was racing. Spencer made his way through the cardiac unit with nothing but his imagination to guide him. He had just left the building a few hours ago when you insisted that he sleep in a real bed, and now he was back.

Your dad hadn’t told him what was going on, he just told him to get to the hospital. It was an hour’s drive from his place in D.C. to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore—you could already be dead by now.

He didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to you. Not a real, proper goodbye. He told you he’d come back in the morning, which felt ridiculous now.

The sterile fluorescence of the intensive care unit only added to his irritability as he washed his hands upon entry, the CVICU had been your home for the past two months, and in a way, it had become Spencer’s as well. He couldn’t be shocked, you’d been in heart failure for nearly two years, and there was no way he could ignore the worried glances between your doctors and nurses.

You slept more than you were awake most days, Spencer and your dad took turns staying behind on cases, and you usually didn’t have the energy to hold a conversation.

That’s why he’s so surprised to see you sitting up in bed with a cap over your hair, talking to your cardiologist. You looked drained, dark circles gave your eyes a haunted look, but Spencer’s chest filled with relief at the fact that you were still very much alive. “Hey,” Spencer said, looking around the room for even the slightest clue as to what was going on.

Sluggishly, your head turned to look at him, “Hey,” you said back, a weak smile on your face.

He wanted to tell you to lie down, sitting up was obviously draining you of what little energy you had, but more than that, he wanted you to tell him what was going on—he couldn’t guess, he couldn’t bear to be wrong. “What is it? What happened?” His questions were frantic, your father had never called him in the middle of the night like this.

“I’m getting a heart, Spence,” you told him, your voice was gentle.

So, the sky wasn’t falling. The feeling of impending doom that he’s had for the last two years was potentially going to be lifted away, “When?” He asked, stepping further into the room and setting his bag in the chair, crossing his arms as he joined the conversation between you and your doctor.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, “Tonight.”

He needed to sit down.

“We’re just waiting on some final pre-op labs,” your doctor confirmed, nodding at the both of you. “It’s a good match,” he assured Spencer, “I’ll let you two talk.”

As soon as you were alone, Spencer guided you down to the pillows. Too weak to resist, you leaned back until your shoulders hit the pillows, “Where’s Hotch?”

You hummed in response, “Jack freaked out when we told him I was getting a new heart, dad’s with him until our aunt gets here.”

“He’s worried about you,” he observed, sometimes it was hard to put the age difference between you and your brother into perspective, but at times like this, he remembered just how young Jack really was.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head once, “He’s scared that my new heart won’t love him the same.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “So, what did you tell him?”

You smiled softly, “I told him it was like in Howl’s Moving Castle.” Pausing for a moment to catch your breath, Spencer took your hand in his, “They’re not taking my love away, I’ll be able to love him even more with a new heart.”

“So, now he thinks your heart is on fire,” Spencer pointed out, tucking a stray hair underneath your cap.

Sighing, you shut your eyes for a moment, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

His chest tightened in sympathy while watching you try to catch your breath, vaguely aware that this was the last night that tonight would be like this, “Are you scared?” It seemed like a foolish question to ask, knowing that you’d had more procedures than most people your age, but this was a big one. This was the big one.

You nodded gently, there were so many things to be scared of, surgical complications, transplant rejection, but you looked at Spencer with pity in your eyes. You were pitying him, “My will is in the top drawer of my nightstand,” you started.

“No,” Spencer interjected, denial creeping up on him.

You sighed, it took everything in you to hold back your tears, “Spence, we have to talk about this.”

He shook his head, “No, we don’t. You’re going to be fine.”

“I need you to be rational,” you pleaded. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, you were begging him to think rationally as refusal crept over him. “You know the statistics. In fact, you probably know them better than me,” you said pointedly.

He sniffled, “You have good odds,” he insisted. “Even if you didn’t have good chances, you’ve always been good at beating the odds,” he reminded you. The two of you had said goodbye before, a nasty battle with bacterial endocarditis had put you in a coma, but you had come out of it, sending you even higher on the UNOS transplant list.

Issues with your kidneys had knocked you out of the running for some hearts, so your only hope was a direct donation. It seemed like you were getting your wish. “My heart won’t be as big,” you murmured, not having the energy to debate Spencer on probability.

“No,” he affirmed, “It’ll be a bit smaller.” Your heart muscle was thick as a result of your cardiomyopathy, and your pacemaker wasn’t able to keep up with your deteriorating health. A transplant became your only hope.

You sighed contentedly, “You always made me feel so lucky.”

“Stop trying to say goodbye,” he told you, tilting his head to the side.

Nodding, he could tell that you understood him, “You’ll never get rid of me, I’ll come back and haunt you.”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “No dying, sweet girl. We’ve got to take care of your new heart.”

A peaceful silence blanketed the two of you, sitting and waiting for someone to tell him it was time to go. He didn’t want to go. He’d go with you to the operating room if they’d let him.

He said goodbye to you in the hallway, watching you get wheeled away before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking to the waiting room, stopping in his tracks at the sight before him.

A majority of the BAU had gathered in the waiting room, taking up all of the chairs on the right-hand side, settling in for the long haul. “Hey,” JJ was the first one to speak, giving Spencer a quick embrace before stepping back, “How was she?”

“She’s good,” he answered absentmindedly, still looking around the room, a few familiar faces nowhere to be found. “She was tired,” and a bit morbid toward the end.

Jack was curled up on one of the loveseats, a blanket tucked over him. Spencer continued looking around, confusion settling in until Emily spoke up, “He’s in the chapel. Rossi and Morgan are with him.”

Hotch was in the chapel, likely lighting a candle for Haley while Rossi and Morgan said a prayer for you. Oddly enough, it brought Spencer comfort to know that his friends were pulling for you in the ways they knew how, especially when he didn’t believe in it himself.

Spencer looked at the bracelet that you had placed in his hands, it was one of your most prized possessions, and should something happen to you, he was under strict instructions to hand it over to your father.

You were still a teenager when you were first diagnosed, and you were scared of having a big scar from open heart surgery, so your mom went out and bought you a charm bracelet. For each procedure after, you’d gotten a new charm for the bracelet with Hotch continuing the tradition after your mother had passed away.

There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a special charm for this surgery, Hotch usually had Penelope and JJ help him pick it out.

Penelope walked in, handing Spencer a cup of coffee. The average heart transplant takes six hours, but you have so much scar tissue that he wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer than that.

You were two years younger than him, and he found himself enamored with you from the moment you met. Your disease had forced you to leave college early, but your dad had set you up with a job in records at Quantico, both to give you something to do and to keep you nearby.

Until you just kept getting sicker, you were the best person they had working in records, but eventually, you had to leave that too.

The rest of the team caught on to Spencer’s crush, but you found yourself avoiding him like the plague. You turned him down eight times before you finally acquiesced, come to find out the only reason you said yes is because Hotch pushed you in that direction. Of all people, your father had just wanted you to continue living your life—he didn’t want you to become a hermit.

You would be one now though, with all of the immunosuppressants you’d be on post-transplant, you’d be spending a lot of time at home.

Rejection became a trend in your relationship when Spencer proposed to you last year. He’d done it properly, asking your father and Jack for permission, but you’d said no, rattling off some excuse about how he shouldn’t shackle himself to someone with one foot in the grave.

That night, after you had all but broken up with him, you’d collapsed and ended up in the hospital. The two of you made a promise to each other. If you ever got a new heart, you’d finally say yes.

The promise had been your idea, claiming that karma had caused you to collapse in your apartment because you turned him down. Spencer didn’t believe in karma and fate the way you did, but he did believe in you. That was enough for him.

Hotch came back up first, setting a comforting hand on Spencer’s shoulder before he walked back to where Jack was sleeping, your Aunt Jessica was back there with the two of them.

They hit the two-hour mark with no update, and Spencer convinced himself that no news had to be good news.

Derek and Rossi had made their way up to the waiting room, pulling out a deck of cards from the hospital gift shop and dealing around the table. Spencer just watched, he’d played more than enough card games in this hospital before, and he’d likely be playing many more in the future.

You’d have to stay in the hospital post-transplant for approximately a month, but it was some comfort to Spencer that instead of your health declining, you would begin feeling better. It hurt to hope, but he found himself excited at the prospect of you regaining your strength.

By the time five hours had passed, JJ and Derek had fallen asleep in their chairs, but everyone had committed themselves to waiting for you.

Spencer wanted to take you home, settle you into your shared apartment together, and let you heal, but you weren’t going to come home with him. When your month in the hospital was up, you’d go home with your dad and Jack. Your apartment didn’t have an elevator, and he worried about you having to use the stairs all the time. Your dad’s apartment had an elevator, so it became the obvious choice.

You told him you didn’t even remember what home looked like anymore. He couldn’t wait to bring you home.

He’d started to worry after six hours had passed, but just before hour seven hit, your cardiothoracic surgeon came out to the waiting room.

Careful not to wake Jack, Hotch stood up from his chair, approaching the surgeon with a wariness that Spencer had never seen from him. He waved Spencer over, silently inviting him to join the conversation.

“Everything went well, she’ll be in the CVICU still for a few days before she’s strong enough to be transferred,” the doctor explained, garnering the attention of some of the other people in the room. “Visiting hours don’t start for a few hours, but if one of you wants to stay with her until she wakes up, then I’d be willing to arrange an exception.”

You’d be waking up in a bright room with a tube in your throat, and having someone that you knew with you when you woke up would hopefully ease some of your fears. As soon as Spencer was about to offer to keep an eye on Jack so Hotch could sit with you, Hotch interrupted his train of thought, “You should go.”

Spencer frowned, glancing over your father, “Are you sure?”

Nodding, Hotch looked back at Jack, still sleeping on the loveseat. “I need to stay with him, and she wouldn’t want him to see her first thing,” he explained.

If Jack’s fear from earlier was any kind of forewarning, Hotch probably had a point when it came to wanting to stay with his youngest. Even still, Spencer protested, “I can stay with Jack.”

There were a number of people in the room who could stay with Jack, but Hotch clearly wanted to stay, “Don’t keep my daughter waiting, Reid.”

He did not have to be told twice, turning around and following the doctor to your room, scrubbing his hands before approaching the door. Faltering slightly at the doorway, Spencer found himself staring at you. There were so many wires and tubes connected to you that he’d have to take his time doing inventory of them all, there was a tube breathing for you, but your heart—your heart was beating steady.

“You can take a seat here,” a nurse said, gesturing to a chair for him to use. He sat down obediently, setting his bag on the ground next to him.

You wouldn’t come out from under the anesthesia for hours yet, but Spencer found comfort in knowing that he’d be here for you when you woke up. He could let you squeeze your hand when you felt pain, and he’d be there to wipe your tears away. At this point, he’d do anything you asked of him.

For now, all he had to do was wait. He clasped your hand in both of his and sat at your bedside, a ring box burning a hole in his messenger bag—waiting for you to be ready for it.

[kawaiijohn]

Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

[dreamylittlevalentine]

💭

[dee-the-red-witch]

Okay, this is it.

It's been ten years of fucked-up, and it's been ramping up more and more over the last three since I came out. Between getting used emotionally and financially to be the sole support for this family, Getting harmed daily by a kid that I want to love and support but who can't understand who this stranger is that replace his dad and more and more things on top of it. To the point where I've had no resources, barely any energy to work or function, and near constantly hit adrenaline rush responses at random loud noises. But things are moving forward. Monday, my son moves into care that's well-equipped for him, and they'll be better for him than I ever will be at this point or any time in the future. My oldest kid is old enough to be independent and start doing their own thing enough to get out of here. I don't have to worry about or protect them.

I can get out. Just move, on my own, find a safe place and rest and heal. Finally. Just, I have zero resources to do it with. The last decade has fucked my credit and rental history badly, I'm sure, as well. Which means finding a place within my normal budget and sweetening the pot by pre-paying as many extra months as I can. Plus that way I can be covered for housing during my transition surgery recoveries, since this family and apartment managed to drain every last cent from my transition fund to keep from becoming unhoused. And it'll mean me having to do a lot less asking for support and help, because I won't be supporting four people on one income any longer. But all of that means I need to get money together. Quick. And a lot. At least 5k, if not closer to ten. So, yeah, I'm asking for help again. To donate: http://paypal.me/tormentedartifacts

If you want to get something in return for helping, there's also always http://tormentedartifacts.com but I'll be clear. Anything big ordered right now is likely not happening until after I move, if not after my surgery recovery, since I won't be able to sit fully upright or work for a big chunk of that. Which means you may not see it until next year.

But anything helps. Please. Even just five bucks. And so does reblogging and sharing this wherever you can. So, if you do, thanks.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery IV

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You have bad days

Sometimes, you have a bad day.

Sometimes, everything is so overwhelming that all you can do is sob and cry and kick your little limbs out because your magic wiggles refuse to come out any other way.

You had a bad day today.

You don't know why. All you really know is that the hot sun blaring down on you and the loud noises from the Barca girls practicing had you bursting into tears and screaming your frustration.

Mami and Ingrid brought you home after that but you couldn't calm down.

Tears still drip down your cheeks as you hide your face in Ingrid's neck.

You're lying in bed with your mummies. Mami's very gently running her nails up and down your back and Ingrid's gently scratching at the very base of your scalp.

Bagheera's here too, curled up on the other side of you and Ingrid. She's a little sleepy but she's awake and looking at you and you blindly run your fingers through her fur.

"Mama," You say softly when Ingrid stops giving your scritches.

"Hmm?"

"More, please?" You sniffle and Ingrid's fingers gently continue as you wipe some of your tears away on her shirt.

You're extremely drained today. Everything was simultaneously too much and not enough.

You go completely lax and limp against Ingrid, your fingers still buried in Bagheera's fur.

"Should we take her to see someone?" Mapi asks quietly when she notices that you're fast asleep," These have been happening more frequently than before."

"The club said they were could recommend her to a behavioural therapist. We wouldn't have to be put on a waiting list."

Even though you're asleep, Ingrid doesn't stop gently scratching at your head.

"Would it help? I thought we were doing well."

"We're doing so well," Ingrid says," But there's no harm in getting extra help with her."

You shift in your sleep, somehow burying yourself even more into Ingrid, pulling your knees up to your chest in some crude copy of how Bagheera's sleeping.

Your bad day turns into a few bad days and then, finally a bad week.

Not a day goes by where you don't cry or whine or feel like everything is going wrong at once.

Your days end exactly the same, curled up like a cat on Ingrid's chest as she and Mami whisper soft things to you to help you calm down.

Today though, Mami and Ingrid have a day off and instead of doing things you usually do like sit in front of the washing machine or playing with your trucks, Mami gets you dressed properly.

You usually stay in your pyjamas when you're having a lazy day but Mami getting you dressed means you're going out somewhere.

You don't like that.

Ingrid tells you that you have a routine for a reason. You think she's right. You like your routine. It's fun and it's safe and you know exactly what you're going to do every single day.

This trip is different. Usually, when Mami and Ingrid change your routine, it's planned for weeks in advance and they remind you every day leading up to it.

The fact that they haven't is a little weird but Mami once told you that sometimes things change randomly so you presume it's one of those times.

You hold Ingrid's hand as you all walk to a strange building and Mami talks to the reception person. It's a bit like going to the doctor's or the dentist you think because there's a little waiting room with magazines that you all have to sit in.

You don't relinquish your hold on Ingrid's hand and tug on it. "Mama?" You ask," What're we doin'?"

Ingrid smiles at you. "We're here to talk to someone as a family."

You frown. "About another cat?"

You've not been very successful in getting Ingrid to let you and Mami get another cat but you think you're wearing her down. Mami says you must always persevere and you don't quite get what that means but you have a general idea.

Ingrid laughs. "Sorry, cub, but it's not about getting cat. We're just going to talk a little bit to the nice lady about stuff at home."

"I have to talk too?"

"Not if you don't want to," Mami promises you," You can play if you want."

It doesn't take long for the nice lady Ingrid was talking about to come to collect you all.

Ingrid and Mami sit on a comfy looking sofa opposite the lady's armchair. You glance between them both before Mami rises again to lead you over to one of those toys with the beads and the twisty bit of metal going through them.

She sits cross-legged with you on her lap and gently encourages you to play.

You do.

But you're hyperaware of the fact that the nice lady is watching you even though you know she's not staring. She's writing stuff down on a pad as Ingrid talks and you play with Mami but she keeps looking back at you every so often and that's a little unnerving.

You scratch at your wrists, your little blunt nails doing little to stop the magic wiggles in your body.

Mami stops you and she gives you a pointed look.

"What have I said?" She admonishes gently," We don't scratch ourselves, do we?"

You shake your head. "No."

"And why don't we scratch ourselves?"

"'Cause it's not being kind to our bodies."

"That's right, cub." Mami presses a kiss to your hairline. "And we must always be kind to our bodies."

You nod and accidentally catch the nice lady's eye. She's writing something again and that makes your magic wiggles get a bit worse.

You don't like running around and exercising around people you don't know even though Mami and Ingrid say it's the best way to get out your wiggles so you very slowly make your way over to Ingrid.

Your hand clenches and unclenches before you thrust it out towards her. "Mama," You say," løve, please (lion)."

Ingrid digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out your lion toy and handing it to you.

You thank her before quickly hurrying off to sit on Mami again.

Usually, you don't have to sit on Mami to play but your magic wiggles have been weird this week and keep making you cry so you want to stick close.

Eventually, the nice lady comes closer and sits opposite you and Mami at the play table as you start moving the yellow trucks around.

You ignore her for the most part as you play, keeping a tight grip on your lion.

"I heard you speak in a different language to your Mama," The nice lady says and you shake your lion under the table to get out some of your magic wiggles.

"Ingrid speaks Norwegian," You say as you make the truck slam into one of the walls you've built.

"Do you speak Norwegian?"

"Little bit." You get back to work rebuilding your wall so you can knock it down again.

"Is she teaching you?"

You nod. "Mami's learning too. I'm better."

"That's nice," The nice lady says," I heard you were having a bad week."

"My magic wiggles wouldn't go away. I cried."

"That must really suck."

You nod. "Mami and Ingrid makes it better. We cuddle with Bagheera."

"And who is Bagheera?"

"Our cat. Mami says if I try really hard then Ingrid will let us get another one."

The nice lady keeps nodding and she even plays with you for a bit before she goes back to Ingrid, who she talks to for a few minutes before returning to you.

She shakes a little box at you and you peer closer to get a better look.

"Do you want a sticker?" She asks and you look at Mami for guidance.

Mami nods her permission.

"You got a lion?" You ask," 'Cause that's what I am."

The nice lady laughs and, despite her staring problem, you think you like her. "I do have a lion. Would you like it?"

"Please."

She hands you your new lion sticker and you take Ingrid's hand as you walk out.

"Why'd we go and see the lady?" You ask.

"Well," Mami says," She was just making sure you were good and healthy."

"That's what doctors do. Why'd we go to a new doctor?"

"She's not quite a doctor," Mami explains," She looks after little girls who have the same superpower as you."

You think that over for a moment before turning to look at Ingrid. "Mama, did the nice lady say I was healthy?"

"She did. She also gave us some ideas on how to help you during your bad days."

You pull a face. "I don't like my bad days."

"I know, cub," Ingrid says," But we've got better ways to help you now so you don't have as many."

You nod at that before an idea springs to mind. You tug on Ingrid's hand. "Mama," You say," Do you know what would make my bad days good?"

Ingrid laughs. "What, cub?"

"A new cat."

[lorax177]

Fun fatphobia fact of the day:

CMS/HCC is a way for insurance companies to estimate how much money a patient will cost to insure, based on the major problems they have.

This is my list of diagnoses.

I blacked out one of them because it is my intersex condition and has to do with my assigned gender, which I don't want to be associated with my online presence. Also, there are a few repeats because doctors will put in their own phrasing, so sometimes when I switch doctors, I get re-diagnosed with the same thing, with slightly different wording. It's also missing a few diagnoses i got as a kid, namely my autism and a comprehensive list of the specific learning disorders I have, because I didn't think they were relevant to a general practitioner and i didn't want them on my record for safety reasons. Anyways, you'll notice that there are several of them that have the aforementioned CMS/HCC label. Those are schizoaffective disorder, major depression (which is part of my sza,) and two counts of "morbid obesity". My adhd, which I need to take two different medications daily to treat sufficiently enough to function, is not labeled as a major disorder, but my size is. Twice!

You'll notice that nowhere on this list is any diagnosis that is supposedly related to my fatness. That is because, metabolically speaking, my health is perfect. My lipids, a1c, blood pressure, pulse, and o2 are all in the excellent range. I am not on any kind of medications for any of these, either. The fact that I have more body tissue than their ideal, which has no bearing on my actual health, is considered more important to address than my neurodevelopmental disorder that requires two expensive medications to treat. They think that I am more of a risk for them because of an imagined bogeyman of a diagnosis ("morbid obesity", aka being fat) than something which actually has real life functional and financial consequences (my severe combined type adhd). Or, for that matter, my ocd, which I needed intensive outpatient therapy for; my transgender identity, which has cost them thousands of dollars in hormones and surgery; my asthma, which requires two medications to treat; and my gerd, which requires one.

I'm not advocating for medical insurance companies to make it harder for people with these diagnoses to get treatment. I'm just pointing out that the medical system sees me as a drain on their resources specifically because of my weight rather than the diagnoses that actually cost them money (albeit with one exception). They think my adipose tissue, which is not causing me any health problems, is more important to note than most of my legitimate health problems.

That is medical fatphobia.